Wy /
 
 WOOERS AND WINNERS; 
 
 OR, 
 
 UNDER THE SCARS. 
 VOL. I.
 
 WOOERS AO WINNERS; 
 
 OK, 
 
 UNDER THE SCARS. 
 
 % gorhsl/vrc Storn. 
 
 Br 
 
 MRS. G. LINN^US BANKS 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 "THE MANCHESTER MAN," 
 "GOD'S PROVIDENCE HOUSE," 
 
 &c., &c. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1880. 
 
 All riffhts reserved.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 TKINTED BT DUNCAN MACDONALD, 
 
 BLKNHEIM HOUSE.
 
 V. 1 
 
 WOOEES AKD WmNERS. 
 
 :^^ 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 \i^ AB INITIO. 
 
 IN all the land there is no district more 
 romantic and picturesque than that 
 section of the West Riding of Yorkshire 
 where the great Pennine chain is broken up 
 into rugged grandeur and beauty by what is 
 ^ known to geologists as the " Craven fault." 
 ^ It has been so much the fashion for 
 
 
 
 seekers of the picturesque to rush to the 
 Continent in search of it that it is question- 
 able whether, barring the geologists, the 
 parish of Giggleswick was not a terra in- 
 ^> cognita to all but a few antiquaries, artists, 
 
 A'^OL. I. B
 
 2 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 and anglers, a scholar here and there, and 
 traders in luue, yarn, or cattle, until very 
 recent days. But now that the word Settle, 
 in bold characters on railway placards, stares 
 the summer excursionist in the face from 
 dead walls and hoardings, it is probable 
 that the irregular village in a nook of the 
 road at the foot of the grey limestone scars, 
 as well as the town overhung by craggy 
 Castleberg, will see an influx of tourists of all 
 sorts and conditions, and not a few of those 
 vandals who chip off stalactites from caves, 
 and write their unheroic names to deface 
 the grander one Nature herself had written 
 before their ancestors had names at all. 
 
 In times far remote in the mists of ages 
 those limestone scars, now towering above 
 a good higli-road like a protective rampart, 
 confronted a bold sea, or rose from out its 
 depths, an agglomeration of marine concre- 
 tions and mollusca. 
 
 But that must have been lonsj ^ons before 
 those Anglo-Saxon days when the Ebbing- 
 and-FlowinfT well at their base suoftrested in 
 
 o Co 
 
 its mysterious rise and fall a reason for
 
 AB INITIO. 3 
 
 piety to found the Guglesvic church and 
 parish, whither pilgrims might be drawn to 
 witness a miracle, and — leave pious contri- 
 butions for the rood-priest ; those days, 
 when more was known of St. Alkald, to 
 whom the church is dedicated, than is 
 known now, when we have to fall back on 
 old records to establish the merest figments 
 of ancient fact. 
 
 Thus it is we find that a certain Alice 
 De Percy and her son, Allan De Morville, 
 made a gift to Henry Pudsey of all the 
 lands in Settle, and the church of Giggles- 
 wick. Again, we learn that in the reign of 
 Stephen the church was appropriated to the 
 cell of Finchale. Now, Finchale Abbey 
 was founded by Hugh Pudsey, Bishop of 
 Durham, who also dedicated a church at 
 Bishop-Middleham to St. Alkald, and 
 there the saint is represented in a stained 
 glass window as a female being cruelly 
 strangled with a kerchief by two men. And 
 thus by induction we arrive at the two 
 facts, that the St. Alkald, to whom Giggles- 
 wick parish was dedicated was a woman 
 
 B 2
 
 4 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 and a martyr, and therewith must rest 
 content. 
 
 Obscure and out-of-the-way as this vil- 
 lage, hid amono-st the crasfs and wolds of 
 old Craven, must have been when roads 
 were few and wilds were trackless, some 
 importance unknown to us must have at- 
 tached to it, or to the well from which it 
 presumably owed its origin, for in the reign 
 of Henry V^II. the little Anglo-Saxon church 
 needed expansion or restoration, or some- 
 thinf^f of the kind, and the existing long- 
 bodied stone edifice, with a square tower 
 and square windows, rose on its site. And 
 then, or later, there must have been a 
 goodly congregation to make a gallery a 
 necessity. And art must have been latent 
 in the pious worshippers, or the two-decked 
 oaken pulpit would never have displayed 
 those curious panels symbolic of the twelve 
 tribes, said to have been carved by the rude 
 dalesmen in the long evenings of winter. 
 Somethinc^ there nmst have been of more 
 than common import about this sequestered 
 dale, whether of priestly or lordly influence,
 
 AB INITIO. O 
 
 or popular superstition, else wherefore 
 should Edward VI. in his short reicfn have 
 left his royal signet on the spot in the char- 
 ter of a Grammar School? And wherefore 
 should that school be free and open to the 
 children of the ivide luorld, if the world 
 knew nothing of the site ? 
 
 Know nothing of the site ! Think you 
 that he who first discovered in the dense 
 forest that marvel of a well which would 
 in a few minutes fill and empty, rise and 
 fall, many feet or few, without apparent 
 cause, and who gave to the well a patron 
 saint and a church, meant the marvel to be 
 unknown ? The halo round the head of 
 St. Alkald would thenceforth shine above 
 the well, and brightest when the night of 
 ignorance was deepest. No sage had then 
 dreamed of " natural syphons," or traced 
 the mystery to a scientific cause. And 
 much as our " Ladv of Lourdes " attracts 
 the multitude in these days, so would the 
 fame of that ebbing-and-flowing well in- 
 crease ; and so to that mysterious well under 
 the scars may be traced, not only the name
 
 6 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 of the parish of Giggleswick (which holds 
 Settle in its arms), but of its ancient church 
 aud its grammar school, chartered for the 
 behoof of the world. 
 
 And as church, school, and village, with 
 their pertainings, may be said to have 
 bubbled up out of that well in lapse of 
 ages, so by analogy may this story I am 
 simply putting to paper have bubbled up 
 from its depths also, for thereabouts it had 
 its rise. 
 
 The Skipton coach was late on the even- 
 ing of Saturday, the 6th of February, 1830,. 
 and to one impatient traveller it seemed 
 later than it really was. He had left Boar 
 Lane, Leeds, at six in the morning, in a 
 brisk, clear, sharp frost, which made his 
 young blood tingle, and inspired a contempt 
 for the indulgence of an inside seat. 
 
 So he mounted to the box-seat beside the 
 coachman, who was an old acquaintance, 
 and being well wrapped up in a thick drab 
 cloth overcoat, which came to his heels, and 
 had a small cape to cover his shoulders 
 (almost a counterpart of the coachman's
 
 AB INITIO. 7 
 
 own), having his legs cased in Wellington 
 boots, and in his pockets, by way of reserve, 
 a pair of woollen gloves and a warm muffa- 
 tee, both knitted by kind sisterly fingers ; 
 he seemed to have made a sensible choice, 
 although he had a longj ride before him, and 
 no cheer}'' prospect at the far end. 
 
 Allan Earnshaw was at that a2;e when 
 youth aspires to be something more than 
 boy, and yet has the consciousness that 
 manhood has not even dawned. There is 
 nothing more plucky or manly than the boy 
 of fifteen, if he has right aspirations within 
 him, and has not been coddled ; and he 
 would have felt it womanish to don his 
 mufiler and gloves, had not the coachman 
 given him a hint in the business-like way he 
 wound a shawl round his own throat, and 
 drew on his fleecy-lined leather gauntlets. 
 
 Equally unmanly would he have thought 
 it to let the load of anxiety on his young 
 heart be seen, so the man launched out into 
 themes of his own, touching every now and 
 then on topics familiar to both, in the days 
 — not so long past — when Allan had been a
 
 8 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 Giggleswick scholar, ready to join in a 
 "Whoop, hurrah!" as the stage bowled off 
 from the " Hart's Head," along the high 
 road, and on under the scars, until the dust 
 or the mist shut it from sight of the lads 
 seated on the stile across which lay the way 
 to the Grammar School. 
 
 Sharp and exhilarating the air, dry and 
 hard the roads, out of which the horses' 
 hoofs struck fiery sparks, as they dashed 
 along, with barely a flick of the long whip. 
 But as those hoofs trod down the miles, and 
 other horses took their place, change seemed 
 to come with the chaniie of steeds. There 
 was a yellow aspect in the sky overhead at 
 Otley, then a fine, powdery snow-dust sifted 
 down, and soon they were in the midst of 
 whirling flakes, and the nearer they drew to 
 Ilkley the deeper lay the snow, in the hol- 
 lows and on the high moorlands, thick and 
 white, and the little beck, which at that date 
 ran uncovered through the one straggling 
 street, was swollen and turbulent. It was 
 hard work then for the panting steeds, for 
 the snow clogged the wheels, and the pas-
 
 AB INITIO. 9 
 
 sengers had to alight here and there to help 
 the heavy vehicle through the drifts, at 
 which there was some grumbling and growl- 
 ing on the part of one or two comfortable 
 and burly insiders, and stronger language 
 than was at all necessary ; but a middle- 
 aged man, whose shaggy eyebrows caught 
 the falling snow, shamed them out of their 
 inaction by his own energy of speech and 
 manner. 
 
 " Come, come, my friends," cried he, 
 " oaths are lame horses ; push along with a 
 will. Jupiter didn't help the waggon out 
 of the rut till the waggoner put his own 
 strength to the wheel." 
 
 " That's right, my lad, never loiter when 
 there's a duty to be done," addressing Allan, 
 who had come from the back of the coach, 
 to grasp the spokes of the fore-wheel, the 
 speaker having breast and hands against the 
 hind one. " Pull away, boy, with a will ; 
 there are little flakes as well as big ones in 
 the sum-total of this drift. Combination 
 does it, and no good effort's ever w/iolly 
 lost ; wAolly, I say, my lad ; remember that.
 
 10 WOOERS AND WINJ^ERS. 
 
 And remember, too, that little faults and 
 little vices are like snow-flakes — they ma}^ 
 be soft and small, but they heap up insidi- 
 ously till they choke the road of life." 
 
 His words had poured forth in a con- 
 tinuous stream, only checked by the in- 
 voluntary grunts which ever accompany 
 pushing and straining, and now, as if to 
 verify his motto that "no good effort's 
 wholly lost," their combined efforts set the 
 coach free, and the wheels had a roll of their 
 own. 
 
 "Tak' your pleaces, gen'lemen, an' thenk 
 ye!" cried Joe Barnes, the coachman, over 
 the folds of his muffler. There was a sen- 
 eral scramble outside and in, the horses set 
 off again over the snowy ground, and the 
 travellers, whose blood had been set in circu- 
 lation by the exercise, found example con- 
 tagious, and their tongues in motion, too. 
 
 At first the conversation was confined to 
 the snowfall, with its possible duration, and 
 consequent effect on traffic and the markets, 
 with uncomfortable fears that Skipton mar- 
 ket would be half over before they got
 
 AfJ INITIO. lli 
 
 there, at the snail's pace they were going. 
 Then two or three burly individuals, of" the 
 wealthy farmer and grazier type, launched 
 into questions of crops and fleeces, oxen 
 and heifers, in so broad a vernacular, and 
 so exclusive a technicality, that even our 
 earnest friend of the shaggy eyebrows had 
 no room to edge in a word. But there 
 being indications that another stoppage was 
 imminent, a loud execration on delay called 
 forth a remonstrance from him, in which he 
 was seconded by another passenger hitherto 
 silent, a stout man about thirty, and this led 
 to discourse on the railroad then in course 
 of construction between Liverpool and Man- 
 chester, and, supposing the trial proved 
 steam locomotion feasible, the advantages 
 that would result to the trade of the county 
 if such iron roads could be introduced into 
 Yorkshire. 
 
 He was a draper, he said, in York, and 
 could lay in his stock with much more 
 advantage if he could visit the warehouses 
 and see goods in the piece, instead of order- 
 ing them from scraps in a traveller's pattern-^
 
 12 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 book ; drapery looked so very different in 
 the piece and in the pattern. As things 
 were at present, he should lose all his time 
 in coming and going. He hoped, for the 
 sake of trade, that the railroad experi- 
 ment would succeed and spread over the 
 country. 
 
 He of the eyebrows, who confessed to 
 liaving also a commercial interest at stake, 
 agreed with the draper so far, when the 
 three cattle-dealers broke into the discus- 
 sion with loud-voiced dissent, protesting 
 vehemently that the country would be 
 ruined and done for, and the horse become 
 an extinct animal if steam-carrias^e became 
 general. 
 
 They were already waxing hot and angry 
 in the debate when there was a second 
 stoppage, and again shoulders, broad and 
 slim alike, had to be brought to bear on the 
 vehicle before it could be set going ; no 
 matter who grumbled or who did not. 
 
 A2;ain the earnest voice of the energetic 
 passenger was heard to enunciate the axiom, 
 " No good effort's w/iolly lost !" his peculiar
 
 AB INITIO. 13 
 
 and emphatic pronunciation of tiie wholly 
 rendering it all the more impressive. 
 
 " Who is that active old gentleman with 
 the loose dark top-coat, and comforter all 
 awry," asked Allan of the coachman, when 
 thev were aaain on the box-seat. 
 
