And with a spasmodic bridling-up,she pointed to the bouffante which used to stand up stiffly round her withered old throat,and stick out in front like a pouter pigeon.Alas!its glory and starch were alike departed;it now appeared nothing but a heap of crumpled and yellowish muslin.Poor Jael!I knew this was the most heroic personal sacrifice she could have made,yet I could not help smiling;even my father did the same.
"Dost thee mock me,Abel Fletcher?"cried she angrily."Preach not to others while the sin lies on thy own head."And I am sure poor Jael was innocent of any jocular intention,as advancing sternly she pointed to her master's pate,where his long-worn powder was scarcely distinguishable from the snows of age.
He bore the assault gravely and unshrinkingly,merely saying,"Woman,peace!""Nor while"--pursued Jael,driven apparently to the last and most poisoned arrow in her quiver of wrath--"while the poor folk be starving in scores about Norton Bury,and the rich folk there will not sell their wheat under famine price.Take heed to thyself,Abel Fletcher."My father winced,either from a twinge of gout or conscience;and then Jael suddenly ceased the attack,sent the other servants out of the room,and tended her master as carefully as if she had not insulted him.In his fits of gout my father,unlike most men,became the quieter and easier to manage the more he suffered.He had a long fit of pain which left him considerably exhausted.When,being at last relieved,he and I were sitting in the room alone,he said to me--"Phineas,the tan-yard has thriven ill of late,and I thought the mill would make up for it.But if it will not it will not.Wouldst thee mind,my son,being left a little poor when I am gone?""Father!"
"Well,then,in a few days I will begin selling my wheat,as that lad has advised and begged me to do these weeks past.He is a sharp lad,and I am getting old.Perhaps he is right.""Who,father?"I asked,rather hypocritically.
"Thee knowest well enough--John Halifax."
I thought it best to say no more;but I never let go one thread of hope which could draw me nearer to my heart's desire.
On the Monday morning my father went to the tan-yard as usual.Ispent the day in my bed-room,which looked over the garden,where Isaw nothing but the waving of the trees and the birds hopping over the smooth grass;heard nothing but the soft chime,hour after hour,of the Abbey bells.What was passing in the world,in the town,or even in the next street,was to me faint as dreams.
At dinner-time I rose,went down-stairs,and waited for my father;waited one,two,three hours.It was very strange.He never by any chance overstayed his time,without sending a message home.So after some consideration as to whether I dared encroach upon his formal habits so much,and after much advice from Jael,who betrayed more anxiety than was at all warranted by the cause she assigned,viz.the spoiled dinner,I despatched Jem Watkins to the tan-yard to see after his master.
He came back with ill news.The lane leading to the tan-yard was blocked up with a wild mob.Even the stolid,starved patience of our Norton Bury poor had come to an end at last--they had followed the example of many others.There was a bread-riot in the town.
God only knows how terrible those "riots"were;when the people rose in desperation,not from some delusion of crazy,blood-thirsty "patriotism,"but to get food for themselves,their wives,and children.God only knows what madness was in each individual heart of that concourse of poor wretches,styled "the mob,"when every man took up arms,certain that there were before him but two alternatives,starving or--hanging.
The riot here was scarcely universal.Norton Bury was not a large place,and had always abundance of small-pox and fevers to keep the poor down numerically.Jem said it was chiefly about our mill and our tan-yard that the disturbance lay.
"And where is my father?"
Jem "didn't know,"and looked very much as if he didn't care.
"Jael,somebody must go at once,and find my father.""I am going,"said Jael,who had already put on her cloak and hood.
Of course,despite all her opposition,I went too.
The tan-yard was deserted;the mob had divided,and gone,one half to our mill,the rest to another that was lower down the river.I asked of a poor frightened bark-cutter if she knew where my father was?
She thought he was gone for the "millingtary;"but Mr.Halifax was at the mill now--she hoped no harm would come to Mr.Halifax.
Even in that moment of alarm I felt a sense of pleasure.I had not been in the tan-yard for nearly three years.I did not know John had come already to be called "Mr.Halifax."There was nothing for me but to wait here till my father returned.
He could not surely be so insane as to go to the mill--and John was there.Terribly was my heart divided,but my duty lay with my father.
Jael sat down in the shed,or marched restlessly between the tan-pits.I went to the end of the yard,and looked down towards the mill.What a half-hour it was!
At last,exhausted,I sat down on the bark heap where John and I had once sat as lads.He must now be more than twenty;I wondered if he were altered.
"Oh,David!David!"I thought,as I listened eagerly for any sounds abroad in the town;"what should I do if any harm came to thee?"This minute I heard a footstep crossing the yard.No,it was not my father's--it was firmer,quicker,younger.I sprang from the barkheap.
"Phineas!"
"John!"
What a grasp that was--both hands!and how fondly and proudly Ilooked up in his face--the still boyish face.But the figure was quite that of a man now.
For a minute we forgot ourselves in our joy,and then he let go my hands,saying hurriedly--"Where is your father?"
"I wish I knew!--Gone for the soldiers,they say.""No,not that--he would never do that.I must go and look for him.
Good-bye."
"Nay,dear John!"
"Can't--can't,"said he,firmly,"not while your father forbids.Imust go."And he was gone.
