nay, squire, thou didn’t mean them words, and we’ll say nothing about them’; so we nodded to each other, and I wouldn’t be sure whether or not we wer’ not both nearer tears than we’d show. Anyway, he went on as if nothing had happened, telling me about the failing spirit of the workers and saying a deal to excuse them. ‘Ezra Dixon’s eldest and youngest child died yesterday and they are gathering a bit of money among the chapel folk to bury them.’ Then I said: ‘Wait a minute, Jonathan,’ and I took out of my purse a five pound note and made him go with it to the mother and so put her heart at ease on that score. You know our poor think a parish funeral a pitiful disgrace.”
“Well, Antony, if that was what kept thee, thou wert well kept. Faith Foster is right. I ought to be told of such sorrow.”
“To be sure we both ought to know, but tha sees, Annie, my dearie, we hev been so much better off than the rest of weaving villages that the workers hev not suffered as long and as much as others. But what’s the use of making excuses? I am going to a big meeting of weavers on Saturday night. It is to be held in t’ Methodist Chapel.”
“Antony! Whatever art thou saying? What will the curate say? What will all thy old friends say?”
“Annie, I hev got to a place where I don’t care a button what they say. I hev some privileges, I hope, and taking my awn way is one o’ them. The curate hes been asked to lend his sanction to the meeting, and the men are betting as to whether he’ll do so or not. If I was a betting man I would say ‘No’!”
“Why?”
“His bishop. The bishops to a man were against the Reform Bill. Only one is said to have signed for it. That is not sure.”
“Then do you blame him?”
“Nay, I’m sorry for any man, that hesn’t the gumption to please his awn conscience, and take his awn way. However, his career is in the bishop’s hand, and he’s varry much in love with Lucy Landborde.”
“Lucy Landborde! That handsome girl! How can he fashion himself to make up to Lucy?”
“She thinks he is dying of love for her, so she pities him. Women are a soft lot!”
“It is mebbe a good thing for men that women are a soft lot. Go on with thy story. It’s fair wonderful.”
“Mr. Foster will preside, and they’ll ask the curate to record proceedings. St. George Norris and Squire Charington and the Vicar of Harrowgate will be on the platform, I hear. The vicar is going to marry Geraldine Norris next week to a captain in the Guards.”
“I declare, Antony, thou finds out iverything going on.”
“To be sure. That is part o’ my business as Lord of the Manor. Well tha sees now, that it is going to be a big meeting, especially when they add to it a Member of Parliament, a Magistrate, and a Yorkshire Squire.”
“Who art thou talking about now?”
“Mysen! Antony Annis! Member of Parliament, Squire of Annis and Deeping Wold, and Magistrate of the same district.”
“Upon my word, I had forgotten I was such a big lady. And I am to go to London with thee. I am as set up about that as a child would be. I think I ought to go and tell Katherine.”
“Mebbe it would be the kind thing. Sharing a pleasure doubles it;” and as the squire uttered the words, Katherine rather impetuously opened the parlor door.
“O daddy!” she cried as she pulled a chair to his side. “What are you talking about? I know it is about London; are you going to take me there with you? Say yes. Say it surely.”
“Give me a kiss and I will take both thee and thy mother there with me.”
“How soon, daddy? How soon?”
“As soon as possible. We must look after the poor and the land and then we can go with a good heart.”
“Let us talk it all over. Where are you going to stay?”
“Nay, my dear lass. I am talking to thy mother now and she is on a different level to thee. Run away to thy room and make up thy mind about thy new dress and the other little tricks thou wants.”
“Such as a necklace and a full set of amber combs for my hair.”
“Nay, nay! I hev no money for jewelry, while little childer and women all round us are wanting bread. Thou wouldn’t suit it and it wouldn’t be lucky to thee. Run away now, I’ll talk all thou wants to-morrow.”
“Verry well, dear daddy. Thy word is enough to build on. I can sit quiet and arrange my London plans, for a promise from thee is as sure as the thing itself.”
Then the squire laughed and took a letter out of his pocketbook. “It is good for a thousand pounds, honey,” he said, “and that is a bit of security for my promise, isn’t it?”
“Not a penny’s worth. Thy promise needs no security. It stands alone as it ought to do.”
She rose as she spoke and the squire rose and opened the door for her and then stood and watched her mount the darkening stairway. At the first reach, she turned and bent her lovely face and form towards him. The joyful anticipations in her heart transfigured her. She was radiant. Her face shone and smiled; her white throat, and her white shoulders, and her exquisite arms, and her firm quick feet seemed to have some new sense given them. You would have said that her body thought and that her very voice had a caress in it as she bridged the space between them with a “Thank you, dear, dear daddy! You are the very kindest father in all the world!”
“And thou art his pet and his darling!” With these words he went back to his wife. “She is justtip-on-top,” he said. “There’s no girl I know like her. She sits in the sunlight of my heart. Why, Annie, she ought to make a better marriage than Jane, and Jane did middling well.”
“Would thou think Harry Bradley a good match?”
“I wouldn’t put him even in a passing thought with Katherine. Harry Bradley, indeed! I am fairly astonished at thee naming the middle class fellow!”
“Katherine thinks him all a man should be.”
“She will change her mind in London.”
“I doubt that.”
“Thou lets her hev opinions and ideas of her awn. Thou shouldn’t do it. Jane will alter that. Jane will tell her how to rate men and women. Jane is varry clever.”
“Jane is no match for Katherine. Dost thou think Antony Annis will be?”
“I wouldn’t doubt it.”
“Then don’t try conclusions with her about Harry Bradley, and happen then thou may keep thy illusion. Katherine’s fault is a grave one, though it often looks like a virtue.”
“I doan’t see what thou means. Faults are faults, and virtues are virtues. I hev niver seen a fault of any kind in her, unless it be wanting more guineas than I can spare her just now, but that is the original sin o’ women as far as I can make out. Whativer is this fault that can look like a virtue?”
“She overdoes everything. She says too little, or too much; she does too little, or too much; she gives too little, or too much. In everything she exceeds. If she likes