 " Him !" exclaimed Jehu. " Ah thowt 
 iverybody omoast i' th' West Ridin' knaw'd 
 honist John. Bud thah't bud a younker" 
 (patronizingly). " Weel, Maister Wilson 
 travels like i' th' oil or varnish line, bud 
 whither fur hissen or ither foak ah can't 
 reetly mak aht. He nivver talks ov his ahn 
 bizziness, tho' he hez th' gift o' th' gab ; na, 
 nor ither foaks' bizziness noather. Bud he's 
 chock full o' wise saayin's from bulks, an' 
 nivver loses a chance ov doin' a good turn, 
 or saayin' a good word iv it curas in his 
 waay. An' he's fur eddication, an' saays 
 iverybody aht to be able to wroite his 
 naame, an' to read th' Bible, an' ah think 
 he's abaght reet, tho' alivc nivver mich 
 toime fur readin' onnything." 
 
 "And where does this Mr. Wilson hail 
 from, eh, Joe ?"
 
 14 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 "Oh, Rippon way; bud ah taks Honist 
 John up heer, theer, and iverywheer alung 
 t' road, bud he's allays th' saanie — upreet 
 an' downreet, and whativer he saays ither 
 foak may sweear by !" And Joe cracked 
 his whip with a flourish, at once to empha- 
 sise his testimony to a good man's worth 
 and to stimulate his flasroincr steeds, from 
 beneath whose hoofs the powdery snow flew 
 up in emulation of the steam which rose 
 from their flanks. 
 
 But the snow — which had been fallinfr, 
 falling, nearly all the way from Otley, 
 capping bushes, trees, and boulders with 
 delicate white hoods, spreading a fleecy 
 mantle over the moors, and a swansdown 
 trimming, as it were, atop of each hedge or 
 stone wall ; which had covered the oiled 
 sheet protecting the piled-up luggage on the 
 coach top until it looked like a huge cake 
 fresh from some giant confectioner's — ap- 
 peared to grow thinner and lighter as they 
 neared Skipton, and when the four panting 
 horses were drawn up suddenly in front of 
 the "Devonshire Arms" they had left the 
 storm behind them.
 
 AB INITIO 15 
 
 Ostlers, summoned by the guard's far- 
 sounding horn, were in readiness to release 
 the steaming beasts, to open the coach doors, 
 and affix ladders for the convenient de- 
 scent of timid outsiders, who stamped their 
 feet and shook the snow from their shoul- 
 ders when they alighted on terra firma. 
 The guard unlocked the boot (a sort of 
 cupboard at the back), and dragged thence 
 such parcels and luggage as had reached 
 their destination. Coachman and guard 
 held out their hands for their fees, and then 
 the companions of a few brief hours dis- 
 persed, cramped, cold, and hungry ; the 
 majority, including John Wilson and Allan 
 Earnshaw, turned for warmth and refresh- 
 ment towards the inn, glowing with cheer- 
 ful fires, and redolent with savoury odours. 
 A few, whose journe}^ was ended, or whose 
 business was more imperative than appetite, 
 set off at a brisk pace their several ways ; 
 and amongst them the unpretentious draper 
 from York, who, with a carpet-bag labelled 
 " George Hudson " in his hand, hurried 
 towards the High Street, jostling against
 
 16 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 Allan and others in his haste, but as un- 
 noted in appearance, and as dreamless as 
 they of any link in their lives, any remote 
 influence he might have on their future for- 
 tunes, or on the welfare of the nation at 
 large.
 
 17 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 HONEST JOHN. 
 
 STANDING on the broad, flat step in 
 front of the inn door when the coacli 
 drove up, and in striking contrast to the 
 carelessly-attired John Wilson, who brushed 
 past him, was a trim, speckless gentleman, 
 considerably above middle age, who still 
 adhered to the fashion of an earlier date. 
 For instance, he wore low shoes tied with 
 an elaborate bow of black silk ferret, his 
 beaver hat was lower in the crown and 
 broader in the brim than was the mode ; 
 the upper portion of his swallow-tailed coat 
 was covered by a high-collared spencer, 
 
 tightly-buttoned across the chest, but not so 
 VOL. I. C
 
 18 WUOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 wholly as to couceal his broad shirt-frill of 
 fine French cambric, or his ample white 
 neckcloth, above which rose the points of a 
 stiff linen collar, in which his smoothly- 
 shaven, dimpled chin was almost buried. 
 His lower limbs were encased in small- 
 clothes, or breeches, buckled below the 
 knee, where they were met by cloth gaiters, 
 of the same dark iron-grey as the rest of his 
 suit; and pendent from his watch-fob, and a 
 heavy steel chain, was a massive bunch of 
 seals, which the spencer (a mere coat with- 
 out tails) did not come low enough to 
 cover. 
 
 Atone time his hair must have been what 
 is called " sandy," and inclined to be bushy, 
 but it was somewhat thinning on the tem- 
 ples and on the crown ; his strips of whisker 
 were mere shadows, and there was a slight 
 sprinkling of life's snow upon it, which gave 
 it a cooler tint ; but his cheeks were fresh- 
 coloured, as of old ; his lips, though rather 
 thin and close-set, could break into a pleas- 
 ant smile which irradiated his whole face, 
 and, though crow-feet were then seen by
 
 HONEST JOHN. 19 
 
 the corners of his eyes, the eyes themselves 
 twinkled and sparkled, as keenly alert as 
 the firm step and ready hand advanced to 
 meet those of Allan Earnshaw when he 
 •crossed the open space between the coach 
 and the inn, which stood a little back from 
 the line of the street. 
 
 " You are late, young gentleman. The 
 coach is monstrously behind time. Here 
 have I been kept cooling my heels for a 
 ■couple of hours — there or thereabouts," he 
 corrected himself, ''to save an old woman a 
 fit of the fidgets," but there was something 
 in the humorous twist of the lips and the 
 twinkle of the eves which belied the semi- 
 rancour of the speech. 
 
 " I suppose you mean Aunt Statham, Mr. 
 Proctor," answered the youth, as he re- 
 sponded to the warm grasp of the other. 
 ^' I did not know she expected me. Surely 
 mother must be worse than Edith implied, 
 if Aunt Statham has been written to !" and 
 a shadow of alarm swept like a wave over 
 his open countenance. 
 
 "Now don't jump to hastv conclusions 
 
 c 2
 
 20 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 on slight premises. Tliere is no reason to 
 alarm yourself unnecessarily in any way or 
 shape. You know the good old lady is 
 tenacious of respect, and had you been 
 allowed to pass through Skipton without 
 previous intimation to her, there would be 
 the very what's-his-name to pay ; and I sup- 
 pose your father, like a sensible man, sent a 
 line as a precaution," 
 
 " Did he write ?" exclaimed Allan. " Then 
 I had best run off to Aunt Statham's at once 
 and ascertain " 
 
 "No, vou won't," said the elder, detainingr 
 him by the arm. " You will come into the 
 ' Devonshire Arms' and have a Q-ood dinner 
 before the hunsfrv wolves devour it all ; and 
 do not let despondency spoil your appetite. 
 When Mrs. Statham has a cold she swathes 
 herself in flannel, doses herself with hot 
 drinks, gruel, yarrow, and what not ; and is 
 never visible to mortal but Deborah, until 
 she emerges from the flannels, and has her 
 newly-curled front and mob cap in becom- 
 ing order. My boy," — he saw Allan's im- 
 patience — '' your aunt would not see you.
 
 HONEST JOHN. 21 
 
 Deb came this morning to desire that I 
 would convey the regret of her mistress to 
 jou, and say she was alike unable to receive 
 ^ visit or to leave the house." 
 
 " But, Mr. Proctor " in a tone of re- 
 monstrance. 
 
 *' But, Master Allan," and the tips of the 
 long, slender fingers came down on the young 
 shoulders with a quiet decision which did 
 not admit of denmr, and so turned him to- 
 wards the travellers' room, where a huge 
 fire was blazing, and viands disappearing 
 from two long tables with astonishing 
 rapidity. It was market da}'', and hungry 
 customers came and went noisily, with little 
 regard to order or precedence. 
 
 Mr. Proctor (or Lawyer Proctor, as he 
 was called in the town) only removed his 
 hands when he had seated his young friend 
 in front of a Yorkshire pie, which seemed 
 to have stood as long a siege as Skipton 
 Castle, and yet remained a pie, and a sub- 
 stantial one. At his call a buxom waitress, 
 whose head was all cap, curls, and ribbons, 
 filled a couple of long tallboy glasses with
 
 22 WOOEllS AND WINNERS. 
 
 ale, which they called " stingo," and Allan 
 Earnshaw having turned to the cheer with 
 good will, in spite of his anxieties, the 
 gentleman of the breeches and spencer 
 rubbed the palms of his hands together up 
 and down briskly, as if in self-satisfaction 
 that he had ajot over a disao;reeable business 
 better than he expected. He had no mind 
 that the young fellow should know the con- 
 tents of the letter to Mrs. Statham. 
 
 " Why," he asked himself, " should he 
 meet sorrow half-way? Some diseases are 
 like chancery suits, — and Mrs. Thorpe's is 
 one of them, — last a lifetime before they 
 kill. He may find matters at home better 
 than he expects." 
 
 Holding this theory, he kept up a flow 
 of small talk, not so lively as to jar, yet 
 sufficient to keep Allan from gloomy intro- 
 spection, in the course of which he made 
 some reference to the firm of woolbrokers 
 with whom Allan had been placed, and their 
 clerks, into whose company the youth was 
 likely to be thrown. 
 
 As the words "Metcalfe and Polloc" left
 
 HONEST JOHN. 23 
 
 his fluent lips, and were answered by Allan 
 as readily, " Oh ! the new clerk is named 
 Buttermere, Basil Buttermere," a knife and 
 fork almost opposite to Allan dropped sud- 
 denly with a clatter, and he, looking up, 
 beheld the keen grey eyes of the sententious 
 traveller, named John Wilson, peering at 
 him from under their shaggy brows, with a 
 ghince at once searching and troubled. 
 
 " The gentleman in unbrushed black 
 opposite to us, with his neck-cloth all awry, 
 seems to regard you very attentive!}^, Allan. 
 Do you know him?'' put Mr. Proctor, in an 
 undertone. 
 
 " Joe Barnes calls him Honest John »" 
 
 began Allan, in a like key. 
 
 "Honest John!" ejaculated the lawyer, 
 under his breath. " And is that Honest 
 John ? that man of loose joints and loose 
 garments ! Who would think what lay be- 
 neath that weather-beaten countenance of 
 his ? How he has changed ! No wonder. 
 It was a rascally piece of business alto- 
 gether. I should like to shake hands with 
 him, if it would not recall unpleasant mem-
 
 24 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 ories. But perhaps he has forgotten me." 
 Apparently he had, for his e3^es had gone 
 back to his plate, and he appeared to have 
 no thought for anything beyond it and the 
 knife and fork, which were once more occu- 
 pied with a slice of sirloin. 
 
 Yet Josiah Proctor, in outward appear- 
 ance his very antithesis, was a man to be 
 remembered, not merely because the fashion 
 of his srarb had been unchansfed for many 
 years, but because the two had many points 
 in common. If the one was nimble, quick, 
 alert even to jerkiness, and the gait of the 
 other somewhat loose and shambling, they 
 were alike fluent, ener<Tetic, senial : but the 
 lawyer could laugh, laugh with his whole 
 face. John Wilson, however beaming and 
 benignant, was never known to smile. If 
 he did remember the lawyer he sat soberly 
 silent, called for his reckoning when he had 
 finished his meal, resumed the dark over- 
 coat he had laid aside, and, taking a 
 japanned sample-case in his hand, quitted 
 the room with merely "Good afternoon" to 
 his young travelling companion.
 
 HONEST JOHN. 25 
 
 It was no use for Allan to be impatient ; 
 the market-coach would not start until the 
 market was over and the passengers ready ; 
 and the snow-blocked roads, which had 
 made them late in coming, would be held 
 accountable. Mr. Proctor, to fill up the 
 time, took him by the arm and strolled with 
 him through the Market-place, calling at his 
 own office to put questions and give instruc- 
 tions to a clerk almost as old-fashioned as 
 himself, and never left his charge until he 
 saw him seated on the box a^ain beside the 
 red-faced coachman. 
 
 There was 'snow on the ground, and on 
 the bare, quick-set hedges and scattered 
 trees for the first few miles of their waj'- ; 
 then a sharp shower of sleet drove in their 
 faces, but it ceased about seven o'clock, 
 when the moon came out. It was obscured 
 at times by a swiftly-scudding rack, still 
 there was lio;ht enousfh to reveal the stone 
 walls mapping out the high moorlands as 
 they approached Settle, and to demonstrate 
 that the downfall there had not been snow. 
 There were rain pools and runnels in the
 
 26 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 roadway on which the rays of the coach- 
 laraps shimmered in advance, as they also 
 shimmered on the window-panes of roadside 
 cottasres and G;rev houses of millstone o;rit, 
 which, at first straggling, ranged in closer 
 rank as they entered the town at the south- 
 east, and, sweeping round a curve, drew up 
 at the " Golden Lion " to changje horses and 
 passengers. There was another start, at a 
 rattle, due west, through the lonfii; main 
 street, and past the ancient market-place 
 which opened out on the right, with a quaint 
 old cross and market-house standing in the 
 midst, under the shadow of Castleberg — 
 that mountain steep which was once a dial 
 to rival that of Aliaz, and which still, with 
 lir-clad skirt, uproars its lofty head and 
 grandly frowns on shops and dwellings at 
 its base. There were lights flitting about, 
 showing where streets diverged, and where 
 shops were closing, for the Giggles wick 
 church clock struck the hour of curfew as 
 they left the inn, and, with the last stroke, 
 the pealing bell rang out as it had rung 
 since first St. Alkald's had a bell to rino^
 
 HONEST JOHN. 27 
 
 in deference to law and custom. Settle 
 church had then no existence. 
 
