Chapter II: Our Own Fireside

FOR a time all went comfortably in the neat home of Matthew Hill and his thrifty wife, who imagined herself profited by the good advice of her mistress, while, in fact, few things occurred to test the reality of improvement in her temper. She had good health and her own way, and it is hard indeed if people cannot be good-tempered under such circumstances. It might happen occasionally that "nasty showers" took liberties with the nice clean clothes that hung to dry in the little garden, or a "stupid iron" made itself too hot at the bars; but the shower did not care for rude remarks upon its untimely interference, and the iron could do nothing but stand its ground quietly until it and its mistress got cool again. So Mrs. Hill under such and similar provocations always had both first and last word, and nobody seemed any the worse.

The first interruption to a species of selfishness in the order of her house and her time came in so pretty a form that Mrs. Hill could not possibly resent it, but no longer could she have so entirely her own way. With the beautiful bright eyes and the soft little hands came very stout lungs, and there was very soon no doubt who was master of the position.

"But, Matthew, we mustn't spoil him," said Jane one evening, as Matthew delightedly held a piece of sugar to the clamorous mouth, while Jane set the tea-table and broiled the savoury rasher.

"Oh no!" said Matthew, with a young father's smiling sense of his immense power over the tiny thing that sprawls helplessly in his arms. "Oh no, I hate spoiled children; but, dear me, he's sucked in the whole lump! Here, Jane, oh! What shall we do?"

And really it was an alarming question, the greedy baby was nearly choked, and got very dark in the face. Jane screamed and rushed to seize him, with a slap on his back and a violent shake, while Matthew, the picture of horror, stammered out an inquiry whether he should run for a doctor.

"Yes, no, stop a bit," said Jane; "oh dear, he's better now."

And she gave a sigh of relief as the sugar scratched its way down to dissolve at leisure, and the child, breathing again, made the most of his grievance.

Poor Matthew felt as if he could knock his own head off for his awkwardness, but a flush rose up to his very brow when Jane repulsed him from caressing the recovered sufferer, calling him "clumsy," and "a fool," and "not fit to touch anything so tender as an infant."

Mr. Hill did not care for his tea then, and sat moodily silent while his wife rocked her baby and herself with noisy vigour by the fireside. But at last, allowing generously for the roused instincts of maternal feeling over a suffering child, he tried to think no more of her insulting language, and to bring things round again to harmony and comfort.

But, nevertheless, mischief was done. Jane had shown what she could say and be; and her husband, while kindly forgiving, could not wholly forget it. He loved his babe as dearly as she did, and if he did not handle it with the same thoughtful care, it was not through wilful negligence, but simply through ignorance; and there is a wide difference between the two.

During three or four years many such interruptions to domestic concord occurred, and disagreements became more serious on both sides. Then Jane would go in tears to her former mistress, whose kind offices were exerted to reconcile differences, and again there was peace for a time, Matthew protesting that, if Jane would but keep her temper, there would not be a better wife in all the land, nor a kinder, soberer husband than himself.

It was during one of these lulls in the doubtful elements that Matthew came in one evening from work more than usually kind and pleasant. Tea was soon ready, and with face and hands clean through that self-respect which belongs to a true gentleman, even if he be a working man, he sat down to his own table.

Mrs. Hill looked round proud and happy, and thought that the scene before her really was as pretty a picture as any that could adorn a book. There was her good-looking husband, and little Josy with his picture-cards building up a house on his low table, and Bessy with little fat hands trying to help him, and a baby, plump and happy, dozing in the cradle, and a clean hearth and shining irons, and a very well-conducted cat, tolerated not because Mrs. Hill had much regard for cats, but because it amused the children, and never returned their rough caresses with any but velvet paws and approving purrs.

Surely it was a scene to enjoy, and to set forth "home," an Englishman's home, and to endear the country where such scenes can be, and to make life worth the toil and industry that maintains it in honour and peace.

