Chapter V: A Danger Escaped

MRS. SIMMONS gave Janet Humphrey a little more good advice still, before she had done with her: and Janet took the good advice humbly. For whatever Janet's faults might be, she had not among them the silly pride which will not bear to be told of being in the wrong.

"I am sure I wish I could do better," she said, standing at the open door with Betsy Simmons, when the latter was about to leave. "I don't pretend to say everything is as it should be. But it isn't so easy to keep straight as some folks fancy."

"No, that it isn't," said Mrs. Simmons. "I'm on your side of the matter there. It isn't easy to get out of bad habits and into good ones. A deal of striving and praying have to go to it."

"Why, Mrs. Simmons, you wouldn't surely have me pray about keeping my house straight!"

"And about getting up early, and having the rooms clean, and the children tidy, and the meals comfortable! Surely I would," said Betsy Simmons. "I don't see that you're likely to get things right without praying. You've a deal to fight against—laziness and forgetfulness and what-not! And you'll want help from above, if ever a woman does."

"But such little things," remonstrated Janet.

"Ah, that's where you mistake," said Mrs. Simmons. "That's where you and others go wrong. They are not little things at all, but big things. It don't seem so very much, perhaps, if one day or another you don't get done in time, and the place is all of a muck, and the children are in a mess, and the dinner isn't properly cooked, and your husband goes somewhere else for the comfort he can't find in his own house. Maybe each time it's a small matter alone. But it's no small matter if you stop short of your duty in that state of life where God has put you. And it won't be a small matter, if your husband is driven from his home so often that at last he takes to the public-house instead."

"My husband isn't one of them as is for ever in and out at the public," said Janet hastily, forgetting her own lately-expressed fear.

"Maybe not, but he isn't one that never goes there. Mind you don't give him a push down hill with your own hand, Mrs. Humphrey. A man won't commonly stand more than a certain amount and degree of uncomfortableness. I can tell you I didn't like the look in his face to-day, as I saw him coming away from your door."

Janet felt uneasy.

"I'll try—I will really try," she said. "I shouldn't like that. He's so steady mostly, I didn't somehow think there was danger he'd ever turn to being anything else."

"The more steady he is, the more shame he shouldn't have a cosy house to sit quiet in," said Mrs. Simmons.

"I'll try," repeated Janet. "I'll do things different. And you'll come in sometimes, and tell me how, won't you?"

"I'm glad enough to help anyone I can," said Betsy Simmons. "But it's other help than mine you'll need to keep straight. Now, if I was you, Mrs. Humphrey, I'd see to having everything nice, and the children off to bed early, before he comes back again. Don't let him find you in a mess a second time."

"But Tommy don't like being sent to bed early."

"And if he don't, what then?"

"Why, he'll scream," said Janet.

"That's soon settled," said Mrs. Simmons. "Tuck him up, and he'll soon scream himself out. All the more need to have it over while your husband's away. And if I was you, Mrs. Humphrey, I'd put the little ones to sleep every evening before he comes back from work, until they've learnt to go off quiet without any screaming. It'll be the best lesson they ever had yet."

"But they won't—" began Janet.

"Talk of 'won't' about a parcel of babies!" said Mrs. Simmons. "I'll tell you what,—I never yet saw the child, big or little, who couldn't be mastered, if one knew how to do it. You needn't think it's a matter of scolding and storming. The gentler you speak the better, so as only you make a child understand that you mean what you say. But if your children's 'won't' is stronger than your 'must,'—why, all I can say is, you're scarce fit to be a mother. You'd best send them away, and pay somebody else to do the bringing up for you."

"I never could bear to see a child unhappy," said Janet.

"Yes, yes. I know the feeling. It sounds a deal kinder than it really is. So you don't mind bearing to see your husband unhappy, and you let them do just whatever they like, never thinking of the misery they'll be in after life to themselves and others,—and thinking least of all of the Life that's to come, and whether your children are to be happy then or not. That isn't tender-heartedness. It's downright cruelty."