 Country people wending homewards, lan- 
 tern in hand, called out familiarly to the 
 coachman, to be answered heartily, as they 
 dashed along the open road, where houses 
 became few and trees many, and Castleberg's 
 towering hill still held them in its shade, 
 until nearing the bridge, now crossing it, 
 Ribblesdale opened out its romance and 
 beauty on the right, in spite of the prosaic 
 cotton-mill close at hand, whilst far away to 
 the left spread a fertile valley with the noisy 
 river coursing to the south, glittering in the 
 Hjoonlisfht for an instant, then lost to sis;ht as 
 they whirled onwards, alternately in light 
 and shade as the scudding clouds swept on- 
 wards too. The " Parish Umbrella," too 
 bare and leafless to justify its title, was left 
 behind, then the end of Stackhouse-road was 
 passed at a gallop down the steep incline 
 known as Bell Hill ; then midway there was 
 a pull at the reins, the horses turned at an 
 angle northwards, and in another minute- 
 stopped in front of the *' White Hart Inn."
 
 28 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 They had reached Giggles wick. The 
 northward road la}' before them, white and 
 glittering in the rays of the moon. Fiddle- 
 case field showed obscurely to the right, with 
 Kelcoe Wood, the dark flounce of the grey 
 limestone scars in shadow beyond. But Allan 
 was more interested in the village grouping 
 round the church in the hollow, at the back 
 of the " White Hart," than in scars or wood, 
 or even in the old Grammar School, lying 
 low in the meadows opposite to the Fiddle- 
 case, with its front to the church and its 
 back to Cateral Hall grounds, which skirted 
 the road under the opposing lines of moor 
 and scar. 
 
 Even before the coach was prepared to 
 start afresh, Allan and his valise were on 
 their way back a few score yards, and, turn- 
 ing sharply to his right down the steep de- 
 clivity of Bell Hill, where stood the chief 
 houses of the village. He was hurrying 
 along past the old stone cross (the ancient 
 rood) as speedily as young feet can, and was 
 about to take a final plunge round the 
 corner of the church which, elevated above
 
 HONEST JOHN. 29' 
 
 a narrow lane, looked down upon his home, 
 when aloud shriek pierced the ear of silence, 
 and a man, who seemed to precipitate him- 
 self headlong down the churchyard steps, 
 rushed wildly past him, almost overturning 
 him as he shot forward and was lost in the 
 gloom of the unlighted village.
 
 30 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A mother's care for her child. 
 
 Two centuries have flown since the mill- 
 stone-grit was quarried, and hewn, and 
 brouofht together for the construction of the 
 curiously-shaped building in which Archibald 
 Thorpe had his dwelling, right under the 
 shade of St. Alkald's Church. And the 
 winds and rains of two centuries have beaten 
 down on its low-pitched flagstone roof and 
 solid walls, toning their tints and smoothing 
 their angles ; and at least a hundred years 
 have gone in the growth of the ivy that 
 covers it. 
 
 But, indeed, the old edifice at Ivy-fold 
 was an angle, — -two sides of a square, best 
 indicated bv the letter L, of which the two
 
 A mother's care for her child. 3 I 
 
 extreme ends were the gables. The upper 
 one came flush with the lane beneath the 
 churchyard wall, significantly designated 
 Love Lane ; the other overlooked the level 
 where Bell Hill ended, and Tarn Lane 
 began to rise. The building, bearing date 
 1669 over the main doorway, had at some 
 time been divided into three, a slice at eacli 
 gable-end serving as a cottage for other 
 occupants, the doors of which did not pre- 
 sume to come to the front, where a small 
 garden, or court, within a low wooden 
 fence, filled up a vacancy and the square 
 plot of land. Consequently, Mr. Thorpe's 
 domicile comprehended more than two- 
 thirds of the whole, itself an L square, with 
 windows overlooking a pasturage at the 
 back, and the forecourt and the church at 
 the front. The heavy iron-studded door, 
 with thick, ring-shaped knocker, and a drop 
 handle, like a smaller knocker, was in the 
 corner opposite to the church, and from this 
 a fla^g-ed walk ran under the best kitchen 
 window to a small wooden gate opening into 
 Love Lane.
 
 32 WOOERS AND ^yINNERS. 
 
 It was by no means a large abode, having 
 only a ground floor and another above, but, 
 being oddly shaped without, you may be 
 sure it was peculiarly constructed within. 
 
 No doubt, in olden time, when the fire- 
 place wa? a spacious open ingle wherein 
 gossips might sit together on winter nights, 
 the front door opened directly into the 
 living-room or " house," corresponding to 
 the baronial hall. The kitchen door, close 
 besid^, did the same, and the staircase, 
 which planted its foot at that kitchen door, 
 ran boldly upwards, clinging to its wall. 
 But the early years of this century reversed 
 a good many primitive notions ; people with 
 any pretentions to gentility, even in country 
 villages, began to think of privacy and com- 
 fort, and doubtless at the time the fireplace 
 was bricked up and supplied with an 
 ordinary grate, it was that the oaken parti- 
 tion was put up to screen both doors and 
 staircase within an enclosure of their own, 
 and to add to the warmth of the large 
 apartment, thenceforth called a parlour; 
 the kitchen where the family meals were
 
 A mother's care for her child. 33 
 
 taken becoming the '^ house." The partition 
 had also created a recess, not more than 
 four feet square, in which was a small 
 diaraond-paned window overlooking the 
 €Ourt, and of course it held a window- 
 seat. 
 
 Anyone coming in from the staircase, the 
 kitchen, or the front door, would enter by 
 the new door in the partition, but be as un- 
 seen by the occupant of the window-seat as 
 that occupant would be by the incomer. 
 The room was, however, well lit from the 
 opposite side by two square windows, the 
 sills of which were almost on a level with 
 the field, and, as a protection against cattle, 
 barriers of iron rods, somewhat similar 
 to nursery fireguards, had been placed out- 
 side, as also to a third window lishtinoj a 
 small room beyond, which had a raised 
 wooden floor, and was entered by a door in 
 the extreme corner. A room devoted to 
 Mr. Thorpe. 
 
 In neither room did the carpet cover 
 more than the centre of the floor, which 
 was oak, and polished. Mrs. Thorpe, like 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 other crood Yorkshire housewives, would 
 have been allocked to think of the dust 
 which must accumulate under a carpet too 
 large to be lifted frequently for sweeping 
 and shaking. Yet the rooms were well 
 furnished — that is, solidly furnished — oak 
 preponderated over mahogany; the book- 
 case, which fronted the fireplace, and the 
 square piano between the windows being the 
 chief exceptions. The chairs were many 
 shaped, some with tall stiff backs, others 
 roomy and cushioned like the great chintz- 
 covered sofa. 
 
 Tlie best kitchen or " house," over which 
 one Janet Carr presided, was as large as 
 the family room, with such another old fire- 
 place, an oven and grate that looked as if 
 they were made for cooking, whilst on the 
 side overlooking the court, and between 
 door and fireplace, a long low window shed 
 li"ht on a white kitchen-table and all need- 
 ful operations. Deep cupboards or presses 
 filled up the spaces on either side the ample 
 chimney ; whilst confronting the broad win- 
 dow stood the door of a second and smaller
 
 A mother's care for her child. 35 
 
 kitchen, where the rough work of the 
 household was done out of sight and hear- 
 ing. This again had an outlet into the open 
 air, where across a vacant space lay a garden, 
 for fruits and vegetables. 
 
 As a token alike of hospitality and 
 butchers at a distance, from the ceiling of 
 the larger kitchen depended bags of dried 
 herbs, two or three hams, a piece of hung 
 beef, a flitch of bacon, and strings of yellow 
 onions ; whilst over the hearth (where an 
 iron fender shone like steel), there was 
 suspended a square wooden frame, or 
 bread-fleack, crossed with parallel lines of 
 twine, over which fresh oat-cakes or haver- 
 bread flapped or grew crisp in the air and 
 warmth. 
 
 There was one drawback to this attract- 
 ive kitchen, at least to a modern notion. 
 From one corner a closet appeared to be 
 partitioned off. Nothing of the kind — it 
 was only a box-bed such as may be found 
 here and there in the north to this day, 
 shut in from prying eyes. 
 
 The chambers above scarcely correspond- 
 
 D 2
 
 36 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 ed with the apartments below. The sohtary 
 flight of stairs terminated with one square 
 flat, whence ran a sort of balustraded gal- 
 lery parallel with the stairs, from which 
 doors on the right hand admitted to three 
 successive rooms, overlooking the pasturage. 
 The gallery itself ended in a broad, square 
 space, lit by a small window, corresponding 
 to the one in the recess below. And close 
 by this window another door, painted brown 
 like the rest, opened into the one large 
 chamber of the dwelling. From its wide, 
 low, transome window could be seen not 
 only the grassy court below, but the church 
 gate and steps, with glimpses of the syca- 
 mores and gravestones in " God's acre," and 
 a portion of the village. A light in the 
 room would therefore shine out like a bea- 
 con through the night to an}'' home-comer; 
 whilst anyone seated at the staircase window 
 could watch the gate and the south side of 
 the elevated churchyard, although the 
 school-house and the side of the church it 
 confronted were quite out of sight, and 
 beyond range to the north.
 
 A mother's carp: for her child. 37 
 
 Now, impatient reader — you, I mean, who 
 have skipped all this "dry description" — 
 oblige nie by turning back and reading it 
 carefully. I have been at some pains to 
 describe an actual habitation, so as to make 
 events transpiring therein thoroughly intel- 
 ligible. Do not defeat my good intentions. 
 
 There had been a lio;ht burning; nisrhtly 
 in Mrs. Thorpe's room for many weary 
 weeks, shining out into the darkness with a 
 proclamation of prolonged pain and hope 
 deferred ; and neishbours out after niofht- 
 fall would glance upwards and shake their 
 heads, and none more ominously than Solo- 
 mon Bracken, the old sexton, who, going 
 to and fro on bell-ringing duty, was wont 
 to rub his sharp Roman nose between his 
 thumb and forefinger, and mutter, "It can't 
 be mich langer, it can't ; that's suer an' 
 sartain !" 
 
 So he said, with his wheezy croak, for at 
 least the twentieth time, when he put his 
 foot on the first of the old worn steps to 
 the churchyard, on the night of Saturday, 
 February the 6th, 1830 (a memorable date
 
 38 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 in his calendar), as he glanced upwards 
 and saw the flickering firelight through the 
 panes, and a face pressed against them, as if 
 peering into the night. There being no 
 opposite neighbours to overlook an}'- cham- 
 ber in the house, the linen blinds were sel- 
 dom lowered, and the inquiring young face 
 was distinctly visible over the short muslin 
 curtain. A^ain he shook his bent head as" 
 he mounted the top step, and repeated, "It 
 can't be lang, puir lass, puir lass !" 
 
 Lying on a four-post bed, hung with the 
 whitest of dimity, in that room with the 
 whitest of whitewashed walls and ceiling, 
 the whitest of covers on mahogany drawers 
 and dressing-table, under a white counter- 
 pane of her own knitting, beat with feeble 
 pulsations the heart of a suffering mother, 
 whose face was the whitest thinoj in the 
 room, or her patient little nurse thought so, 
 a girl on whom a heavy responsibility had 
 been that day laid. 
 
 " I leave Dora in your charge, Edith 
 dear," the mother had said. " You are 
 very young, too young, in fact, to be bur-
 
 A mother's cake for her child. 39 
 
 dened with the care of a deUcate and way- 
 ward child, but you are a good, steady girl, 
 -and I know I can depend on you to do 
 3^our best for your little sister when I am 
 gone." 
 
 , The poor creature spoke with an effort it 
 gave her daughter pain to witness. 
 
 " Indeed, indeed, you iniiy, mother," she 
 answered, with genuine fervour, albeit her 
 voice was subdued, as all rounds there had 
 need to be. " But you should not speak in 
 this way, mother, you are better, much 
 better. Only this morning Dr. Burrow said 
 there was no immediate dani5;er." 
 
 *'No immediate danger! Oh, my love, 
 but / know better than Dr. Burrow that the 
 messenger is nigh at hand. Nay, do not 
 sob so heavily, my dear Edith, I am a great 
 sufferer, and long for a release. Were my life 
 prolonged it would only be with a continu- 
 ance of intolerable pain to myself and — and 
 an increase of trouble and anxiety to all." 
 
 Pain stopped the speaker's utterance, 
 whilst the effort to stifle her suffocating sobs 
 rendered almost inaudible the daughter's
 
 40 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 protest that it was '' no trouble to wait on 
 her, and no one thought so !" 
 
