The Measure of a Man by Amelia Edith Huddleston Barr (the best motivational books TXT) 📖

our thoughts with them."

"I don't know about that, John. My thoughts were not heavenly at all today, and I hope they stayed where they belonged. Take the tongs, John, and lift a lump of coal to the fire. I joy to see the blaze. I wouldn't like Hatton hearthstone to have the ill luck that has just come to Yates Manor House. You know, John, the fire in their hall has been burning for nearly two hundred years, never, never allowed to go out. The young squire always fed it as soon as the old squire went away. It was dead and cold this morning. Yates is past comforting. He says it bodes all kinds of misfortunes to them."

"How long ago is it since Hatton Hall fire was lit?"

"Well, John, our fire isn't out of counting, like some of the old hearth fires in Yorkshire. But Hatton fire will never go out, John. It was lit by a man that will not die, nor his name perish forever. _Why-a!_ John Wesley kindled the fire on Hatton hearthstone."

"Say what you can about it, mother. My father has told me the story many a time, but I can never hear it too often."

"My dear lad, it was in the days of thy great-grandfather. One afternoon John Wesley came to Hatton and was met with honor and welcome. And word was sent far and near, to squire and farmer, hedger and ditcher. And at eight o'clock the good, great man stood up in Hatton's big barn in their midst. And he talked heavenly to them of Christ and of the love of God that was not willing that _any_ should perish, but that _all_ should come to repentance. Eh, my dear, he talked till men and women were weeping for joy and hope, and the big barn felt as if it was on fire. And that night John Wesley sat a long while with the Master of Hatton, and it was past midnight when they went to bed. But very early in the morning--before cocklight it was--your great-grandfather came downstairs to see that Wesley had a cup of tea before his early start onward. And he found the good man had already lit a fire and infused the tea, and then and there it was made the law of Hatton household that the fire John Wesley kindled there must never go out, but be a sign and covenant of good to the House of Hatton as long as there was a man in Hatton to carry it on." As she was talking Mrs. Hatton had put her basket of herbs on a little table, and with glowing cheeks she now bent her head and inhaled their refreshing odors. John was silent for a few moments, and profoundly touched by the old homely story; then he said,

"My dear mother, it may be a son of Harry's that will be so favored. Had we not better accept his marriage as pleasantly as we can? Lucy Lugur is a beautiful girl, and that big fervent Welshman who is her father has doubtless made her the image of all that God and man love in a woman."

"Maybe Lugur has done his best with her, but women see a long sight further into women than men do. I'll hev to seek and to find good reasons for Harry marrying so far below himself before I'll hev this or that to say or do with such an ill-sorted marriage. Now, John, get ready for thy dinner; none of us are going to do any waiting for a lad that thinks he can live on love."

John rose, smiling, and as he did so said, "Was that the way Methodism began, mother?"

"To be sure, it was. It began in the lanes and streets and in the barns and kitchens of old manor houses like Hatton Hall. Your great-grandfather used to say it was like a loud cry at midnight startling the sleepy world."

"It was the most picturesque domestic event of last century, as well as a religious----"

"Picturesque! I never thought of Methodism in that way, John; but I'll tell thee, it took the very heart of Yorkshire and set it to song and prayer--and cotton-spinning. It stopped a deal of gambling and racing and dog-and cock-fighting, and chapels and mills grew together all over the length and breadth of Yorkshire. They did that, and all that! I've heard my father say so many a time. Make haste now, my lad, dinner will spoil if tha keeps it waiting. Methodism is like enough to stand forever."

In this conversation Mrs. Hatton had dropped easily and naturally into the Yorkshire speech, as all Yorkshire people do when heart-touched. For Yorkshire is neither a dialect nor a patois; it is the pure English of a thousand years ago, the English Chaucer spoke, and which Yorkshire has preserved in all its purity--especially about the Craven district. Mrs. Hatton had gone through finishing schools of the latest fashion and she made no trips in her usual social conversation, unless deeply moved, but if a little Yorkshire was a fault, it was a very general one, and there was no interesting conversation without such lapses into English pure and undefiled and often startlingly picturesque and to the point.

When John had left her she took her herbs to the still room, laid them in their places, and removed the large white linen apron which covered her from head to feet. Then she stood beautifully gowned in black satin with fine thread-lace cuffs turned back nearly to the elbows and a large collar of the same lace fastened at the throat with a brooch of gold and diamonds. Her black hair was fashionably dressed and finished with a small cap of lace and pink ribbon, and her feet shod in black satin sandals--a splendid woman of fifty-three years old, showing every grace at its finest with as yet no sign of decay in any of them.

