"Well,"said my father,after a pause,"thee shall take my son home,and I'll give thee a groat.Let me see;art thee a lad to be trusted?"And holding him at arm's length,regarding him meanwhile with eyes that were the terror of all the rogues in Norton Bury,Abel Fletcher jingled temptingly the silver money in the pockets of his long-flapped brown waistcoat."I say,art thee a lad to be trusted?"John Halifax neither answered nor declined his eyes.He seemed to feel that this was a critical moment,and to have gathered all his mental forces into a serried square,to meet the attack.He met it,and conquered in silence.
"Lad,shall I give thee the groat now?"
"Not till I've earned it,sir."
So,drawing his hand back,my father slipped the money into mine,and left us.
I followed him with my eyes,as he went sturdily plashing down the street;his broad,comfortable back,which owned a coat of true Quaker cut,but spotless,warm,and fine;his ribbed hose and leathern gaiters,and the wide-brimmed hat set over a fringe of grey hairs,that crowned the whole with respectable dignity.He looked precisely what he was--an honest,honourable,prosperous tradesman.
I watched him down the street--my good father,whom I respected perhaps even more than I loved him.The Cornish lad watched him likewise.
It still rained slightly,so we remained under cover.John Halifax leaned in his old place,and did not attempt to talk.Once only,when the draught through the alley made me shiver,he pulled my cloak round me carefully.
"You are not very strong,I'm afraid?"
"No."
Then he stood idly looking up at the opposite--the mayor's--house,with its steps and portico,and its fourteen windows,one of which was open,and a cluster of little heads visible there.
The mayor's children--I knew them all by sight,though nothing more;for their father was a lawyer,and mine a tanner;they belonged to Abbey folk and orthodoxy,I to the Society of Friends--the mayor's rosy children seemed greatly amused by watching us shivering shelterers from the rain.Doubtless our position made their own appear all the pleasanter.For myself it mattered little;but for this poor,desolate,homeless,wayfaring lad to stand in sight of their merry nursery window,and hear the clatter of voices,and of not unwelcome dinner-sounds--I wondered how he felt it.
Just at this minute another head came to the window,a somewhat older child;I had met her with the rest;she was only a visitor.She looked at us,then disappeared.Soon after,we saw the front door half opened,and an evident struggle taking place behind it;we even heard loud words across the narrow street.
"I will--I say I will."
"You shan't,Miss Ursula."
"But I will!"
And there stood the little girl,with a loaf in one hand and a carving-knife in the other.She succeeded in cutting off a large slice,and holding it out.
"Take it,poor boy!--you look so hungry.Do take it."But the servant forced her in,and the door was shut upon a sharp cry.
It made John Halifax start,and look up at the nursery window,which was likewise closed.We heard nothing more.After a minute he crossed the street,and picked up the slice of bread.Now in those days bread was precious,exceedingly.The poor folk rarely got it;they lived on rye or meal.John Halifax had probably not tasted wheaten bread like this for months:it appeared not,he eyed it so ravenously;--then,glancing towards the shut door,his mind seemed to change.He was a long time before he ate a morsel;when he did so,it was quietly and slowly;looking very thoughtful all the while.
As soon as the rain ceased,we took our way home,down the High Street,towards the Abbey church--he guiding my carriage along in silence.I wished he would talk,and let me hear again his pleasant Cornish accent.
"How strong you are!"said I,sighing,when,with a sudden pull,he had saved me from being overturned by a horseman riding past--young Mr.Brithwood of the Mythe House,who never cared where he galloped or whom he hurt--"So tall and so strong.""Am I?Well,I shall want my strength."
"How?"
"To earn my living."
He drew up his broad shoulders,and planted on the pavement a firmer foot,as if he knew he had the world before him--would meet it single-handed,and without fear.
"What have you worked at lately?"
"Anything I could get,for I have never learned a trade.""Would you like to learn one?"
He hesitated a minute,as if weighing his speech."Once I thought Ishould like to be what my father was."
"What was he?"
"A scholar and a gentleman."