 A dissenting movement of the invalid's 
 head brought Edith closer to re-adjust the 
 pillow on which the blanched cheek rested. 
 The pillow was plump, the cheek worn and 
 sunken with years of suffering, as was the 
 attenuated hand which closed with all a 
 dying mother's intensified affection on the 
 small one so prompt yet gentle in its care. 
 
 A clock in the kitchen gave warning with 
 a hoarse burr. 
 
 " It is time you had your medicine, 
 mother," said the young attendant, releasing 
 the thin hand after responding to its pres- 
 sure. Turning to a neatly-arranged table 
 near the window, she selected one from 
 several bottles, poured out the potion into a 
 wine-glass, after careful measurement, and 
 returned to the bedside as the house clock 
 began to strike, and its strokes were drowned 
 by the heavier hammer of the church time- 
 teller close at hand. 
 
 " What o'clock is that ?" inquired the 
 patient, wearily.
 
 A mother's care for hkr child. 41 
 
 " Six." 
 
 "I suppose Allan will not be here yefc 
 awhile ?" resumed Mrs. Thorpe, with a sigh. 
 
 " It is Saturday, the coach will not be in 
 until seven, so he cannot be here earlier^ 
 even if he got my letter in time." 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 " Where is your father ?" 
 
 *' He was playing see-saw with Dora by 
 the fire when I came up." 
 
 " Ah ! he is a kind father — but he may 
 
 marry again, and then " The half 
 
 soliloquy stopped. 
 
 Edith, having replaced the medicine-glass 
 and bottle in order, resumed her seat by the 
 bed-side, and took up a sock she was knit- 
 ting, and the dropped thread of conversa- 
 tion, to2ether. 
 
 " What then, mother ? You do not think 
 he could ever be anything but kind. He is- 
 so very fond of Dora, too," urged she, with 
 a stronger emphasis on the very than she 
 was conscious of. 
 
 ''True, Edith; but if— if A step- 
 mother would make a great difference — she
 
 42 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 might not Edith, my dear child, prom- 
 ise me to be to Dora a faithful sruardian. 
 Do not let her miss a mother's care ; teach 
 her — direct her — let your own example 
 lead her to goodness ; be as much a mother 
 to her as an elder sister can. — Poor child, 
 she is a tender plant — a rough blast or 
 rough usage would kill her." She paused, 
 then, after a panting interval, resumed, 
 " Give me your word, Edith, to shield my 
 little darling from sorrow or suffering, and 
 — my mind will be at rest," and there was 
 an eager look in the sunken eyes as she 
 fixed them on the girl's sad face. 
 
 " You need not fret about the lile barn " 
 (little child), " mother, we all love her so 
 welL Whatever comes, she will be taken 
 c;ood care of, I am sure. But vou are tiring 
 yourself with talking — do try to sleep ; doc- 
 tor will be so cross." 
 
 " I cannot sleep, Edie. I am somehow 
 more anxious about Dora to-day than ever. 
 I think I grow more uneasy as the time 
 ■draws nigher. Souietimes I feel myself 
 — wishinsr I could take mv barn with me
 
 A mother's care for her child. 43 
 
 — and then — then I pray to be forgiven the 
 wicked thought. You are but — a child 
 yourself, Edie, yet you are old enough to 
 remember your mother, and Dora "'.vill 
 forget me before she can read the name on 
 ray grave. Do promise to take care of her 
 as you both grow up, and let no trouble 
 come anigh her that you can prevent. 
 Promise me that, my dear — and I — shall 
 feel resigned." 
 
 There had been a brave effort on the 
 girl's part to overcome emotion that was 
 choking her. It was an almost inarticulate 
 voice that answered, " If ray promise will 
 make you more comfortable, I give it wil- 
 lingly. I will take all the care of Dora that 
 one sister can take of another. But Aunt 
 Statham has always promised that her name- 
 sake shall never want a friend, and surely 
 she will keep her word." 
 
 " I am sure you will keep your word. 
 My aunt Statham is old and fanciful. She 
 may break faith with me — you never will. 
 You will take care of little Dora, I know. 
 — Kiss me, Edie, that's a good girl. — God
 
 44 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 bless you ! — Now draw the curtains, I think 
 I can sleep." 
 
 "Will not God take care of us best?" 
 whispered the young girl, as she bent to the 
 mother's kiss. 
 
 " Certainly — but even faith commits its 
 dear ones to earthly charge as well as 
 heavenly," adding, in a dreamy tone, " I 
 wish Allan was here." 
 
 Edith unlooped the white dimity curtains 
 which hung in full festoons round the tall, 
 thin bed-posts ; and, standing on tiptoe to 
 prevent the brass rings rattling on the iron 
 rods, drew the folds close. She stepped 
 lightly across the room, and put her face 
 close to the window, against which a thick 
 February sleet was drifting ; and as she 
 looked out she murmured, " It is a bad 
 night for Allan. I, too, wish he was here." 
 
 An almost inaudible sigh escaped her as 
 she seated herself on a low stool in front of 
 the fire, and looked dreaniily into its red 
 depths, as if there lay the solution of her 
 long unspoken thought, " Who will take 
 care of me ? / am to care for Dora. Who 
 is to care for me ?"
 
 A mother's care for her child. 45 
 
 There was a cricket chirping in the large 
 kitchen beneath, and its shrill note sounded 
 a blythe response, but the lone girl was too 
 deeply wrapt in thought to heed its utter- 
 ance. Ashes dropped from the fire on to 
 the hearth ; the sleet drove against the case- 
 ment; the cricket shrilled its loudest, but 
 she sat there silent and unheeding.
 
 4n 
 
 E 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 AT THE HOUR OF CURFEW. 
 
 DITH EARNSHAW'S own father had 
 J for several years lain in the church- 
 yard with the ancestors who had, one after 
 another, held Ivy Fold. The father down- 
 stairs amusing his petted child was the 
 father of Dora only ; the second husband of 
 her mother, and that mother lay on the bed 
 from which she was never more to rise. A 
 terrible internal malady had eaten into the 
 life of poor Mrs. Thorpe, and slowly, surely, 
 as the minute hand passed its shorter fellow 
 on the dial, as the roots of fell disease struck 
 deeper and deeper, so did the sands of life's 
 hour-glass drop. 
 
 There was no doubt of her doom, either
 
 AT THE HOUR OF CURFEW. 47 
 
 in her own mind or the minds of others. 
 Her years had been numbered, and the 
 mouths, the weeks, — it was only doubtful 
 whether days or hours would be added to 
 their sum. If Dr. Burrow had not said it 
 in so many words, it was implied when he 
 suggested the propriety of writing to Leeds 
 for her son, the Allan so anxiously expected. 
 
 Anxiously expected, indeed, by more than 
 the mother. The pensive girl looking so 
 mournfully into the fire, and musing over 
 the maternal love which seemed to centre 
 in her youngest child to the exclusion of her 
 elder born ; on the mental anxiety which 
 dreaded partial orphanhood for one, forget- 
 ful that total orphanhood awaited the 
 others ; she, with a new sense of loneliness 
 and pain, with an aching heart crushed 
 beneath the burden newly laid upon it, — 
 she yearned for her brother, and her bro- 
 ther's certain sympathy. 
 
 No wonder, for the child on whose shoul- 
 ders the dying mother had unreflectingly 
 cast the gravest cares of womanhood was 
 herself not fourteen years of age. She was
 
 48 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 already staid and thoughtful beyond her 
 years, was calm and self-contained, and of a 
 gentle and loving nature ; but few guessed 
 the depth of love in her young heart, for 
 few had cared to plumb its depths. 
 
 Her mother's marriage with Mr. Thorpe 
 had followed closely her own father's death. 
 Mrs. Thorpe seldom referred to Mr. Earn- 
 shaw, and, but for his son and daughter, all 
 that belonged to the dead had been dead 
 too. 
 
 Mr. Thorpe, to do him justice, had been 
 far from unkind to either of his step- 
 children, but he had made no open demon- 
 stration of affection. It had not occurred 
 to him that the eager schoolboy or the shy 
 girl could have a possible blank in their lot, 
 whilst they were well clad and cared for, 
 had a fair supply of books and toys (as 
 books and toys were in those days), and 
 uttered no complaints. He never asked 
 himself how it was that Allan was less mis- 
 chievous than other boys of his age, or 
 whence arose Edith's extreme quietude. 
 That they missed a father's love, or yearned
 
 AT THE HOUR OF CURFEW. 49 
 
 for some token of parental affection, never 
 dawned on his intelligence, not even when 
 his own babe was born, and taught hira 
 what that mysterious and subtle feeling 
 meant. 
 
 To a man of mature age, of scientific 
 tastes and studious habits contracted long 
 before his marriage, leading a somewhat 
 monotonous life in a country village, the 
 advent of a child was a golden era in exist- 
 ence, and " lile Dora," as she was called 
 (though christened Theodora, at the instance 
 of Mrs. Thorpe's rich aunt, Theodora Sta- 
 tham), was at once the sun in her sire's 
 firmament, and penetrated his inmost heart. 
 At her birth five years before, Mrs. Thorpe's 
 system sustained a shock from which she 
 never properly rallied, and by the time the 
 infant could fairly " go alone," her fatal 
 disease made itself manifest. As the child 
 grew the mother faded, but as the certainty 
 of dissolution drew nearer the mother's love 
 rose in proportion. With the pertinacity of 
 the drownincT, she clun^ to life for the sake 
 of her children, or, rather, of her child. 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 She had herself married so very precipi- 
 tately she could not flatter herself her 
 second husband would remain lono; without 
 a second wife, and worse than death was 
 her dread lest her little one should fall into 
 unkind or indifferent hands. Allan and 
 Edith were sufficiently provided for, she 
 reasoned, and old enough to maintain their 
 ground against actual wrong ; but her little 
 Dora would have no one to care for her. 
 The very supposition must have grown out 
 of her inner consciousness, and yet she 
 blindly and needlessly bound one child in 
 fetters to the other for life. 
 
 Needlessly ! Dora had been to Edith 
 better than her doll ; and a lonely child's 
 doll is loved. She could dress and undress 
 the doll, kiss, fondle, and give it her child- 
 ish confidences ; but it could neither smile 
 nor kiss her in return. Dora could do 
 both. True, Dora was spoiled, wayward, 
 and petted, screamed and fought for her 
 choicest girl-treasures ; true, Dora filled the 
 father's heart entirely, and two-thirds of the 
 mother's ; true, the caresses lavished on the
 
 AT THE HOUR OF CURFEW. 51 
 
 little one smote her painfully with a sense 
 of unmerited neglect ; but the child itself 
 loved her, and that love was the one sun- 
 beam on a somewhat cheerless path. 
 
 And there she sat on the low stool, look- 
 ing dreamily and wistfully into the waning 
 fire, that sfirl on the threshold of her four- 
 teenth year; pondering, alone, mysteries of 
 life and death such as have troubled the 
 minds of abstract philosophers ere now. 
 There she sat, hearing neither the dropping 
 ush, nor the chirping cricket, nor the ticking 
 clock, nor the sleet, wind-driven against the 
 window panes ; there she sat, contrasting 
 her own loneliness in the present and the 
 future, in that still and shadowy chamber, 
 and the still more shadowy life beyond ; 
 contrasting it with the warmth and glow of 
 the parlour, where the father had set his 
 books aside to nurse and soothe with lovinsj 
 words a petulant child ; loving words such 
 as she seldom heard, and might never hear 
 again. She had been exhorted to watch 
 over Dora — everybod}'" thought of Dora — 
 no one thought of her, not even her mother. 
 
 E 2 

 
 52 WOOERS AND AVINNERS. 
 
 No one thought of her but Allan, and he 
 lived so far awa}^ She wished postage and 
 paper did not cost so much, that she might 
 write to him and hear from him oftener — ■ 
 she was so very lonely. 
 
 Just then a stray bat struck its claws into 
 the wood-work of the muUioned window, 
 and flapped its leathern wings against the 
 glass, causing her to look round and shiver, 
 as she recalled stories of its ominous import ; 
 but as her upturned eye came back it rested 
 on an inscription rudely cut in the stone 
 above the fireplace — 
 
 '^ Nunquam sokes quum solus, Gideon Earushaw. 
 
 A.D. 1672." 
 
 "Ah!" she murmured, half audibly, "if 
 Allan could but have translated all the 
 meaning of that as easily as he translated 
 the words, there might be some good in it. 
 'Never alone when alone.' It appears 
 senseless to me, for I seem always alone 
 even with people about me. I wish I could 
 make it true to me as it must have been to 
 the old Puritan whose name stands as a
 
 AT THE HOUR OF CURFEW. 53 
 
 witness to its truth. I am always alone. 
 But perhaps he had plenty of friends to 
 love him," and a heavy sigh was fitting 
 commentary on the feeling which had 
 shaped itself into words. 
 
 The burr-r-r-r of the clock warning for 
 seven, followed by seven metallic strokes on 
 its old cracked bell, and the seven sonorous 
 beats of its big rival in the church tower, 
 awoke tlie light sleeper in the bed, and the 
 dreamer by the fire. 
 
 "Are you still there, Edith ?" fell in faint 
 tones on the ear of the girl. 
 
 She was on her feet in an instant. 
 
 " Yes, mother, can I do anything for 
 
 AH 
 you r 
 
 "Nothing; are you alone ?" 
 
 " Yes, quite alone," replied Edith, in some 
 surprise. 
 
 " I thought I heard you speaking to some 
 one?" 
 
