Yorkshire Tales Volume III Part 11

"Then it'll have to be kursend ovver agean."

"Ha's that?"

"Dooant thee think 'at aw forget. It wor f.a.n.n.y Hebblethwaite at wor allus hankerin after thee until we wor wed, an for some time after.

Aw've had enuff o' f.a.n.n.ys. We'll call it Jerrymier."

"But its a mare tha sees."

"Well then, we'll call it Jimmima."

"Let's mak it Jenny an ha done wi it."

"Owt'll do but f.a.n.n.y. Shoo wor a impotent hussy. Aw wonder what becoom on her?"

"Aa! shoo's been deead aboon a duzzen year?"

"Oh, well then--tha can call it f.a.n.n.y."

They did enjoy thersen that day an noa mistak, an monny a day after, an they're lukkin forrad to monny a pleasant little time.

Th' naybors have getten used to seein em nah an have noa desire to poak fun at em.

Jerrymier has takken a big fancy to th' galloway, an oft gooas an gethers it a basket full ov sweet clover, an when Grimes an Mally arn't using it, Hepsabah an her babbies have a drive throo th' park, Jerrymier acting as th' cooachman.

Th' galloway knows its getten a gooid hooam. It wants for nowt,--Mally taks gooid care o' that. It's one to be trusted an it knows its way abaat. Some day yo may see an old galloway, pullin a little carriage containin an old man an woman;--all three on em saand asleep, an yo can rest a.s.sured at that's Grime's an Mally an ther Galloway.

True Blue; A Romance of Factory Life.

Susy was only twenty-two, and she had been a widow for over twelve months. She had married when only nineteen, a honest hard working man who was more than twice her age. There had been no love in the match, so far as she was concerned;--she was an orphan,--poor,--lonely, and pretty.

She was only a weaver, and not very expert, yet she managed to make sufficient to pay her board and to keep herself well dressed, for the position she occupied, and her beauty,--for she was very beautiful, and her natural taste enabled her to present an appearance so much superior to those with whom she was in daily contact, that many envied her, and some looked askance at her, and shook their heads, and predicted evil to come.

Some one had dubbed her 'the Factory Belle,' but she never resented what many would have considered insults or slights, but kept on in her own innocent, yet attractive and attentive way, and commanded a certain amount of respect even from those who were secretly her enemies.

No one would for a single moment suspect that she was a widow, for not only was she so young, but looked even younger. That her husband had worshipped her was not difficult of belief, and that she had been to him a kind, fond wife was indisputable;--her grat.i.tude for his kindness and his self-sacrifices to secure her happiness had been such, that if she did not love him with the blind infatuation of youth's fond dream, she respected him, and he was first in her then unawakened affections.

When he was suddenly stricken down with a fell disease which was at that time ravaging many of the towns in the West Riding, she nursed him faithfully, and when he died,--holding her little white hand in his brown, brawny fist, she shed the bitterest tears that had ever dimmed her beautiful blue grey eyes.

After the last sad rites were over, she had disposed of the household furniture, which was all he had been able to leave her, and paid every claim that was presented, finding herself once more alone, and dependent on her own exertions for a living.

She had plenty of sympathizing friends, and more than one would willingly have provided for her in the hope that at some future time they might win her for themselves, but she was of a very independent spirit and preferred to depend on her own efforts to provide for her wants.

She had no difficulty in obtaining employment at the weaving shed where she had worked before her marriage; and right welcome did her fellow workers make her, and the look of sadness which for a time clouded her face, though it did not detract her from her beauty,--by degrees cleared off,--her eyes sparkled as before,--the bloom came back to her velvet cheeks and her lips curled again into the bewitching smile that suited them so well, and with her added years, were developed charms that she had not possessed before.

Her swelling bust accentuated her tapering waist, and her beautifully rounded arms, her well shaped, small hands,--her graceful carriage, all combined to produce a perfect specimen of Yorkshire female lovliness.

Where hundreds were employed, it was not to be expected she would lack admirers. She had many,--many more than she even imagined.

Though almost faultless in face and figure, yet she was not without some faults.

She knew she was beautiful, and she was vain. Much of her apparent artlessness was a.s.sumed. She was pleased to be admired, and felt gratified to see the effect of her glance, as she favoured one with a languishing look, and another with a haughty stare, or a wicked, sparkling, mischief loving gleam,--transient on her part but fatally permanent on susceptible hearts.

In her own heart she had never felt love,--she had never sounded the depths of her own nature;--she was as yet a stranger to herself.

Amongst others, who were ever ready at her beck and call were two young men,--both about her own age.--They are both dead now or this story would not have been written. We will simply speak of them as d.i.c.k and Jack. One was the overlooker under whom she worked, this was d.i.c.k, a prime favourite with the masters, and a clever, honest chap he was.