Who should dare to intrude into this little "castle" to disturb the comfort of its lord, to ruffle the brow of its lady, and frighten its little olive-branches? Who indeed! Certainly nobody, and nothing that could get in at the door. But there are other ways of access to the fireside of a house, a respectable English house, and one is, down the chimney.

The little family sat enjoying their comfort, all the more, perhaps, that a storm had arisen without, and wind blew and rain pattered, making the contrast more striking. Suddenly there came thump, bump, and clatter down that chimney, and in an instant, a fierce blaze in the fire and a cloud of soot and smoke burst from the grate, covering with a dusky mantle everything within the room.

Matthew Hill started, Mrs. Hill groaned, the elder children shouted, and the baby screamed with fright at the noises they made. All was confusion and dismay.

Mrs. Hill was the first to break forth in another key. "Did ever anybody see such a thing? It's a nasty brick, I do declare, come right down the chimney! Where's baby's porridge? Oh, it's as black as soot! Oh dear, what shall I do? Stand still, Josy, don't you see the mess? Matthew, do lift them out of the room. Get the brush. Bessy, stop that baby's crying, I can't bear the noise. Get out of the way, all of you. Oh dear, you're all as black as tinkers, and my nice clean room too. Do look! Oh, I shall go wild. Stand still; don't set your feet in the nasty soot. Matthew, you're doing nothing—men have no sense; don't stand staring at me, man, get out of my way—you'll only make bad worse."

And between the red of anger and the black of soot, poor Mrs. Hill really was getting rather distressing to look at.

What a change came down that chimney! Was it possible that any one could enjoy such a scene? Yes, Mr. and Mrs. Hill had an enemy, and he enjoyed it immensely. From the very beginning of married life in Paradise, there was one who hated its beauty and delighted to ruin its happiness, and he began his scheme with the wife. He saw her great power for good or for evil over the man to whom she was given, with tender consideration, as the best of all his blessings, and he persuaded her to use it for evil. And ever since that fatal day, he has been busy in every Eden where love and happiness seek their home.

It must be confessed that soot is a very unmanageable visitor, and if bricks of a restless turn incline to ramble, soot is too ready to join in the fun, and down they come together, as if resolved to play out the game at a comfortable fireside. Brick, however, has the worst of it, and, having merely stirred up soot, is obliged to lie like a lump of burnt clay where it fell, quite incapable of further demonstration. But not so soot; soot is of a volatile character, and remarkably frisky; no sooner down than up again with the smallest encouragement from any puff that comes in to see what is the matter, and with every fling of poor Mrs. Hill's arms and every flourish of her brush started up with a defiant whirligig to settle down in another spot, and leave its impression in some other form.

Let housewives say what they please, it is better to be gentle with soot. There are two very awkward neighbours in a crowd, a sweep and a miller, and the more politely you make way for them, the better for you.

Howbeit Mrs. Hill was not now in a mood to be polite to anything, and, instead of treating the intruder gently and calmly, she seemed bent on drawing out its most mischievous propensities.

It danced and popped about as if enjoying its escape from the chimney, made black kisses on the children's cheeks, dotted their hair, nestled in the baby's blankets, and all in such light fashion that a shake or two would have prevented any very disastrous effects of the liberty.

But Mrs. Hill had a heavy hand as well as a hasty temper, two things that soot seems to enjoy defying, and so the battle raged between them for two or three hours.

Chased from one place it alighted in another, and when Mrs. Hill pounced upon her tantalising foe, it took revenge in such a trail of blackness as left no doubt what had been there.

There was no comfort now by "our own fireside;" the children went shivering to bed, and blackened the sheet in their haste to get out of their mother's way. Matthew having made several efforts to help, and been snubbed and abused for meddling, went to look out at his door because there was no seat within which he dared venture to take at present. The baby got very cross, and was scolded and petted by turns, and altogether the lights that twinkled in the distance through the mist gave a sort of hint that warmth and welcome might be found more conveniently just now at "The Crown." So Matthew slipped quietly out, and felt freer and bolder in the air.

Alas for the brick that came down the chimney!

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