 " Only to m3^self ; I often do," 
 
 There was a pause. Then the mother 
 broke the silence. 
 
 " Hush ! Did I not hear the gate ? I
 
 54 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 hope that is AUaii coming." An eclio in 
 the lonely heart said, "/ hope so, too !" the 
 ready answer of lip and foot was only 
 " I fancy it is too soon. I will run and 
 see. 
 
 As Edith descended the stairs, Janet Carr, 
 their one domestic, opened the iron-studded 
 door and let in a streak of moonlight and a 
 gust of wind, so keen it chilled the sensitive 
 frame fresh from the atmosphere above, and 
 she shivered for the second time that night. 
 "How cold it is," involuntarily exclaimed 
 she, but superstition had set no evil omen 
 down to a cutting wind, and, though it 
 pierced her like a knife, she had no pre- 
 science and only pleasant words for liim to 
 whom that sharp blast was herald. 
 
 A boy's voice outside had its polite mes- 
 sage brusquely interpreted by Janet, who 
 still held the door half open. 
 
 " Oh, Jasper, is that you ? Come in," 
 and Edith put out her hand with a frank 
 welcome, her face breaking into a smile, 
 adding, " Mrs. Cragg is very kind ; tell her 
 I do not think my mother is any worse.
 
 AT THE HOUR OF CURFEW. 55 
 
 She has just wakened from a comfortable 
 sleep. We thought it was Allan." 
 
 The boy, somewhere about her own age, 
 who wore a dark cloth jacket and trousers, 
 with a frill round his throat, doffed his cap 
 when she appeared, and took the proffered 
 hand, but did not step in. 
 
 " I must not stay, thank 3^ou, I have to 
 be back for prayers," said he ; then, abruptly, 
 "Is Allan coming by to-night's coach ?" 
 
 " We expect him. He has been sent for. 
 Mother is growing very anxious." 
 
 The boy's face brightened in the moonlight. 
 
 "It is time the coach was in. I have not 
 heard the horn yet, but, you see, Edith, if 
 the wind blows the other wav we don't 
 always hear it. Suppose I run up and in- 
 quire ? It won't take me a minute !" He 
 had forgotten that he was bound to be in to 
 prayers. 
 
 " Oh, if you would be so kind, Jasper, I 
 should be " 
 
 The gleam of moonlight was gone, and so 
 was Jasper Ellis ; off like a reindeer round 
 by the churchyard, past the old stone cross,
 
 56 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 and up Bell Hill, with as little regard to 
 the inequalities of the steep ascent as though 
 it liad been daylight. 
 
 In an incredibly short time he was back, 
 out of breath. He had seen a mounted 
 horseman whom he called Mr. Clapham at 
 the "Hart's Head," who said they need not 
 look for the coach for an hour or more, the 
 snow lay so thick on the roads Skipton way, 
 and he brou2;ht his intellig;ence with the 
 addendum, " So you need not be uneasy, 
 Miss Earnshaw." 
 
 Without waiting for thanks, he was off 
 asain. Pravers would be over, he knew, 
 and knew that his errand would be his 
 apology. But he had reasons of his own 
 for being early in, and to bed that evening, 
 reasons he did not impart either to the kind 
 old clergyman's widow with whom he was 
 boarding, or to her more vigilant daughter. 
 
 Edith had her foot on the stairs, hasten- 
 ing to relieve the anxiety of the invalid, and 
 to press some nourishment upon her. She 
 was recalled by Janet. 
 
 " I say, Edith, t' lile bairn weean't gang
 
 AT THE HOUR OF CURFEW. 57 
 
 ta bed. Schoo says sclioo's ta bide till 
 IMaister Allan cooms. An' I's afeard ov 
 makkin her, gin schoo sets off in a tantrum 
 an' flaah's t' mistress wiv her blutherin." 
 
 "Never mind, Janet, to-night," answered 
 Edith, with a faint sigh, " better let her 
 stay up than run the risk of disturbing 
 mother ^zow;," and the unconscious emphasis 
 on the now was a stronger ari]i;ument than 
 her words. " I will be down again directly, 
 and try to coax her to bed," 
 
 " Schoo's baan ta be weshed. It's Set- 
 terday neet ! I'se getten t' tub an' t' 
 watter raady, and I'm amaast aght a pay- 
 shunse waytin," said the maid, who stood 
 with her bare arms in the kitchen doorwav, 
 a large-limbed, healthy, fresh- complexioned 
 woman, but one little likely to consult the 
 whims of a child. 
 
 " Never mind, Janet, to-night," repeated 
 Edith, " Dora may be washed in the morn- 
 ing for this once. Besides, Allan might 
 come whilst you were busy with her." 
 
 " Alius t' waay !" muttered the woman, 
 as she hastened to remove the bathing-tub.
 
 58 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 " If that bairn doan't mak soom foaks* 
 hearts wark " (ache) " ane a theeas days, 
 it's raich ta me ! Bud I's noan baan ta stand 
 it, an' I weean't." 
 
 In a few minutes the grumbling Janet was 
 summoned up-stairs to lift the feeble 
 patient whilst her bed was re-arranged, and 
 then every trace of ill-humour had dis- 
 appeared. Gently, tenderly, and easil}'' the 
 stronor arras raised the fragile form which 
 
 o o 
 
 was yet far beyond her little daughter's 
 strength to move, and her broadly dialectal 
 tongue shaped itself to soothe the disap- 
 pointment of her sick mistress, whose son's 
 coming was so long delayed. Half an hour 
 at least was spent in the invalid's room, and 
 then she went back to her kitchen, thanking 
 her stars that she had not had Dora in the 
 tub when tliere was so much need for her 
 active services above stairs. 
 
 Her presence there had enabled Edith to 
 step below with a bulletin for her stepfather, 
 whom she found with the big family Bible 
 on a small round table near the fire, 
 endeavouring to interpret its pictures to the
 
 AT THE HOUR OF CURFEW. 59^ 
 
 small comprehension of Dora, who still 
 maintained her place on his knee, and was 
 by no means to be "coaxed" to bed 
 " before brother Allan " came. 
 
 Back went Edith to her post, and whilst 
 active Janet bustled about to lay the 
 supper-cloth and fry ham and eggs, as if she 
 thought anxiety had no effect on appetites, 
 she alternated between her fireside stool 
 and the window, where she kept a close 
 look-out through another half hour, which 
 seemed three. All was silent outside, but 
 the rain was over, and the moon showing 
 a hazy disc. She kept closer watch as the 
 minutes flew. At length she caught the 
 glimmer of a distant lantern, and guessed 
 that it was Solomon Bracken on his nightly 
 errand ; and she saw him pause with his 
 foot on the worn step of the churchyard 
 and look up. She knew that the clocks 
 were on the stroke of eight : then came the 
 bur-r-r, the thin strokes drowned by the 
 eight full-toned ones, and then the clamour 
 of the bell, and the feeble voice from the 
 pillow saying, "Eight o'clock, and Allan 
 not here !"
 
 60 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 How Edith wished she could silence the 
 bell, that she might listen for the guard's 
 horn. Once she thought she heard footsteps 
 and voices in the lane, but a cloud obscured 
 the moon ; when it shone again the bell 
 had ceased, and there was no one to be seen 
 and no one to be heard. More than half the 
 vilhiu;e would be in bed. 
 
 She had asjain administered her mother's 
 medicine, and had re-arranged the pillow 
 
 and counterpane when a loud and 
 
 unearthly shriek rang through the silent 
 air with awful clearness and intensity. 
 
 Mrs. Thorpe, weak and enfeebled, gave a 
 startled cry and clutched the bedclothes 
 in excess of fright and terror. Edith, also 
 startled and terrified, after one hasty glance 
 towards the bed, rushed to the window, 
 as another fainter scream rose like an echo 
 from below. 
 
 One minute later, a dark mass seemed to 
 fling itself or be flung down the churchyard 
 steps, come into collision with an advancing 
 form, dash onwards, and then — their own 
 gate was swung open. She glided softly
 
 AT THE HOUR OF CURFEW. Gl 
 
 enough from the room, yet spurred by a 
 double excitement darted along; the landino; 
 and down the stairs, with all the haste she 
 could. 
 
 Allan stood on the door-mat and cauo;ht 
 her in his arms. As she sprang to his 
 embrace and clung to him convulsively, he 
 saw that she was white with fear, as she 
 cried out, "Oh! Allan, lam thankful you 
 are here. Whatever was that awful shriek? 
 You heard it, did you not ?" 
 
 Others had also heard, and before he 
 could reply the parlour door stood open and 
 Mr. Thorpe was there with Dora in his arms, 
 clutchins; at his neck and sobbins; in childish 
 friojht.
 
 62 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Solomon's declaration. 
 
 WHETHER the sharp cry of Dora had 
 completed the mischief wrought by 
 that wild shriek from the churchyard, could 
 never be ascertained. Edith, going into 
 the room alone to calm her mother's fears 
 and prepare her to receive Allan, found her 
 with livid face and eyeballs fixed, the 
 coverlet still clutched with rigid and 
 spasmodic grip. 
 
 Another cry, that was a wail of agony, 
 rang through the house. " Oh ! mother, 
 mother, why did I leave you? Speak to 
 me ! Oh ! dear mother, speak ! 
 
 But ere the cry had left her lips, or Edith 
 had time to fling herself frantically down by
 
 Solomon's declaeation. 63 
 
 the bedside, and strive to loose the rigid 
 fingers, Allan was in the room, in like 
 distress ; there was a rush of feet up the 
 one flight of stairs, and the whole household 
 stood around the bed. The screaniino: 
 child was stilled to quietude ; but there was 
 no recognition in the mother's staring eyes, 
 no word for the anxiously expected son. 
 
 liestoratives had no effect. In a state of 
 distraction Allan was darting; off for the 
 doctor, without waiting for his stepfather's 
 " Ay do, lad !" but Janet caught him by the 
 arm, and in her blunt way said, " Stop ye 
 here, Maister Allan. If schoo cooms rahnd 
 ye'd best be at hand. Schoo maey hev 
 suiiirnat to saey ta ye, an my shanks are as 
 long as yowrs," and, without waiting for 
 a reply, the rough but well-meaning woman, 
 forgetting the previous terror of the night 
 m the newer terror on that awful counten- 
 ance before her, was "one. 
 
 The old bonnet she kept on a hook 
 behind the kitchen door for wear in wet 
 weather, was on her head in an instant, 
 and as quickly was the candle in the ever-
 
 64 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 ready lantern alight, but no cloak went on 
 to fetter her free limbs ; Janet Carr was as 
 quick to think as prompt to act ; but country 
 servants in those days — and town ones, too, 
 for tliat matter — did not stop to cumber or 
 adorn themselves with outer garments when 
 running ordinary errands ; the full bordered 
 white linen cap was a sufficient covering for 
 the head indoors or out, and only on special 
 occasions did they seem to think preparation 
 necessary. Frippery had not come into 
 fashion for servant maids, certainly not in 
 our northern villaojes. The dark woollen 
 petticoat, the short printed cotton jacket or 
 overgown, and the check apron in ordinary 
 work-day use, had a homely fitness and neat- 
 ness about them, now looked for in vain, and 
 a girl so attired was ready to run out at a 
 moment's notice, and was a study for a 
 painter when she did so. 
 
 So it was that Janet Carr only threw her 
 bonnet on her head, although she had a 
 mile of road before her. The lantern was 
 a necessity to one unaccustomed to go 
 abroad after nightfall, a safeguard against
 
 Solomon's declaration. Q5 
 
 loose stones, or outlying doorsteps, a 
 guarantee that she should go ahead to Settle, 
 and not to Stackhouse, where the road 
 forked off so conveniently for mistake in the 
 dark. But Janet had not paused to reason, 
 hers was only intuitive perception. 
 
 Dr. Burrow, as the surgeon was called by 
 courtesy, occupied an old house at the 
 corner of the Market-place, abutting on the 
 main road, and known as Lazy Corner 
 from the fact that there loungers and idlers 
 " most did congregate " to the annoyance of 
 the peaceful inmates. He was a man of 
 middle stature, always dressed in profess- 
 ional black, had a frilled shirt and neat 
 neckcloth, trousers and short-waisted swal- 
 low-tailed coat, had dark brown hair and 
 whiskers, and a capital face for a doctor, a 
 round, pleasant, cheery-looking face, with 
 bright, dark eyes ; a face to inspire confi- 
 dence in a patient, for the under-lip of his 
 rather straight, wide mouth closed over 
 the upper lip as if in assurance that he 
 could keep a patient's secret — and his own. 
 A needful qualification this for a country 
 
 VOL. I. r
 
 66 ■ WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 doctor, for him especially so, as he was the 
 confidential adviser of more than half tlie 
 parish ; and, had he not kept his lips close, 
 what pulling of caps and ears might there not 
 have been ! 
 
 He had been called from his supper before 
 Janet had reached Settle Bridge, on which 
 she was met and passed by a woman seem- 
 ingly in as great haste as herself, who took 
 the horse-road, and before she had gone a 
 hundred yards beyond she encountered the 
 doctor himself. 
 
 He was hurrying on as fast as his active 
 limbs would carry him, when, something 
 familiar in the coming step causing her to 
 raise the lantern, the light fell on her face 
 as on his. 
 
 "Hillo, Janet!" cried he, "what brings 
 you here ?" 
 
