Elster's Folly by Mrs. Henry Wood (most important books to read TXT) 📖
- Author: Mrs. Henry Wood
Book online «Elster's Folly by Mrs. Henry Wood (most important books to read TXT) 📖». Author Mrs. Henry Wood
You It Was Lord Hartledon. And If Harm Doesn't Befall Him At Calne, As
Shadowed Forth In My Dream, Never Believe Me Again."
"There, That's Enough," Peremptorily Cried The Clerk; Knowing, If Once
Mrs. Gum Took Up Any Idea With A Dream For Its Basis, How Impossible It
Was To Turn Her. "Is The Key Of That Kitchen Door Found Yet?"
"No: It Never Will Be, Gum. I've Told You So Before. My Belief Is, And
Always Has Been, That Rebecca Let It Drop By Accident Into The Waste
Bucket."
"_My_ Belief Is, That Rebecca Made Away With It For Her Own Purposes,"
Said The Clerk. "I Caught Her Just Now With The Door Wide Open. She's
Trying To Make Acquaintance With The Man Pike; That's What She's At."
"Oh, Gum!"
"Yes; It's All Very Well To Say 'Oh, Gum!' But If You Were Below-Stairs
Looking After Her, Instead Of Dreaming Up Here, It Might Be Better For
Everyone. Let Me Once Be Certain About It, And Off She Goes The Next
Hour. A Fine Thing 'Twould Be Some Day For Us To Find Her Head Smothered
In The Kitchen Purgatory, And The Silver Spoons Gone; As Will Be The Case
If Any Loose Characters Get In."
He Was Descending The Stairs As He Spoke The Last Sentence, Delivered In
Loud Tones, Probably For The Benefit Of Miss Rebecca Jones. And Lest The
Intelligent Protestant Reader Should Fear He Is Being Introduced To
Unorthodox Regions, It May Be As Well To Mention That The "Purgatory" In
Mr. Jabez Gum's Kitchen Consisted Of An Excavation, Two Feet Square,
Under The Hearth, Covered With A Grating Through Which The Ashes And
The Small Cinders Fell; Thereby Enabling The Economical Housewife To
Throw The Larger Ones On The Fire Again. Such Wells Or "Purgatories," As
They Are Called, Are Common Enough In The Old-Fashioned Kitchens Of
Certain English Districts.
Mrs. Gum, Ready Now, Had Been About To Follow Her Husband; But His
Suggestion--That The Girl Was Watching An Opportunity To Make
Acquaintance With Their Undesirable Neighbour, Pike--Struck Her
Motionless.
It Seemed That She Could Never See This Man Without A Shiver, Or Overcome
The Fright Experienced When She First Met Him. It Was On A Dark Autumn
Night. She Was Coming Through The Garden When She Discerned, Or Thought
She Discerned, A Light In The Abandoned Shed. Thinking Of Fire, She
Hastily Crossed The Stile That Divided Their Garden From The Waste Land,
And Ran To It. There She Was Confronted By What She Took To Be A
Bear--But A Bear That Could Talk; For He Gruffly Asked Her Who She Was
And What She Wanted. A Black-Haired, Black-Browed Man, With A Pipe
Between His Teeth, And One Sinewy Arm Bared To The Elbow.
How Mrs. Gum Tore Away And Tumbled Over The Stile In Her Terror, And Got
Home Again, She Never Knew. She Supposed It To Be A Tramp, Who Had Taken
Shelter There For The Night; But Finding To Her Dismay That The Tramp
Stayed On, She Had Never Overcome Her Fright From That Hour To This.
Neither Did Her Husband Like The Proximity Of Such A Gentleman. They
Caused Securer Bolts To Be Put On Their Doors--For Fastenings In Small
Country Places Are Not Much Thought About, People Around Being
Proverbially Honest. They Also Had Their Shutters Altered. The Shutters
To The Windows, Back And Front, Had Holes In Them In The Form Of A
Heart, Such As You May Have Sometimes Noticed. Before The Wild-Looking
Man--Whose Name Came To Be Known As Pike--Had Been In Possession Of The
Shed A Fortnight, Jabez Gum Had The Holes In His Shutters Filled-In And
Painted Over. An Additional Security, Said The Neighbours: But Poor Timid
Mrs. Gum Could Not Overcome That First Fright, And The Very Mention Of
The Man Set Her Trembling And Quaking.
Nothing More Was Said Of The Dream Or The Apparition, Real Or Fancied, Of
Lord Hartledon: Clerk Gum Did Not Encourage The Familiar Handling Of Such
Topics In Everyday Life. He Breakfasted, Devoted An Hour To His Own
Business In The Little Office, And Then Put On His Coat To Go Out. It Was
Friday Morning. On That Day And On Wednesdays The Church Was Open For
Baptisms, And It Was The Clerk's Custom To Go Over At Ten O'clock And
Apprize The Rector Of Any Notices He Might Have Had.