Jack was known as "Th' oiler," his duty being to attend to the long lines of shafting and revolving pullies. Much of his work, especially the more dangerous part of it, had to be performed whilst the engine was stopped.

Never were known two truer friends than d.i.c.k and Jack. After working hours they were seldom separated. They worked together in the little allotment garden which they jointly rented. Even the pig was a partnership concern. Although they were friendly with all they came in contact with, they never made any other special friendships. They were satisfied to be with each other and so confidential were they, that they each lived in the other's life.

Nicknames were common at that day, and d.i.c.k was generally spoken of as "True Blue," because of his unswerving integrity. Jack had to be content with the less euphonious t.i.tle "Th' oiler."

They were neither of them blind to Susy's charms, and admiration blended with pity, and pity, where a beautiful woman is concerned, is likely to lead to something else. They often spoke of her to each other, but it was the only subject on which they ever conversed, that they were not entirely open and honest about. d.i.c.k's position gave him many opportunities to be near Susy, and it was remarked that her loom seemed to require more attention than any other under his surveillance.

Susy, with that quick instinct which all women seem to be possessed, saw that he was at her mercy. But she loved her liberty. She had tasted such bliss as married life could offer,--so she thought, and she preferred to feel free to smile on whom she pleased. She was virtuous, and kind, after a fashion, but she was fast becoming a coquet,--a flirt. In her little world she was a queen, and the homage of one did not satisfy her.

Hearts were her playthings,--they amused her, and she liked to be amused.

One day, during the dinner hour;--she had brought her dinner to the mill, which was her invariable custom, as the house where she lodged was a considerable distance from the works;--she was sitting in a retired corner in an adjoining room, when looking up she saw d.i.c.k standing close by her and regarding her with such a longing, yet troubled look, that although she laughed, and was about to make some flippant remark, she checked herself, and made room on the little bench for him to sit.

"Why, d.i.c.k," she said, as he took his place beside her, "what's to do?

Has th' boiler brussen, or are we going on strike?"

"Nay, Susy, its summat moor serious nor that. Aw thowt aw should find thee here. Aw hope tha arn't mad at aw've come."

"What should aw be mad for? Tha's as mich reight to be here as me,--an if it comes to that aw suppooas we've nawther on us onny business here an aw think aw'll be gooin."

"Net just yet, Susy;--stop a minnit,--aw've summat to say. Its varry particlar. Can't ta guess what it is?"

"Aw dooant know unless tha'rt gooin to find fault abaat mi piece, an awm sewer aw've done mi best wi it, but yond warp's rotten."

"Its nowt abaat thi wark, its moor important to me nor all th' wark i'th shed. O, Susy, awm sewer tha must know what aw want to say. Tha connot be blind, an tha must know at awm fonder on thi nor o' onnybody i' all this world. Tha knows ha bonny tha art, an tha knows tha's n.o.bbut to put up thi finger an tha can have onny single chap i'th shop, but, believe me, Susy,--ther isn't one at can ivver love thi as aw love thi. Aw'll work for thi throo morn to neet, an tha shall be th' happiest woman i'th world if its i' my paar to mak thi soa. What says ta? Aw willn't hurry thee if tha wants time to think abaat it,--but tell me,--is ther onnybody at tha likes better?"

"Why, d.i.c.k, tha's fairly knockt th' wind aght o' me. Tha sewerly forgets at awm a widdy. A young chap like thee doesn't owt to be lukkin after widdys, when ther's soa monny single young la.s.ses abaat waitin for chaps."

"It'd mak noa difference to me if tha wor a widdy twenty times ovver.

Tha'rt th' grandest woman aw ivver met, an if aw ivver do wed it'll be thee. Come, nah, tell me,--we havn't mich time befoor th' engine starts.

Is ther onnybody tha likes better nor me. Spaik aght. If ther is aw'll bide it as weel as aw can, an aw'll nivver trubble thi agean."

"Noa, d.i.c.k, ther isn't. That's gospel trewth. Ther's nubdy livin at aw like better nor thee, an aw dooant know another aw like as weel, but tha knows when it comes to weddin, it mun be summat moor nor likin th' next time. It'll have to be lovin. An aw dooant love thee weel enuff, but aw may leearn to do, but tha mun gie me time."

"Yond's th' engine startin, aw mun be off;--an bless thi for what tha's sed. Aw'll mak misen worthy on thi, an tha shall love me at th' finish."

That afternoon d.i.c.k seemed to be walking on air. His face was flushed, and his heart beat until his voice was so unsteady that those who had to speak with him eyed him curiously. As he pa.s.sed Susy's loom she gave him a look so full of love and sympathy that it required an effort to pa.s.s on to his other duties.