"I hope it'll all come right with them," Janet said uneasily.

"I hope so too, but I don't see as you've much reason to expect it. If you don't train them up now in the way they should go, it isn't very likely they'll take to walking in it by-and-by."

Janet was not offended by Mrs. Simmons's plain speaking. She said again that she would "try;" and when Betsy Simmons was gone she returned indoors.

"Mother, do you like Mrs. Simmons?" asked Janey, in a doubtful voice, as Janet began to undress the baby.

"Yes, she's good and she's true," Janet answered. "She says a sharp word sometimes, but she don't mean it unkindly. Janey, I wonder if you couldn't help me now, by getting Willie ready. I want to have him and Tommy and baby in bed, against father comes back. And you've got to smooth your hair too."

Janey entered into the spirit of the thing with astonishing quickness. Tommy was, as usual, the most troublesome, and Janet kept him in her own hands. He always kicked and cried while being undressed, and generally he gained his will in the shape of repeated delays. This evening, to his infantine astonishment, the kicks and cries were of no avail. Janet was heated and sorry, but she persevered, and, to her surprise, Tommy was no sooner fairly in bed than he turned himself round and dropped asleep,—"sound as a top," Janey remarked.

"I am glad I went on," said Janet. "Now we'll pop Willie in, and baby will soon be off too. Dear me, I do think father will be pleased. He does like a bit of quiet."

Jem Humphrey presently reappeared, rather later than Janet had expected. She found time beforehand to put everything neatly away, and to spread the table for supper. There was only a half-loaf of stale bread, besides cheese. Not that they could not afford more; for Jem received good wages, and he seldom squandered money on himself: but Janet had not taken the trouble to prepare anything else. She had counted herself too busy, and had said that "things would do as they were." Now she was sorry that she had not managed better.

Jem looked moody and vexed still, and he sat down without a word. But as his eyes travelled round the kitchen, noting its unwonted order, marking the absence of noisy babies, and perceiving the clean cap on Janet's smooth hair—not often smooth, alas!—an expression of relief came over his face.

"Why, whatever in the world have you been after?" he asked. "I shouldn't know the place."

"Mrs. Simmons came in, and helped me to tidy up," said Janet.

"I wish she'd come every day," muttered Jem.

"She couldn't do that," said Janet. "But I do mean to try—really and truly, Jem. I don't mean to have things all of a mess, if I can help it. I know I've been wrong, and I'll try to make a difference from this very day."

Jem looked at Janet and said no more. He took a hunch of bread, and ate silently.

"I might have got you something warm. I wish I had," said Janet.

"Well, it's been cold comfort you've given me lately, there's no manner of doubt," said Jem. "I shouldn't have minded a hot potato or two,—and it wouldn't have been such a vast deal of trouble neither."

Janet made no answer to this, and supper progressed with the addition of very few remarks. When it was over he took to a book from the Parish Lending Library, and read diligently. Janet cleared the table, mindful still of Mrs. Simmons' exhortations, and presently the elder children were sent to bed. Jem was at length alone with his wife. He put down his book and looked at her.

"Janet, you're just in time," he said, and his voice was a little husky. "You're just in time, but it's only just. It was getting to be beyond bearing, and I was angry. I don't say I was in the right, but I do say things were getting to be beyond bearing. I haven't been to the public this evening, but I made up my mind I'd go to-morrow, and take to it every evening after, regular,—and I made up my mind I'd take a drop too much and pay you out. And I'd have done it too!"

Janet came nearer, a frightened look on her face.

"You won't go, Jem,—you won't do that," she faltered. "Promise me you won't."

"No, I won't," Jem answered, in a clear firm voice. "I won't, Janet,—and, God helping me, I'll never even mean to do it again. But I was near it to-day. I suppose there's a sort of evil spirit gets hold on a man once in a while. If I'd begun, there's no knowing where I'd have stopped."

"O Jem, I'll never forget," Janet said earnestly.