Chapter XXIV: The Rector's Wish

EXACTLY one quarter of an hour after Mrs. Mason's departure, there came a rap at the door. Mrs. Stuart went to open it. Outside stood a respectably dressed young woman, tall and plain-featured. The shawl drawn over her head in lieu of a bonnet marked her out as a "factory-girl."

Mrs. Stuart had a puzzled recollection of knowing the face, but she could attach no name to it. So she only stared solemnly at the new-comer, who returned the stare with interest, while demanding bluntly—

"Mrs. Mason here?"

"No," said Mrs. Stuart.

"Plague!" muttered the other. "And they told me she was."

"She's been here," said Mrs. Stuart.

"Where's she gone, then?"

"What's she wanted for?" asked Mrs. Stuart.

"One o' the Handcock children's been and pulled a kettle o' boiling water over, and got itself scalded. Nancy Dunn's in there, but Mrs. Dunn's out, and Nancy thought Mrs. Mason 'ud help best. So I said I'd fetch her, and they told me she was come here."

"Why, whatever in the world was the mother about not to look after the child?" demanded Mrs. Stuart.

"Mrs. Handcock? She's off at the factory all day."

"More shame for her!" said Mrs. Stuart. "With four babies to look after, and a husband getting good wages."

"Well, she is—and the children's locked up at home commonly. Nancy heard the screams, and called help, and the door was broke open somehow. They had a job to get in. The child's badly hurt."

"I shouldn't wonder if Mrs. Mason was—what's your name?" inquired Mrs. Stuart.

"I'm Bess Gardiner." The girl's freckled face coloured up.

"You Bess Gardiner! I never! Why, I shouldn't have known you."

"That's what I am," said Bess hardily.

"I shouldn't have known you, anyway," repeated Mrs. Stuart.

"It's Nancy's doing," said Bess.

"What's her doing?"

"Me!" said Bess curtly. "If I'm different, it's all Nancy."

"You ain't a friend of Nancy Dunn's!" said Mrs. Stuart, with a toss of her head.

Bess flashed out, understanding more than Mrs. Stuart would have expected—

"No—that's what I'm not. You're right there. I'm not good enough to be Nancy's friend. But she's the best friend to me ever I had in all my life. She don't cock up her head and look down upon everybody as isn't as good as herself. She just takes 'em by the hand, and helps 'em on. If it hadn't been for Nancy—" Bess came to a stop. "But I've no business waiting here. You can't tell me where I'm to find Mrs. Mason?"

"No, I can't," said Mrs. Stuart.

"Might as well ha' told me so at first!" And Bess dashed away.

Mrs. Stuart made no effort to detain Bess further. She went back to her seat and her darning.

Not, however, to remain long undisturbed. Visitors were plentiful this day. Another rap at the door—gentler in kind than the last—drew Mrs. Stuart thither again.

"May I come in?" asked the Rector's pleasant tones.

Mrs. Stuart backed before him in a flutter of pleasure. As Archie had said, she "set great store" by Mr. Wilmot. A call from him made a red-letter day in her calendar. Mr. Wilmot was a thorough gentleman, never more so than in the homes of working-men, and his kind considerate courtesy had long ago won Mrs. Stuart's heart. Immediately her eyes fell on him, she made up her mind not to speak as yet about the scalded child, lest he should instantly start off for the Handcocks' cottage.

"Pray do come in, sir," said Mrs. Stuart, with an air of much alacrity, dusting a chair which required no dusting.

Mr. Wilmot found his way to it, with a faint smile of response. He looked very pale and weary, and for two or three seconds he did not speak. Mrs. Stuart watched him in an uneasy fashion.

"I'm afraid you're ill, sir," she said at length.

"Not very well," Mr. Wilmot answered. "Would it trouble you much, Mrs. Stuart, to give me a cup of tea?"

Trouble her! Mrs. Stuart was delighted. She put back the kettle on the coals, brought out china and teapot anew, and cut some delicate slices of thin bread-and-butter, disregarding Mr. Wilmot's assurances that he wanted nothing to eat.

Then she stood by the fire, waiting till the kettle should boil. Mrs. Stuart was far too good a housewife to make tea from a singing but not boiling kettle.

Mr. Wilmot leant back in the big wooden easy-chair, as silent as herself. Mrs. Stuart, unlike Annie, knew illness when she saw it, and she was much struck with his air of exhaustion. It seemed so unlike Mr. Wilmot. Generally when he came in he was bright and chatty, asking her about all her interests and belongings.

"I'm afraid you've been very bad sir, lately," she said. "There's a good many of us have seen it. You've lost a deal of flesh."

Hardly any answer came to this. The water was boiling at last—evidenced by the straight rush of steam from the spout and by the dancing lid. A few minutes more, and Mr. Wilmot was gratefully sipping a cup of excellent tea.