Passing In At The Iron Gates, The Large White House Rose Before Him,
Beyond The Wide Lawn. It Had Been Built By Dr. Ashton At His Own
Expense. The Old Rectory Was A Tumbledown, Inconvenient Place, Always
In Dilapidation, For As Soon As One Part Of It Was Repaired Another
Fell Through; And The Rector Opened His Heart And His Purse, Both
Large And Generous, And Built A New One. Mr. Gum Was Making His Way
Unannounced To The Rector's Study, According To Custom, When A Door On
The Opposite Side Of The Hall Opened, And Dr. Ashton Came Out. He Was A
Pleasant-Looking Man, With Dark Hair And Eyes, His Countenance One Of
Keen Intellect; And Though Only Of Middle Height, There Was Something
Stately, Grand, Imposing In His Whole Appearance.
"Is That You, Jabez?"
Connected With Each Other For So Many Years--A Connection Which Had Begun
When Both Were Young--The Rector And Mrs. Ashton Had Never Called Him
Anything But Jabez. With Other People He Was Gum, Or Mr. Gum, Or Clerk
Gum: Jabez With Them. He, Jabez, Was The Older Man Of The Two By Six Or
Seven Years, For The Rector Was Not More Than Forty-Five. The Clerk
Crossed The Hall, Its Tessellated Flags Gleaming Under The Colours
Thrown In By The Stained Windows, And Entered The Drawing-Room, A Noble
Apartment Looking On To The Lawn In Front. Mrs. Ashton, A Tall,
Delicate-Looking Woman, With A Gentle Face, Was Standing Before A
Painting Just Come Home And Hung Up; To Look At Which The Rector And
His Wife Had Gone Into The Room.
It Was The Portrait Of A Sweet-Looking Girl With A Sunny Countenance. The
Features Were Of The Delicate Contour Of Mrs. Ashton's; The Rich Brown
Hair, The Soft Brown Eyes, And The Intellectual Expression Of The Face
Resembled The Doctor's. Altogether, Face And Portrait Were Positively
Charming; One Of Those Faces You Must Love At First Sight, Without
Waiting To Question Whether Or Not They Are Beautiful.
"Is It A Good Likeness, Jabez?" Asked The Rector, Whilst Mrs. Ashton Made
Room For Him With A Smile Of Greeting.
"As Like As Two Peas, Sir," Responded Jabez, When He Had Taken A Long
Look. "What A Face It Is! Oftentimes It Comes Across My Mind When I Am
Not Thinking Of Anything But Business; And I'm Always The Better For It."
"Why, Jabez, This Is The First Time You Have Seen It."
"Ah, Ma'am, You Know I Mean The Original. There's Two Baptisms To-Day,
Sir," He Added, Turning Away; "Two, And One Churching. Mrs. Luttrell And
Her Child, And The Poor Little Baby Whose Mother Died."
"Mrs. Luttrell!" Repeated The Rector. "It's Soon For Her, Is It Not?"
"They Want To Go Away To The Seaside," Replied The Clerk. "What About
That Notice, Sir?"
"I'll See To It Before Sunday, Jabez. Any News?"
"No, Sir; Not That I've Heard Of. My Wife Wanted To Persuade Me She
Saw--"
At This Moment A White-Haired Old Serving-Man Entered The Room With
A Note, Claiming The Rector's Attention. "The Man's To Take Back The
Answer, Sir, If You Please."
"Wait Then, Simon."
Old Simon Stood Aside, And The Clerk, Turning To Mrs. Ashton, Continued
His Unfinished Sentence.
"She Wanted To Persuade Me She Saw Young Lord Hartledon Pass At Six
O'clock This Morning. A Very Likely Tale That, Ma'am."
"Perhaps She Dreamt It, Jabez," Said Mrs. Ashton, Quietly.
Jabez Chuckled; But What He Would Have Answered Was Interrupted By The
Old Servant.
"It's Mr. Elster That's Come; Not Lord Hartledon."
"Mr. Elster! How Do You Know, Siildren's Bird Of Wisdom." They Are In The Form Of Quaint
Letters Of Advice, And My Sister Adopted The _Spectator's_ Method Of
Writing As An Eye-Witness In The First Person, So Far As Was Possible
In Addressing A Very Youthful Class Of Readers. She Had A Strong
Admiration For Many Of Both Steele And Addison's Papers.