 "Oh, wheer 'ta baan, doctor ?" was her 
 exclamation, with tlie prompt addendum, 
 " Ye mun coom vvi' raeh reght off, an goa 
 'toather folk at after. Ar missis hez hed a 
 fit o' sum soart, an schoo's deein." 
 
 A shade passed over Dr. Burrow's beam-
 
 Solomon's declakation. 67 
 
 ing face as he stopped short in his rapid 
 walk. 
 
 " Dying ! A fit do you say ?" 
 
 The stoppage was but moraentar}'. Janet 
 had turned to keep pace with him, even as 
 he put his first question. He went on 
 rapidly, saying in an undertone, as if 
 communing with himself, 
 
 "Dear me, this is a strange coincidence. 
 Mrs. Thorpe in a fit, and Solomon Bracken 
 in a fit, both at the same time." 
 
 " Whoat ! Ovvd Solomon in a fit. Weel, 
 I nivver !" 
 
 " Betty's biggest lass," explained the 
 doctor, " came tearing up to the surgery 
 like a madwoman only just now to fetch 
 me. You must have passed her going back. 
 She said her grandfather had been frightened 
 by a ghost in the churchyard." 
 
 "A ghoast!" jerked out Janet, in a loud 
 tone of contempt. " Him a sextant, an 
 flaayed wi' a ghoast ! An' it wur Solomon 
 hez shrieked alit, t'owd fuile's med a rare 
 neght's wark on it ! He's killed mah missus, 
 or I'hm nooan Janet !" 
 
 i^ 2
 
 68 WOOEliS AND WINNERS. 
 
 Genial Dr. Burrow was the friend of high 
 and low ; he was well used to familiarity, 
 but here was something to be checked. 
 
 " Stop, Janet," he said, with quiet decision. 
 " Your mistress was in a very critical .con- 
 dition when I saw her this morninsj. I did 
 not expect her to live forty-eight hours. 
 Whaisoever,^' and he laid an emphasis on the 
 word, " whatsoever may have caused this 
 sudden collapse, we must not be too ready 
 to accuse." 
 
 " I'll say m}'' say !" interrupted Janet, 
 " Ah expect missis t' be deead afore we raich 
 t'haase, un it's nowt but t' skrike at's to 
 blame." 
 
 " What shriek ?" he asked, and by the 
 time Janet had answered his query they 
 were at Ivy FoM. « 
 
 For all the service Dr. Burrow could ren- ' 
 der there, he misfht have visited his humbler 
 patient first. 
 
 There had been a relaxation of the muscles, 
 a dropping of the eyelids, a release of the 
 clutched bedclothes; momentary sight and 
 recognition ; a searching, yearning look that
 
 Solomon's declaration. 69 
 
 passed from face to face, an effort of the lips 
 to shape a word — "Allan" or "Archie," they 
 knew not which — another spasm crossed 
 the face, then settled into a smile as the 
 lids fell once more, and breath was gone be- 
 fore the doctor crossed the threshold, or a 
 word was spoken to husband or son. 
 
 At last the blinds were drawn at Ivy Fold, 
 and there were aching hearts and bursting 
 sobs behind them, and a little fair-haired 
 child had cried itself to sleep in the soothing 
 arms of another child with darker hair and 
 eves, on whom womanhood had fallen in a 
 ni^ht, and a chivalrous voun": brother bent 
 over both, and promised — ah, what did he 
 ?26>^ promise of love, and care, and protection 
 in the time to come ! 
 
 The fire was out in the white room up- 
 stairs — two fires were out, and the cold clay 
 upon the bed mocked the inscription which 
 had outlived so many births and deaths in 
 that chamber ; for there, with his face half 
 hidden in the white sheet, a widower knelt in 
 lonely grief, vowing to deaf ears how true a 
 father he would prove to the orphans left
 
 f 
 
 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 behind, the orphans comforting each other 
 elsewhere. 
 
 Blinds down at Ivy Fold. Did the village 
 need other token that the hoof of the pale 
 horse had trampled on that roof, even though 
 the death-bell Avas not 3^et heard ? 
 
 Hark ! surely that could not be the knell ! 
 Solomon Bracken must have stayed too long 
 at the " Black Horse " overnight, so irregu- 
 larly was it tolled ! Such were the com- 
 ments of the inhabitants risin«; from their 
 beds, or taking leisurely their Sunday morn- 
 ing meal. But when it ceased, and, after 
 the interval of an hour or more, the bells 
 bemm to rino; for morninaf service, the whole 
 village was on the qui vive. It hardly 
 recognised its own bells. 
 
 Commotion hushed to consternation before 
 noon. It had transpired that Joe Guyer, a 
 grey little man with an undoubted liking for 
 his "drops," a sometime assistant to the sex- 
 ton, had been hastil}^ summoned to take the 
 post, and that Solomon Bracken himself had 
 lost the use of his limbs. 
 
 It was bruited abroad that he had run
 
 Solomon's declaration. 71 
 
 home from his bell-rinsincf the nio;ht before, 
 
 CO O ' 
 
 crying, "Aghoast ! a ghoast !'' had straight- 
 way dropped on the floor in a fit, and never 
 spoken since. 
 
 The sexton's afFris-hted exclamation found 
 ready interpreters. Rumour spread in 
 breathless undertones. Before the after- 
 noon service it was currently reported that 
 the man had seen the wraith of Mrs. Thorpe 
 as a death-token. Then counter-rumour 
 went forth that the spirit of Mrs. Thorpe's 
 former husband had burst its bands to sum- 
 mon her to join him. The natural voice of 
 Giggleswick sank to an awe-stricken whisper, 
 people were drawn into groups, and a sort 
 of shrinking from solitude was manifest. 
 
 Solomon Bracken was a tall, thin, bony 
 man, with a strong flavour of mould about 
 him. He had contracted a slight stoop in 
 the shoulders, possibly with much deep dig- 
 ging, and had a wheezy croak of a voice 
 suggestive of handling overmuch damp 
 earth ; he was somewhat self-opinionated, 
 had a habit of thinking aloud, and a temper 
 as sharp as his nose. There was no other
 
 72 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 harm in the man ; he was not unkindly or 
 ill-disposed, but he was by no means a gen- 
 eral favourite, and there was alwavs more 
 or less antagonism between him and the 
 Grammar School boys, who persisted in 
 saluting him as "Nosey," and "Wellington," 
 in spite of his protests and Dr Howson's 
 wonderfully elastic cane. 
 
 The myster}' deepened when, in the course 
 of a day or so, Solomon recovered the par- 
 tial use of his tongue, and manasfed to falter 
 forth that as he was picking up his lantern, 
 after locking the belfry door, he beheld an 
 awful spectre, in a winding sheet, rise before 
 him in the moonlight, with its arms extended, 
 and fiery eye-balls glaring in its grinning 
 skull. It rose slowly, he said, as if from the 
 ground close to the churchyard wall, on the 
 Grammar School side, and scared him so 
 that he dropped his lantern, and could re- 
 member nothins; afterwards. 
 
 The old vicar, Parson Clapham, as eccen- 
 tric a clergyman as ever mounted pulpit, 
 scouted the idea of a spectre, and roundly 
 affirmed that Solomon had been drinking and
 
 SOLOMON' 'S DECLARATION. 73 
 
 had taken a white gravestone for a ghost. 
 
 This Solomon as stoutly denied, and but 
 that Dr. Burrow came in and put an end to 
 the controversy the man might have fared 
 badly through the excitement of altercation 
 in his then condition. 
 
 He was equally positive aud consistent 
 when the Rev. Rowland Inizram, the head- 
 master of the Grammar School, and the Rev. 
 John Howson, the usher, went together to 
 interrogate him. His story never varied, he 
 was as certain of the grinning skull, the fiery 
 eyes glaring with the light of the bottomless 
 pit, the flowing drapery, and open arms that 
 seemed ready to clasp him, as he was that he 
 had lost the use of his limbs, and was likely 
 to be crippled for life ; and, as Solomon was 
 by no means a man of vivid imagination, the 
 two clergymen arrived at the same conclusion 
 that he was either under the influence of 
 some delusion, or that a trick had been 
 played off upon him, which it was their busi- 
 ness to find out. 
 
 He had other visitors, had Solomon, al- 
 though Dr. Burrow had recommended quiet
 
 74 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 for his patient. The sexton's widowed 
 daughter who took charo;e of him, and who 
 was so much a counterpart of himself as to 
 be nicknamed " Mother Wellington " by the 
 tribe of irrepressibles — notwithstanding her 
 combative nose, had not so strong a mind as 
 to say "Nay"' when clergy and gentry 
 crossed their humble threshold, whether the 
 visit was of condolence or curiosity. Betty 
 Dyson held the official appointment of 
 sweeper, scrubber, and duster in ordinary 
 both to church and Grammar School, and 
 Betty was supposed to know on which side 
 her bread was buttered. 
 
 And, thougli her own temper was ruffled 
 on finding Solomon disturbed by the incre- 
 dulity of his clerical visitors, she could but 
 smile a welcome, and hasten to dust a dust- 
 less chair with her blue check apron, when 
 Mrs. John Hartley came from Cateral Hall 
 with kindl}^ sympathetic face, and a few 
 niceties for the use of the invalid, such as 
 were otherwise beyond reach. 
 
 Nor could she be more discourteous when 
 the wheel-chair of old Mrs. Cragg, in some
 
 Solomon's declaration. 75- 
 
 measure a fellow-sufFerer with Solomon, was 
 pushed in at the open doorway of the little 
 shop where Betty sold tops and marbles, 
 buUs'-eyes and parkin, kites and balls, pencil 
 and crackers to the juveniles of the 
 community, pins, tapes, cotton balls, pepper, 
 salt, snuff, and tobacco to the elders. 
 
 Since Solomon's catastrophe her shop had 
 been literally besieged by purchasers, and 
 every purchaser was an inquirer. The 
 pence of the Grammar Scliool boys had 
 always an affinity for Mother Wellington's 
 till, and now every boy seemed to have 
 pennies to spend. Betty liked money well, 
 but she liked her father better, and the 
 frequent calls into the shop when he 
 needed attention had not sweetened her 
 temper. Still she smootlied her apron 
 Avhen she caught sight of j\Irs. Cragg's plain 
 satin bonnet, and of the benignant counten- 
 ance under it, round wliich was set a cap- 
 border as prim as that of a Quakeress. 
 
 She was not often seen beyond the 
 precincts of her own home, and Betty 
 Dyson's ejaculation proclaimed as much.
 
 7b WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 " Whya, Mrs. Cragg, t'seight o' ye's gude 
 fer sore eyes ! Coom in. Ov all t'folk at's 
 bin ta see fayther, theer's noan moar wel- 
 come, I'se suer." 
 
 Mrs. Cragg's conveyance was simply an 
 arm-chair, to which strong castors and a 
 footboard had been attached. Tim, the 
 gardener, and Janet Carr's sweetheart, 
 acted as outdoor charioteer, an office of con- 
 siderable trust, if we take into account the 
 steep inclines to be faced wliichsoever road 
 they took. Betty gave the man a nod as if to 
 say he was not wanted, and, laying her own 
 hand on the chair's high back, wheeled it 
 round the end of the wooden partition or 
 •screen which separated the original open 
 apartment into shop and " house," observing 
 as she did so, in a tone intended to be 
 complimentary to the present visitor, 
 whatever it might be to former ones, " Aw 
 toathers hev bin strong an hearty like, an it 
 nied him mad to sae them sa lish, an him 
 liggin " (lying) " theer in sich a hobble. But 
 inebbe it'll be soom coomfort ta see theere's 
 Gathers as badlv as hissen."
 
 Solomon's declakation. 77 
 
 Was there any echo in the good lad3^'s 
 heart ? Had she ever felt a pang as young 
 hearts and limbs bounded before her day by 
 day, that she smiled so sadly as she 
 responded " Ah, no doubt, it is a common 
 failing." 
 
 "Fayther, here's Mrs. Cragg coom ta ax 
 how ye bin," cried Betty, as she wheeled 
 the chair close to the high-backed wooden 
 couch or long settle softened for repose by 
 cushions, strongly suggestive of acquaintance 
 with church pews, on which Solomon lay, 
 with his arm tightly bandaged after bleeding, 
 and a bristly grey beard which had not felt 
 the keen edge of the Sunday morning razor. 
 There Betty left the lady, an impatient 
 tapping on her primitive counter with the 
 edge of a coin serving as a summons into 
 the shop.
 
 78 
 
 CHAPTER YL 
 
 NOT TO BE FORGIVEN. 
 
 MRS. ESTHER CRAGG had been twice 
 married. Her second husband had 
 been the Rector of Hornby, on the Lanca- 
 shire border, where her ancestors were said 
 to have held lordly sway in times remote, 
 and where the father of her spouse had held 
 rectorial sway before him. Learned men 
 both, but they and their learning lay 
 together under the chancel wall of the 
 church they had served so long, and 
 Hornby's castle-crowned steep cast its 
 shadow on the slabs of slate which kept 
 the brief record of their lives and deaths for 
 posterity to ponder — if posterity w^ere so 
 minded.
 