John gave her his arm proudly, but he noticed that her face clouded before she was seated. She would not ask as to Harry's whereabouts, but she missed his presence, and anger grew in her heart. "He is with that girl," she thought, and she was sick with anxiety and inquietude. The roast sirloin was done to the last perfect minute, and the Yorkshire pudding deliciously brown and light; the table was set without a flaw or a "forget," and the fire and light just as they should be. There was no obvious outlet for her annoyance, and it took away her appetite and made her silent.

John tried various interesting public topics--topics she had been eager about; but every allusion to them at this hour was scornfully received. Then he made a social effort. "I met Miss Phyllis Broadbent today, mother," he said.

"Where did you meet her?"

"She was walking past the mill."

"Waiting for you--and I'll warrant it."

"I would not say that much, mother. She was out collecting for the new cooking-school. She said she wanted to see you very much."

"And pray what for is she wanting to see me? I am not related to her. I owe her nothing. I'm not going to give her anything and I don't want to see her."

"I suppose she wants your help in this new charity she has on hand. She was very polite, and sent you all kinds of good wishes. There is no harm in good wishes, is there?"

"I'm not so sure of that. If Miss Phyllis gives her good wishes, there's no harm in them, but--but I don't want to buy them at any price. I'll tell you what it is, John--"

But she never told him at that hour, for as she spoke Harry Hatton opened the door and looked in. "I am wet--dripping wet, mother," he said. "The mizzling rain turned to a downpour when I was halfway up the hill, but I will be ready for dinner in twenty minutes."

"And I am not going to keep beef and pudding on the table twenty minutes for you, Harry."

"That's right, mother. I don't deserve it. Send it to the kitchen. I'll have some partridge and pastry when I come down."

He was gone before his mother's answer could leave her lips; but there was a light in her eyes and a tone in her voice that made her a different woman as she said, "We will not talk of Miss Lugur tonight, John. There is plenty else to talk about. She is non-essential, and I believe in the man who said, 'Skip the non-essentials.'"

This proposal was carried out with all John's wisdom and kindness. He kept the conversation on the mill or on subjects relating to Harry's proposed journey until there was a sudden silence which for a moment or two no one appeared able to break. It was Mrs. Hatton who did so, and with a woman's instinct she plunged at once into a subject too sacred to dispute.

"My dear Harry," she said, in her clear vibrant voice, "my dear lad, John and I have just been talking of Wesley and how he came to light our hearthstone. You see, poor Squire Yates' fire went out last night."

"Never! Surely never, mother!"

"It did, my dear. Yates has no son, he is old and forgetful, and his nephew, who is only a Ramsby, was at Thornton market race, and nobody thought of the fire, and so out it went. They do say the squire is dying today. Well, then, Hatton Hall has two sons to guard her hearth, and I want to tell you, Harry, how our fire was saved not thirty years ago. Your grandfather was then growing poor and poorer every year, and with a heavy heart he was think, think, thinking of some plan to save the dear old home.

"One morning your father was walking round the Woodleigh meadows, for he thought if we sold them, and the Woodleigh house, we might put off further trouble for a while and give Good Fortune time to turn round and find a way to help us. And as he was walking and thinking Ezra Topham met him. Now, then, Ezra and your father were chief friends, even from their boyhood, and their fathers before them good friends, and indeed, as you know the Yorkshire way in friendship, it might go back of that and that again. And Ezra said these very words,

"'Stephen, I'm going to America. My heart and hands were never made for trading and cotton-spinning. I hev been raised on the land. I hev lived on the land and eaten and drunk what the land gave me. All my forefathers did the same, and the noise and smell of these new-fangled factories takes the heart out of me. I hev a bit of brass left, and while I hev it I am going to buy me a farm where good land is sold by the acre and not by feet and inches. Now, then, I'll sell thee my mill, and its fifty looms, and heppen it may do cheerfully for thee what it will not do anyway for me. Will tha buy it?'"

"Poor chap!" interrupted Harry. "I know just how he felt. I am sorry for him."

"You needn't be anything of that sort, Harry. He is a big landowner now and a senator and a millionaire. So save thy pity for someone that needs it. As I was saying, he offered to sell his mill to thy father and thy father snapped at the offer, and it was settled there and then as they stood in Woodleigh