LITMIR.BIZ

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was busy embroidering a small piece of cambric for some little article of dress for Edith’s expected baby —‘Flimsy, useless work,’ as Mrs. Thornton observed to herself. She liked Mrs. Hale’s double knitting far better; that was sensible of its kind. The room altogether was full of knick-knacks, which must take a long time to dust; and time to people of limited income was money. She made all these reflections as she was talking in her stately way to Mrs. Hale, and uttering all the stereotyped commonplaces that most people can find to say with their senses blindfolded. Mrs. Hale was making rather more exertion in her answers, captivated by some real old lace which Mrs. Thornton wore; ‘lace,’ as she afterwards observed to Dixon, ‘of that old English point which has not been made for this seventy years, and which cannot be bought. It must have been an heir-loom, and shows that she had ancestors.’ So the owner of the ancestral lace became worthy of something more than the languid exertion to be agreeable to a visitor, by which Mrs. Hale’s efforts at conversation would have been otherwise bounded. And presently, Margaret, racking her brain to talk to Fanny, heard her mother and Mrs. Thornton plunge into the interminable subject of servants.

      ‘I suppose you are not musical,’ said Fanny, ‘as I see no piano.’

      ‘I am fond of hearing good music; I cannot play well myself; and papa and mamma don’t care much about it; so we sold our old piano when we came here.’

      ‘I wonder how you can exist without one. It almost seems to me a necessary of life.’

      ‘Fifteen shillings a week, and three saved out of them!’ thought Margaret to herself ‘But she must have been very young. She probably has forgotten her own personal experience. But she must know of those days.’ Margaret’s manner had an extra tinge of coldness in it when she next spoke.

      ‘You have good concerts here, I believe.’

      ‘Oh, yes! Delicious! Too crowded, that is the worst. The directors admit so indiscriminately. But one is sure to hear the newest music there. I always have a large order to give to Johnson’s, the day after a concert.’

      ‘Do you like new music simply for its newness, then?’

      ‘Oh; one knows it is the fashion in London, or else the singers would not bring it down here. You have been in London, of course.’

      ‘Yes,’ said Margaret, ‘I have lived there for several years.’

      ‘Oh! London and the Alhambra are the two places I long to see!’

      ‘London and the Alhambra!’

      ‘Yes! ever since I read the Tales of the Alhambra. Don’t you know them?’

      ‘I don’t think I do. But surely, it is a very easy journey to London.’

      ‘Yes; but somehow,’ said Fanny, lowering her voice, ‘mamma has never been to London herself, and can’t understand my longing. She is very proud of Milton; dirty, smoky place, as I feel it to be. I believe she admires it the more for those very qualities.’

      ‘If it has been Mrs. Thornton’s home for some years, I can well understand her loving it,’ said Margaret, in her clear bell-like voice.

      ‘What are you saying about me, Miss Hale? May I inquire?’

      Margaret had not the words ready for an answer to this question, which took her a little by surprise, so Miss Thornton replied:

      ‘Oh, mamma! we are only trying to account for your being so fond of Milton.’

      ‘Thank you,’ said Mrs. Thornton. ‘I do not feel that my very natural liking for the place where I was born and brought up — and which has since been my residence for some years, requires any accounting for.’

      Margaret was vexed. As Fanny had put it, it did seem as if they had been impertinently discussing Mrs. Thornton’s feelings; but she also rose up against that lady’s manner of showing that she was offended.

      Mrs. Thornton went on after a moment’s pause:

      ‘Do you know anything of Milton, Miss Hale? Have you seen any of our factories? our magnificent warehouses?’

      ‘No!’ said Margaret. ‘I have not seen anything of that description as yet. Then she felt that, by concealing her utter indifference to all such places, she was hardly speaking with truth; so she went on:

      ‘I dare say, papa would have taken me before now if I had cared. But I really do not find much pleasure in going over manufactories.’

      ‘They are very curious places,’ said Mrs. Hale, ‘but there is so much noise and dirt always. I remember once going in a lilac silk to see candles made, and my gown was utterly ruined.’

      ‘Very probably,’ said Mrs. Thornton, in a short displeased manner. ‘I merely thought, that as strangers newly come to reside in a town which has risen to eminence in the country, from the character and progress of its peculiar business, you might have cared to visit some of the places where it is carried on; places unique in the kingdom, I am informed. If Miss Hale changes her mind and condescends to be curious as to the manufactures of Milton, I can only say I shall be glad to procure her admission to print-works, or reed-making, or the more simple operations of spinning carried on in my son’s mill. Every improvement of machinery is, I believe, to be seen there, in its highest perfection.’

      ‘I am so glad you don’t like mills and manufactories, and all those kind of things,’ said Fanny, in a half-whisper, as she rose to accompany her mother, who was taking leave of Mrs. Hale with rustling dignity.

      ‘I think I should like to know all about them, if I were you,’ replied Margaret quietly.

      ‘Fanny!’ said her mother, as they drove away, ‘we will be civil to these Hales: but don’t form one of your hasty friendships with the daughter. She will do you no good, I see. The mother looks very ill, and seems a nice, quiet kind of person.’

      ‘I don’t want to form any friendship with Miss Hale, mamma,’ said Fanny, pouting. ‘I thought I was doing my duty by talking to her, and trying to amuse her.’

      ‘Well! at any rate John must be satisfied now.’

      Chapter 13.

       A Soft Breeze in a Sultry Place

       Table of Contents

      ‘That doubt and trouble, fear and pain,

       And anguish, all, are shadows vain,

       That death itself shall not remain;

      That weary deserts we may tread,

       A dreary labyrinth may thread,

       Thro’ dark ways underground be led;

      Yet, if we will one Guide obey,

       The dreariest path, the darkest way

       Shall issue out in heavenly day;

      And we, on divers shores now cast,

       Shall meet, our perilous voyage past,

       All in our Father’s house at last!’

      R. C. TRENCH.

      Margaret flew up stairs as soon as their visitors were gone, and put on her bonnet and shawl, to run and inquire how Bessy Higgins was, and sit with her as long as she could before dinner. As she went along the crowded narrow streets, she felt how much of interest they had gained by the simple fact of her having learnt to care for a dweller in them.

      Mary Higgins, the slatternly younger sister, had endeavoured as well as she could to tidy up the house for the expected visit. There had been rough-stoning done in the middle of the floor, while the flags under the chairs and table and round the walls retained their dark unwashed appearance. Although the day was hot, there burnt a large fire in the grate, making the whole place feel like an oven. Margaret did not understand that the lavishness of coals was a sign

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