 NOT TO BE FORGIVEN. 79 
 
 Yet is it an injustice to say that their 
 learning had gone to sleep with them. The 
 sire had indoctrinated the son, and from 
 him wife and dauohter had imbibed such 
 learned lore as served for an inheritance 
 when tlie late rector's stipend was handed 
 over by death to a successor. Then it was 
 the widow took up her abode in Giggleswick, 
 in a roomy house opposite to Parson 
 Clapham's on a road leading from the 
 summit of Bell Hill to the moors, and close 
 to the limpid spring known as Bank Well, 
 which supplied nearly all the village 
 with water, and save its name to the 
 house. 
 
 Here she and her learned daughter 
 Elizabeth established a boarding school for 
 the reception not only of young ladies, but 
 of young gentlemen also. The latter were 
 chiefly juvenile probationers for the Gram- 
 mar School, or simply boarders already 
 placed on that classical foundation ; and 
 seeing that sixty pounds per annum was the 
 minimun fee for a boarder, and that the 
 maximum ran into three figures, the repute
 
 80 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 of Mrs. Cragg's boarding school may be 
 inferred, no less than that of King Edward's 
 Grammar School. 
 
 With regard to the school itself, it was 
 more select than large, including a few 
 young ladies from distant homes, and a 
 sprinkling of day-pupils from the vicinity to 
 make up the number, and — I have a 
 boarder's word for it — Mrs. Cragg made the 
 place a pleasant home, to which the school 
 was a supplement. 
 
 The extent of the premises could not be 
 estimated from its frontao;e, although that 
 was respectable ; and it overlooked a sort of 
 private way which led to fields beyond, 
 turning only a broad shoulder to Well Bank, 
 as that part of the mainroadwas designated. 
 
 From the small central gate in the garden 
 (or court) rails you saw merely a double 
 house of the common grit-stone, with a 
 paved walk straight to the porch-shaded 
 door ; broad low mullioned windows spread 
 out to light rooms on either side, and three 
 of the same type for each of the floors 
 above.
 
 NOT TO BE FORGIVEN. 81 
 
 Corresponding apartments at the back 
 might be conjectured, also the long line of 
 kitchens and minor offices built out in the 
 rear at a right angle on the village side, 
 with dormitories overhead. From the other 
 gable extended an out-building or turf-shed 
 devoted to a colony of ducks and poultry, 
 whilst as large a colony of pigeons was ac- 
 commodated with dovecotes here and there 
 outside, and re ponded to quacking, cackling, 
 and crowing, with the soft low coo peculiar- 
 ly their own. 
 
 Here too was stabled Punch, the fat pony, 
 and here on a kind of granary floor were 
 kept gardening tools and winter stores of 
 many kinds. In a line with this outbuilding 
 of many uses was the large side gate which 
 gave egress or ingress to Punch and his 
 numerous young friends from the bye-path, 
 beyond which lay the pony's paddock. 
 And over the back of house and turf-shed 
 had been trained a magnificent pear-tree 
 of sufficient importance to form an item 
 in Mrs. Cragg's lease, and to set unlicensed 
 lips watering for its fruit, for the double 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 reason that it was luscious and forbidden. 
 In spring the tree was a mass of white 
 blossom, and the autumn show of fruit was 
 glorious, but Parson Claphara, who retained 
 the tree for his own use and benefit, was 
 wont to grumble and say that it had been 
 tythed before it was ripe for his gatherer, 
 and that none but the parson had a right to 
 take tythes. 
 
 There were busy workers in that dwell- 
 ing-house, young and old, but they had 
 their exemplars in yet another colony of 
 workers, for whose straw hives niches had 
 been left in the far boundarj^-wall of the 
 kitchen garden beyond the spacious yard, 
 and for whose use and delectation beds of 
 the sweetest herbs were planted ; a noble 
 orchard, stocked with the choicest fruit, 
 adjoined this prolific garden, and here, 
 where the Q;rass Q;rew thick and rank under 
 the trees, ducks and ducklinf);s fattened on 
 slusfs and snails and "such small deer." 
 
 The path from yard to orchard lay be- 
 tween the outer wall on the village side, 
 and a tall hedae, — hedsjes are rare in that
 
 NOT TO BE FORGIVEN. 83 
 
 locality — and on the other side of this spread 
 a smooth square plot of closely shaven grass 
 to freshen up the stony yard, and bleach 
 fine lace and muslin. 
 
 Close as was the village well the household 
 had seldom need to draw upon its ample 
 resources, for a spring as pure bubbled up 
 clear and cold in the paved yard, then ran 
 like liquid crystal over its stony channel, to 
 lose itself and its purity in a duck-pond 
 under the orchard trees. 
 
 In this orchard mioiht be found somethinec 
 more than a duck-pond. There, too, 
 stood a small octaEronal edifice known as 
 Apple Tree Hall, and regarded as the private 
 property and sanctum of the boys. In fact, 
 it had been built with considerable pains 
 and ingenuity by Mrs. Cragg's elder 
 boarders ; outsiders, of whom Allan 
 Earnshaw had been one, assisting in the 
 collection of stones and other matters. 
 There was no proper fire-grate, and but a 
 rude attempt at a chimney ; a few iron bars 
 procured from the village blacksmith 
 served the purpose of the former. A 
 
 G 2
 
 84 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 carpenter bad been bired to put in a door 
 and window frame, but tbe boys themselves 
 had glazed the latter, and added to the 
 door a secure lock, the eldest boarder being 
 the custodian of the key. Their seats were 
 merely stools of very rude construction, 
 their table equally rough ; but no palace 
 could have been dearer to its owners. 
 
 It was regarded by Miss Cragg with 
 much disfavour, as a nursery of mischief, 
 but sood-natured Mrs. Cras^ and Miss 
 Vasey, her equally good-natured little niece, 
 who had her home with them, and who 
 played the part of general utility, held it to 
 be a safety-valve for superabundant animal 
 spirit, and the best guarantee for a quiet 
 house. Had the twain been initiated into 
 all the secrets of Apple Tree Hall they 
 might perchance have veered round to the 
 more rigid ruler's opinion. 
 
 AYe must, however, leave Apple Tree Hall 
 with its secrets unrevealed, for Mrs. Cragg 
 had left Solomon Bracken's with only half 
 her errand accomplished, and was at the 
 nail-studded door of Ivy Fold. Yet, if she
 
 NOT TO BE FORGIVEN. 85 
 
 had failed to convince him that ghosts were 
 creatures of the imagination, she had 
 conveyed to him consolation both spiritual 
 and pecuniary, and he was not the only one 
 comforted. 
 
 On her way from the sexton's her 
 chair had been met and taken possession of 
 by two of her own boarders, Jasper Ellis 
 and Martin Pickersgill, who had committed 
 their school books to Tim, in their joint 
 desire to convoy the old lady they re- 
 verenced to the house of mourning where 
 dwelt the young lady whom they both, 
 in boy-fashion, adored. And as there too 
 dwelt Tim's sweetheart we may presume Ke 
 was not too well satisfied with his summary 
 dismissal. 
 
 Janet opened the door. The chair was 
 gently tilted back to bring the front castors 
 to a level with the low step, was wheeled 
 forward into the larcje room, and then the 
 boys, after bowing with unwonted gravity to 
 their unconscious enslaver, as if in mute 
 sympathy with her sorrow, decorously re- 
 treated to the " house," where Janet invited
 
 86 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 them to seats by the fire, and, being hospit- 
 ably inclined, did her best for their mental 
 comfort bv enlar^ino- on the death of her 
 
 ^ DO 
 
 mistress, and the fright the " daft sextant " 
 had given them, and for their bodily by re- 
 galing them with well-buttered pikelets, fresh 
 from the girdle, of which she was prepar- 
 ing a supply for the morrow's use and that 
 afternoon's tea. Both Jasper and Martin ap- 
 peared constrained and reserved, but Janet's 
 baking, in the darkened kitchen, claimed so 
 much of her attention that she failed to notice 
 the peculiar expression of their two faces as 
 they talked. 
 
 Mrs. Cragg had found the parlour redolent 
 of black crape and French merino — " the 
 newest thing in the market," John Tatham, 
 the Quaker draper of Settle, had told Miss 
 Vasey, who had done inexperienced Edith 
 the service of shopping for her, and Martha 
 Dyson, Betty's eldest girl, was putting the 
 finishing stitches in a dismal frock for Dora to 
 wear on the morrow. Edith, whose needle 
 had also been busy, moving about with a
 
 NOT TO BE FORGIVEN. 87 
 
 noiseless step and sad white face, was clear- 
 ing away the dressmaker's litter. 
 
 She had not noted the opening of tlie 
 outer door, but little Dora, nursing a pet 
 kitten on the window-seat in the recess, had, 
 child-like, lifted the linen blind on the sound 
 of wheels, and crying out " Missy Cragg ! 
 Missy Cragg !" scrambled down from her 
 perch in haste to hug the dear old lad}' who, 
 albeit she had a somewhat red face, and had 
 little beauty to boast of, won her way to 
 young hearts without an effort. 
 
 Over Settle the clouds weep with much 
 persistence ; fair weather in February is not 
 to be looked for, neither was Mrs. Craca; 
 when rain was falHng. That was the first 
 fine day since lier mother's death, but the 
 morning having passed without bringing her 
 old friend, Edith was even then feeling 
 herself deserted in her loneliness. Miss 
 Cragg, gravely reflective, had been to 
 scatter crumbs of comfort, Mrs. John 
 Hartley with kindly consolation, and little 
 Ann Vasey, to show her sympatliy, with
 
 88 WOOERS AND AVINNERS. 
 
 active service and tender-hearted tears, but 
 the bereaved girl lacked the motherly arms 
 of old Mrs. Cragg wherein to shed her 
 own. 
 
 At Dora's cry she bounded forward, to 
 check herself as suddenly, as the two young 
 chairmen became visible — she had early 
 learned self-repression. She was glad, 
 therefore, when, content with her low-voiced 
 "Thank you, tolerably well," the pair 
 retreated, and Martha Dvson, obedient to a 
 sign from Mrs. Cragg, took up her work 
 and followed them, nothing loth. 
 
 Left with her aged friend, of whom 
 Dora had already taken possession, Edith's 
 enforced serenity gave way. She sank on 
 her knees beside the welcome guest, and, 
 burying her face in the receptive lap, let 
 her imprisoned sorrow forth in sobs and 
 tears. 
 
 "Oh! Mrs. Cragg," she cried. "My 
 poor, dear mother! What shall we do 
 without her ?" It was all so sudden at the 
 last, so awfully sudden, so terrible !" 
 
 " My dear," said the old lady, gently,
 
 NOT TO BE FORGIVEN. 89 
 
 smoothing the mass of dark hair with one 
 hand, whilst the other arm held wondering 
 Dora, whose lips began to quiver. "Your 
 good mother had long looked forward to 
 this release from pain. You could not have 
 desired to prolong her sufferings, could 
 you ?" 
 
 '• Oh, no, no," was the instant answer, half 
 choked by sobs. '' But mother had so long- 
 ed to see Allan, and say something to him 
 before she died ; and she could neither see 
 him nor speak to him, although he was 
 there." 
 
 " That is sad, my dear, she may have had 
 some especial caution or instruction for him ; 
 a dying mother's words, kept in memory, 
 might serve as a safeguard in many an hour 
 of temptation and worldly peril. Yet do not 
 be distressed, her anxiety might be only the 
 natural yearning of a mother to take a last 
 leave of a beloved son. What remains un- 
 spoken is the secret of the Lord, and He 
 knew when to call your parent home and 
 what w^as best said or unsaid." 
 
 Dora, knowing little of her loss, but
 
 90 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 whimpering for companionship, had leaned 
 across and slid her small soft arm round her 
 sister's neck. Edith raised her head and 
 answered, gravely, 
 
 " ]\Iother gave me a charge, Mrs. Cragg, a 
 very precious charge. She made me promise 
 to watch over darling Dora, and be like a 
 mother to her. And I wilL" 
 
 There were tears upon their lashes, but 
 the dark steadfast eyes that looked so clearly 
 into Mrs. Cragg's were full of resolute pur- 
 pose. No fear of that girl faltering over 
 aught so sacredly undertaken. 
 
 Mrs. Craojg: drew a lone^ breath before she 
 
 Co o 
 
 replied, 
 
 "Did she, my dear? Why, you are only 
 a child yourself. We shall have to call you 
 a little woman now. Most likely Mrs. 
 Thorpe's intent was to commit you both to 
 youT brother's care." 
 
 "So Allan thinks," and Edith kissed the 
 forehead of her little half sister as she spoke. 
 " But Allan is so noble and so good, he is 
 sure to care for us, even if father " and
 
 NOT TO BE FORGIVEN. 91 
 
 she stopped short, as it flasher] across her mind 
 that her mother's suggestion of a possible 
 second marriage was too sacred a confidence 
 to be breathed to others. 
 
 Mrs. Cragg noted the pause, and took the 
 opportunity to lead the girl to speak of her 
 mother's last hours, and the immediate cause 
 of her release. As Edith told how she had 
 watched Solomon Bracken go into the 
 churchyard, heard the outcry he made, and 
 saw hiui flinfj himself headlong as it were, 
 down the step?, to stumble against home- 
 bound Allan, Mrs. Cragg put the question, 
 
 " Did you see no one in the lane at the 
 time?" 
 
 "Not a creature." 
 
 "Neither before nor after?" 
 
