Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles Part 54

"Oh, mamma, don't keep me!" she said in a strangely thrilling tone; "don't keep me! I see the light! I see papa!"

There was a strange light, not as of earth, in her own face, an ineffable smile on her lip, that told more of heaven. Her arms dropped; and she sank back on the pillow. Jane Halliburton had gone to her Heavenly Father; it may be also to her earthly one. Gar screamed.

Dobbs arrived in the midst of the commotion. And when Dobbs saw what had happened, she fell into a storm of anger, of pa.s.sionate sobs, half ready to knock down Mrs. Halliburton with words, and the poor boys with blows.

Why was she not called to see the last of her? The only young thing she had cared for in all the world, and yet she could not be allowed to wish her farewell! She'd never love another again as long as her days lasted!

In vain they strove to explain to her that it was sudden, unexpected, momentary: Dobbs would not listen.

Mrs. Halliburton stole away from Dobbs's storm--anywhere. Her heart was brimful. Although she had known that this must be the ending, now that it had come she was as one unprepared. In her grief and sorrow, she was tempted for a moment--but only for a moment--to question the goodness and wisdom of G.o.d.

Some one called to her from the foot of the stairs, and she went down.

She had to go down; she could not shut herself up, as those can who have servants to be their deputies. Anna Lynn stood there, dressed for school.

"Friend Jane Halliburton, Patience has sent me to ask after Janey this morning. Is she better?"

"No, Anna. She is dead."

Jane spoke with unnatural calmness. The child, scared at the words, backed away out at the garden door, and then flew to Patience with the news. It brought Patience in. Jane was nearly prostrate then.

"Nay, but thee art grieving sadly! Thee must not take on so."

"Oh, Patience! why should it be?" she wailed aloud in her despair and bereavement. "Anna left in health and joyousness; my child taken! Surely G.o.d is dealing hardly with me."

"Thee must not say that," returned Patience gravely. "But thee art not thyself just now. What truth was it that I heard thee impress upon thy child not a week ago? That G.o.d's ways are not as our ways."

CHAPTER VIII.

A WEDDING IN HONEY FAIR.

But that such contrasts are all too common in life, you might think it scarcely seemly to go direct from a house of death to a house of marriage. This same morning which witnessed the death of Jane Halliburton, witnessed also the wedding of Mary Ann Cross and Ben Tyrrett. Upon which there was wonderful rejoicing at the Crosses'

house.

Of course, whether a wedding was a good one or a bad one (speaking from a pecuniary point of view), it was equally the custom to feast over it in Honey Fair. Benjamin Tyrrett was only what is called a jobber in the glove trade, earning fifteen or sixteen shillings a week; but Mary Ann Cross made up her mind to have him--in defiance of parental and other admonitions that she ought to look over Ben's head. They had gone to work Honey Fair fashion, preparing nothing. Every shilling that Mary Ann Cross could spare went in finery--had long gone in finery. In vain Charlotte East impressed upon her the necessity of saving: of waiting.

Mary Ann would do neither one nor the other.

"All that you can spare from back debts, and from present actual wants, you should put by," Charlotte had urged. "You don't know how many more calls there are for money after marriage than before it."

"There'll be two of us to earn it then," logically replied Mary Ann.

"And two of you to live," said Charlotte. "To marry upon nothing is to rush into trouble."

"How you do go on, Charlotte East! He'll earn his wages, and I shall earn mine. Where'll be the trouble? I shan't want to spend so much upon my back when I am married."

"To marry as you are going to do, must bring trouble," persisted Charlotte. "He will manage to get together a few bits of cheap furniture, just what you can't do without, to put into one room; and there you will be set up, neither of you having one sixpence laid by to fall back upon; and perhaps the furniture unpaid, hanging like a log upon you. What shall you do when children come, Mary Ann?"

Mary Ann Cross giggled. "If ever I heard the like of you, Charlotte! If children do come, they must come, that's all. We can't send 'em back again."

"No, you can't," said Charlotte. "They generally arrive in pretty good troops: and sometimes there's little to welcome them on. Half the quarrels between man and wife, in our cla.s.s of life, spring from nothing but large families and small means. Their tempers get soured with each other, and never get pleased again."

"Folks must take their chance, Charlotte."

"There's no _must_ in it. You are nineteen, Ben Tyrrett's twenty-three; suppose you made up your minds to wait two or three years. You would be quite young enough then: and meanwhile, if both of you laid by, you would have something in hand to meet extra expenses, or sickness if it came."

"Opinions differs," shortly returned Mary Ann. "If folks tell true, you were putting by ever so long for your marriage, and it all ended in smoke. I'd rather make sure of a husband when I can get him."

An expression of pain crossed the face of Charlotte East. "Whether I marry or not," she answered calmly, "I shall be none the worse for having laid money by instead of squandering it. If the best man that ever was born came to me, I would not marry him if we had made no better provision for a rainy day than you and Tyrrett have. What can come of such unions, Mary Ann?"

"It's the way most of us girls do marry," returned Mary Ann.

"And what comes of it, I ask? _Blows_ sometimes, Mary Ann; the workhouse sometimes; trouble always."

"Is it true that you put by, Charlotte?"

"Yes. I put by what I can."

"But how in wonder do you manage it? You dress as well as we do. I'm sure our backs take all our money; father pretty nigh keeps the house."

"I dress better than you in one sense, Mary Ann. I don't have on a silk gown one day and a petticoat in rags the next. No one ever sees me otherwise than neat and clean, and my clothes keep good a long while.

It's the finery that runs away with your money. I am not ashamed to make a bonnet last two years; you'd have two in a season. Another thing, Mary Ann: I do not waste my time--I sit to my work; and I dare say I earn double what you do."

"Let us hear what you earned last week, if it isn't impertinent," was Mary Ann's answer.

"Ten and ninepence."

"Look at that!" cried the girl, lifting her hands. "I brought out but five and twopence, and I left no money for silk, and am in debt two quarterns. 'Melia was worse. Hers came to four and eleven. That surly old foreman says to me when he was paying, 'What d'ye leave for silk, Mary Ann Cross? There's two quarterns down.' 'I know there is, sir,'

says I, 'but I don't leave nothing to-day.' He gave a grunt at that, the old file did."

"And I suppose you spent your five shillings in some useless thing?"

"I had to pay up at Bankes's, and the rest went in a new peach bonnet-ribbon."

"Peach! You should have bought white, if you must be married."

"Thank you, Charlotte! What next? Do you suppose I'm going to be married in that shabby old straw, that I've worn all the spring? Not if I know it."

"Where's your money to come from for a new one? There will be other things wanted, more essential than a bonnet."

"I'll have a new one if I go in trust for it," returned Mary Ann.

"Tyrrett buys the ring. And it is of no use for you to preach, Charlotte; if you preach your tongue out, it'll do no good."

Charlotte might, indeed, have preached a very long sermon before she could effect any change in the system of improvidence obtaining in Honey Fair. Neither Benjamin Tyrrett nor Mary Ann Cross was gifted with forethought, and they took no pains to acquire it.

The marriage was carried out, and this was the happy day. Mrs. Cross gave an entertainment in honour of the event, at which the bride and bridegroom a.s.sisted--as the French say--with as many others as the kitchen would hold. Tea for the ladies, pipes and ale for the gentlemen, supper for all, with spirits-and-water handed round.

How Mrs. Cross had contrived to go on so long without an _expose_, she scarcely knew herself. The wonder was, that she had gone on at all. It took the energies of her life to patch up her embarra.s.sments, and hide her difficulties from her husband. The evil day, however, was only delayed. It could not be averted.