* * * * *
The List That I Promised To Give Of Julie's Published Stories Is Now
Completed; And, If Her Works Are To Be Valued By Their Length, It May
Justly Be Said That She Has Not Left A Vast Amount Of Matter Behind
Her, But I Think That Those Who Study Her Writings Carefully, Will
Feel That Some Of Their Greatest Worth Lies In The Wonderful
Condensation And High Finish That They Display. No Reviewer Has Made A
More Apt Comparison Than The American One In _Every Other Saturday_,
Who Spoke Of "Jackanapes" As "An Exquisite Bit Of Finished Work--A
Meissonier, In Its Way."
To Other Readers The Chief Value Of The Books Will Be In The High
Purpose Of Their Teaching, And The Consciousness That Julie Held Her
Talent As A Direct Gift From God, And Never Used It Otherwise
Than To His Glory. She Has Penned Nothing For Which She Need Fear
Reproach From Her Favourite Old Proverb, "A Wicked Book Is All The
Wickeder Because It Can Never Repent." It Is Difficult For Those Who
Admire Her Writings To Help Regretting That Her Life Was Cut Off
Before She Had Accomplished More, But To Still Such Regrets We Cannot
Do Better Than Realize (As A Kind Friend Remarked) "How Much She Has
Been Able To Do, Rather Than What She Has Left Undone." The Work Which
She Did, In Spite Of Her Physical Fragility, Far Exceeds What The
Majority Of Us Perform With Stronger Bodies And Longer Lives. This
Reflection Has Comforted Me, Though I Perhaps Know More Than Others
How Many Subjects She Had Intended To Write Stories Upon. Some People
Have Spoken As If Her _Forte_ Lay In Writing About Soldiers Only, But
Her Success In This Line Was Really Due To Her Having Spent Much Time
Among Them. I Am Sure Her Imagination And Sympathy Were So Strong,
That Whatever Class Of Men She Was Mixed With, She Could Not Help
Throwing Herself Into Their Interests, And Weaving Romances About
Them. Whether Such Romances Ever Got On To Paper Was A Matter
Dependent On Outward Circumstances And The State Of Her Health.
One Of The Unwritten Stories Which I Most Regret Is "Grim The
Collier"; This Was To Have Been A Romance Of The Black Country Of
Coal-Mines, In Which She Was Born, And The Title Was Chosen From The
Description Of A Flower In A Copy Of Gerarde's _Herbal_, Given To Her
By Miss Sargant:--
_Hieracium Hortense Latifolium, Sine Pilosella Maior_, Golden
Mouseeare, Or Grim The Colliar. The Floures Grow At The Top As It
Were In An Vmbel, And Are Of The Bignesse Of The Ordinary
Mouseeare, And Of An Orenge Colour. The Seeds Are Round, And
Blackish, And Are Carried Away With The Downe By The Wind. The
Stalks And Cups Of The Flours Are All Set Thicke With A Blackish
Downe, Or Hairinesse, As It Were The Dust Of Coles; Whence The
Women Who Keepe It In Gardens For Novelties Sake, Have Named It
Grim The Colliar.
I Wish, Too, That Julie Could Have Written About Sailors, As Well As
Soldiers, In The Tale Of "Little Mothers' Meetings," Which Had Been
Suggested To Her Mind By Visits To Liverpool. The Sight Of A Baby
Patient In The Children's Hospital There, Who Had Been Paralyzed And
Made Speechless By Fright, But Who Took So Strange A Fancy To My
Sister's Sympathetic Face That He Held Her Hand And Could Scarcely Be
Induced To Release It, Had Affected Her Deeply. So Did A Visit That
She Paid One Sunday To The Seamen's Orphanage, Where She Heard The
Voices Of Hundreds Of Fatherless Children Ascending With One Accord In
The Words, "I Will Arise And Go To My Father," And Realized The Love
That Watched Over Them. These Scenes Were Both To Have Been Woven Into
The Tale, And The "Little Mothers" Were Boy Nurses Of Baby Brothers
And Senjoying Himself--But That Was Soon Glossed Over; And He Told Her How His
Brother Was Coming Down On The Morrow With A Houseful Of Guests, And He,
Val, Had Offered To Go Before Them With The Necessary Instructions. He
Did Not Say _Why_ He Had Offered To Do This; That His Debts Had Become So
Pressing He Was Afraid To Show Himself Longer In London. Such Facts Were
Not For The Ear Of That Fair Girl, Who Trusted Him As The Truest Man She
Knew Under Heaven.
"What Have You Been Doing, Anne?"
He Pointed To The Maps, And Miss Ashton Laughed.
"Mrs. Graves Was Here Yesterday; She Is Very Clever, You Know; And When
Something Was Being Said About The Course Of Ships Out Of England,
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