"You certainly are an adept in the art of tea making," he said.

"And I'm sure I'm proud to make it for you; sir," asserted Mrs. Stuart, with a geniality of manner which would have astonished many of those acquaintances who knew her only as a human icicle. An icicle needs to be thawed before it can possibly become warm; and not many people in Littleburgh possessed such thawing powers as Mr. Wilmot.

"Sit down, Mrs. Stuart. Pray don't stand," he said kindly.

Mrs. Stuart complied.

"And you'll eat something—won't you now?" she entreated. "My bread's every bit home-made, and I'll answer for it as it's wholesome. You do look better for the tea, sir, already. I didn't like to see you as you was when you come in."

"Mrs. Stuart, if you see my daughter, don't mention this to her," said Mr. Wilmot. "She is anxious enough already."

"No, sir. She'd need be anxious, I'm sure," said Mrs. Stuart, unaware that it is often by no means the height of wisdom to tell an invalid how ill he is looking. "For I don't know as I ever did see anybody change for the worse, sir, in a few months, as you've done—and you as used to be so strong! Why, you've grown as thin! And not a bit of strength in you."

"Not very much sometimes," admitted Mr. Wilmot. Then with a grave smile he added, "But isn't it a happy thing to be able to say, not only 'To live is Christ!' but also 'To die is gain!'"

"Mercy, sir! You're not a-going to die," exclaimed Mrs. Stuart, though she had often of late asserted a belief in the fatal nature of Mr. Wilmot's illness.

"That neither you nor I can tell. It will be as my Master wills. If He calls me, I am ready."

"But, sir—"

Mrs. Stuart stopped. Something in his look affected her strangely. She might talk to others in a glib style about his failing health, assuming to possess a gift of foresight, yet all the while not fully believing her own words. To hear him speak thus was another matter. A lump in her throat checked utterance.

"It matters little—if one is ready—whether the call Home comes a few years earlier or later," mused Mr. Wilmot. "But—if one were not ready—"

"I'm sure," said Mrs. Stuart huskily—"I'm sure it wasn't that as I meant, though I did say to Mrs. Mason as I'd never seen nobody so changed, and Mrs. Mason said—she says—"

Actually a tear rolled down Mrs. Stuart's cheek, and fell on her lap. Ashamed, she turned away her head.

"My kind old friend!" Mr. Wilmot said quickly, touched by the sight. "But I did not mean to distress you, Mrs. Stuart. I was speaking then in general terms—about you or me or anybody; not about myself alone. The call may come to any one among us, any day; and I should like to feel that you and all are indeed ready for it."

Then passing naturally to another subject, he asked, "How is Archie?"

"He's well, sir," said Mrs. Stuart, heaving a deep sigh.

"Getting on at the works?"

"Yes, sir."

"And a good son to you, Mrs. Stuart?"

"Yes, sir." Mrs. Stuart's tone grew more dubious, and also harder. "I don't complain."

"Have you anything to complain of?"

"He's got his faults," said Mrs. Stuart stiffly.

"Why, yes—he would hardly be human if he had not," said Mr. Wilmot, smiling. "What of his liking for bright little Nancy Dunn?"

Mrs. Stuart's face became grim. All softness and geniality had died out of it.

"She is a good girl, Mrs. Stuart," said the Rector.

"She ain't the sort for me!" said Mrs. Stuart.

"I am sorry for that. She seems to me just the sort for your Archie."

Mrs. Stuart was silent.

"Another person can, perhaps, hardly judge for a mother in such a matter," observed Mr. Wilmot. "But take care, Mrs. Stuart. It is a serious responsibility for you to refuse your consent, if there is not a sufficient reason. I have wished for some time to have a few words with you on this subject."

"Yes, sir," said Mrs. Stuart, with unsmiling visage.

"Don't count it interference on my part. You and I are old friends, and I am thinking about your son's happiness. Archie is, I do believe, earnestly seeking now to serve God; and Nancy Dunn is one who would help him on in the right path. If you stop the thing altogether, Archie's next fancy may be for a very different kind of girl. I want you to think over the idea. Archie is no longer a child at your knee, and sooner or later he must decide for himself. I hope he will not go against your will; but it is very important that your will should be distinctly on the right side. Probably years may pass before Archie will be in a condition to marry. Meantime, I can scarcely fancy any greater help in keeping him steady, than that he should be engaged to such a girl as Nancy."

Mrs. Stuart was silent.

"Come, you will reconsider the matter, perhaps," said Mr. Wilmot, standing up. "Second thoughts are often best. Thank you very much for your nice tea. I must not wait longer, for somebody has appointed to see me at home. Good-bye, Mrs. Stuart."

"Good-bye, sir," said Mrs. Stuart.

Mr. Wilmot turned back on the threshold to say in a kind tone—"I wish you would give your consent."

Then he was gone.