 " Neither before nor " E-ecoUection 
 
 dawned on Edith. "Stay," she said, " I saw 
 no one ; yet I fancied I heard some one pass 
 the sate when the bell was rincfin^ but was 
 not sure." 
 
 " I thouejht as much !" and Mrs. Cracfg 
 pressed her lips tightly on the words.
 
 •92 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 "Thought what, Mrs. Cragg?" asked 
 Edith, rising to her feet, her eyes expanding 
 with expectancy. 
 
 "Well, my dear, if the sexton saw what 
 he says he saw, he has been the victim of a 
 cruel practical joke. There must have been 
 perpetrators. Intangible ghosts are born of 
 drink or delusion." 
 
 Edith stood transfixed, as if unable to 
 fathom the depths of such villainy. Her 
 eyes flashed. "Then my mother was a vic- 
 tim too ! It was a wicked and cruel thinsf. 
 1 could never forgive it — never T 
 
 Mrs. Craijsj was struck with the sudden 
 change in the quiet girl. " Hush ! Edith," 
 she said, softly, "you must not say that. 
 No one contemplated any injury to your 
 mother, if consequences were calculated at 
 all, and you know that her death was in- 
 evitable. At the worst, we can but say it 
 was accelerated." 
 
 But Edith was not to be soothed. Nei- 
 ther Allan nor Mr. Thorpe had heard her 
 mother's last wishes. She had imbibed 
 Janet's theory that she had been killed, and
 
 NOT TO BE FORGIVEN. 93 
 
 persisted in her declaration that she could 
 never forgive the cruel act, a reiteration 
 utterly at variance with the gentle nature 
 of the girl. It was clear there was a hid- 
 den force beneath the surface, hitherto un- 
 suspected.
 
 91 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 SUSPECTED. 
 
 BEFORE Mrs. Cragg took leave she 
 naturally inquired after the widower 
 and Allan, neither of whom had made his 
 appearance. She also asked if Mrs. 
 Statham was expected. 
 
 " Aunt Statham was written to at once, 
 but she was not well enouorh to be seen 
 when Allan was in Skipton," said Edith, 
 " so we do not expect she can come. Indeed, 
 I hope she will not, for I might not be able 
 to attend to her properly, and I should 
 not like to offend. I was very thankful 
 when Miss Cragg offered to preside at table 
 to-morrow ; I should be overfaced."
 
 SUSPECTED. 95 
 
 "No doubt, my dear; but about Allan 
 and your father ?" 
 
 " Oh, Allan goes back to Leeds on 
 Tuesday. He has now i>;one over to Parson 
 Clapham's, and to the undertaker's. He is 
 quite a business man now," (how her face 
 brightened with sisterly pride), " father does 
 not seem able to attend to anvthino^, he is 
 in so much trouble," and the fleeting light 
 faded from her eyes. 
 
 A sound somethino; like " Hm !" issued 
 from Mrs. Cragg's compressed lips, that was 
 all, but interpreted it meant, " In trouble ! 
 and shifts his burden on to the shoulders of 
 this boy and girl. Will it be always so. How 
 will they bear it ?" 
 
 Edith responded to the unsatisfactory 
 sound. " Yes, father sits all alone in the 
 little sitting-room. He has kept his papers 
 and geological specimens there since mother 
 was so very badly. But I do not think he 
 is doing anything. For the first three days 
 he sat, with his elbow on the table and his 
 head on his hand, starinc^ out of the window 
 into Wildman's pasture, and I don't think he
 
 96 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 saw or heard anything, for wlien we went into 
 the room he never stirred until we touched 
 liira, and then he started. Mr. Hartley and 
 Mr. John had been and talked to him, so had 
 Mr. Ingram and kind John Tatham, but 
 no one seemed to do him any good, and 
 it made Allan and me miserable to see 
 him." 
 
 "1^0 doubt, my dear, no doubt. But 
 you implied that he had thrown off 
 his desponding lethargy — at least in part." 
 
 "Well, he has been better since Mr. 
 Wilson was here on Wednesday." 
 
 "And who is Mr. Wilson?" 
 
 "Oh, quite a peculiar old gentleman; 
 he travelled part of tlie way with Allan, 
 and they had to help to get the coach 
 through the snow. My brother met him 
 in the village inquiring for Ivy Fold. And 
 when Allan brought him here and asked 
 for father, he was so surprised to find they 
 were related. He had a letter of intro- 
 duction to Mr. Thorpe, but I was afraid he 
 would have to go away without seeing him. 
 However, father no sooner cast his eye over
 
 SUSPECTED. 97 
 
 the letter than he came out of his room and 
 shook hands with Mr. Wilson as if he had 
 known him all his life." 
 
 "It was not a ver}^ seemly time for a 
 stranger to intrude,' observed Mrs. Cragg, 
 with her head on one side as if debating the 
 point with herself. 
 
 "Oh, I don't think he intruded at all. 
 Father has not been the same since," 
 replied the girl. " And he did make an 
 apology for calling. He said that he had 
 to go on to Lancaster by the coach that 
 night, and should not be in Settle again 
 for four months ; and it turned out that 
 he knew one of Allan's masters, Mr. 
 Polloc." 
 
 " Then I suppose his business concerned 
 Allan ?" remarked Mrs. Cragg. 
 
 " Oh, no ! Father said Mr. Wilson — he 
 knew him well as ' Honest John,' — having 
 found his name amongst the directors of 
 Settle Machanics' Institution, and knowing 
 the interest he took in geology, wanted 
 him to ' widen his sphere of usefulness ' — 
 yes, those were the words, and to attend 
 
 VOL. I. n
 
 98 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 some meetings in Leeds and Ripon, and I 
 fancy he said to lecture as well." 
 
 " Public meetincrs ! Lectures !" Mrs. Cra^fij 
 looked amazed. Lectures were not so 
 common then as now. 
 
 "Yes, Mrs. Cragg, and I daresay he will, 
 for, since the idea has been put into his 
 head, he does not seem half so unhappy. 
 I am sure I was very much obliged to Mr, 
 Wilson, though he is such a curious sentle- 
 man." 
 
 " I'se sure he's a very nice old gempleman," 
 stoutly advanced little Dora, who had been 
 listening attentively ; "he stroked my hair 
 and gave me some toffy, and he said I was 
 pretty, and he liked pretty little girls, they 
 were always so good." 
 
 " Nay, nay, Dora love," interposed Edith, 
 " he said he liked pretty girls, but only good 
 girls were really pretty." 
 
 The child pouted at the slight correction. 
 " It all the same, Edie, I sure; isn't it, Missy 
 Cragg?" 
 
 " No, my little dear, very different. But 
 I hope Dora will try to be good, and then
 
 SUSPECTED. 99 
 
 we shall all think her pretty," was the 
 
 smiling answer. 
 
 But little Miss — she had a sort of 
 consciousness that she was not always 
 disposed to be good — with a toss of the 
 head which implied that she felt herself 
 unjustly rebuked, rejoined promptly, " I is 
 pretty ; father says I is pretty." 
 
 " How very injudicious," thought the old 
 lady ; but, as though she had not heard, 
 she changed the subject by expressing a 
 hope that the new mourning Miss Vasey had 
 selected was approved — and ver}^ soon 
 departed. 
 
 When Mrs. Cragg's chair was drawn up 
 the toilsome ascent of the village, sweeping 
 with a curve to Well Bank and turning 
 again from the high-road to her own gate, 
 she saw standing on the low, broad step 
 beneath the porch, the erect figure of the 
 Kev. Rowland Ingram, B.A., and his 
 somewhat less stately, though not less 
 magisterial, usher, the Rev. John Howson, 
 M.A., whilst Miss Cragg herself, with 
 smoothly-banded hair and dark dress, 
 
 h2
 
 100 WOOEllS AND WINNERS. 
 
 severely plain, was ia the act of closing the 
 door behind them. 
 
 As the chair was wheeled up the path, 
 the boys doffed their caps to their masters, 
 who raised their hats to do reverence to 
 the respected widow of a fellow-clergyman, 
 the door was again thrown back, and they 
 returned to the parlour they had just quitted, 
 followed by Mrs. Cragg and her daughter. 
 Martin and Jasper, bowing with much 
 ceremony, retired. 
 
 The Reverend Rowland Inm-ani was a 
 fine, tall man, with well-chiselled features, 
 in which dignity, benignity, and intelligence 
 were blended. 
 
 Seatincr himself close to the old ladv 
 he addressed himself to her with little 
 prelude or circumlocution ; whilst his 
 companion, half closing his eyes and leaning 
 over the back of a tall chair in front of 
 them, kept time to his senior's speech with 
 a pair of grey silk gloves, which he held in 
 the right hand and beat upon the left, 
 drawing them gently through the circling 
 thumb and forefinger.
 
 SUSPECTED. 101 
 
 "Madam," be began, "from prior 
 conversation with Miss Cragg and Miss 
 Vasey, I infer that you have no inkling of 
 our unpleasant business here. Nevertheless, 
 you cannot be unaware that a disastrous 
 mystery holds the village in a ferment. I 
 will not insult j^ou by a supposition that 
 you believe the unfortunate sexton to have 
 beheld an apparition, but conclude you 
 agree with us, that the painful problem 
 admits but of two solutions : Solomon's 
 inebriet}^ or an inconsiderate (' heartless,' 
 threw in the usher parenthetically) practical 
 joke." 
 
 " Precisely so," assented Mrs. and Miss 
 Cragg, in a breath. 
 
 " That being the case, we may require 
 your assistance, ladies, in the investigation 
 which devolves upon us, as a duty, since 
 our aged vicar declines to stir in the matter." 
 He did not say that old Parson Clapham 
 had laughed in their faces, and said it was 
 no business of his, Bracken was an old fool 
 and should have had his wits about 
 him.
 
 102 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 The ladies simply bowed in acknowledg- 
 ment. 
 
 •'Mr. Howson," he continued, " has made 
 inquiries at the ' Black Horse ' and elsewhere, 
 but cannot discover that Solomon Bracken 
 was less clear-headed than usual. Thus we 
 are thrown upon tbe other horn of the 
 dilemma, and suspicion natural!}'' points to 
 the pupils of the Grammar School." 
 
 " The young gentlemen in our charge, 
 Mrs. Cragg, our charge ^^ supplemented Mr, 
 Howson, with emphasis, and an extra flick 
 of his grey silk gloves, as though he would 
 have said, '"' and yours." 
 
 " Precisely so," again assented Miss Cragg, 
 but the old lady did not fall in so readily 
 with the view of the two masters. 
 
 " Why, naturally T she asked, drawing 
 herself up and looking Mr. Howson full 
 in the face, though her query was addressed 
 to the head master. Then turning to Miss 
 Vasey, who had come into the room (so 
 slight and small a creature, she was more 
 like a young girl than a woman nearing 
 middle a<ze), " Ann, Mr. InQ;ram and Mn
 
 SUSPECTED. 103 
 
 Howson suggest that our hoys have got up a 
 ghost to frighten poor Solomon ; do not you 
 think there is some one in the neighbourhood 
 as capable of playing such a prank as any 
 schoolboy ?" her manner implying that she 
 had made up her mind on the subject. 
 
 Little Miss Vasey coloured up to the side- 
 combs which kept her stiff little curls in 
 order ; but, though nervous and disconcerted, 
 she answered with sufficient readiness, " I 
 think our vicar could answer that question 
 without referrinsj to me." 
 
 The gentlemen glanced one towards the 
 other. A new light had dawned upon 
 them. 
 
 "Ah, to be sure," said Mr. Ingram, 
 reflectively, in an undertone; "we forgot 
 young Mr. Clapham !" 
 
 Young Mr. Clapham, be it observed, was 
 close upon fifty, if he had not passed that 
 Rubicon, and his faculty for practical joking 
 was notorious beyond the confines of Craven. 
 Moreover, he had been a suitor of Miss 
 Vasey for more years than I would like to 
 name, and still the little gentlewoman of
 
 104 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 slender means said " nay " to the rich man, 
 althou2;h there had been times when her 
 warm heart had fought a hard battle with 
 her cool head. 
 
 Mr. Ingram rose. " Thank you, madam, 
 for your hint," he said, " we will make a 
 point of questioning Mr. Clapham. Mean- 
 while, we will trouble you to ascertain if 
 any of your boarders left these premises 
 about the hour of curfew on Saturday 
 night ?" 
 
 "Tliat they did not," volunteered Ann 
 Vasey. " They were all in bed a quarter 
 before eiglit, and every light out. I always 
 go the round of the rooms as a safeguard 
 acrainst fire." 
 
 " There is nothing like being sure, Ann," 
 said Miss Cragg, in a tone of superior 
 wisdom, " and we owe it to the character 
 of our establishment, to clear up any 
 doubt of the kind. If any of our boarders 
 are the culprits, they must be punished." 
 
 " They will be expelled from the 
 Grammar School whosoever they be," said 
 Mr. Howson, with a nod, and down came
 
 SUSPECTED. 105 
 
 the grey gloves on the back of the chair, as 
 if to enforce his decision. 
 
 " Provided he is a pupil, and be 
 found out," suggested Mrs. Cragg, as an 
 amendment. 
 
 " Certainl}^, certainl}^ !" acquiesced the 
 other, somewhat testily, as he followed his 
 senior to the door ; and Mrs. Cragg said, as 
 the door closed upon them, and the chair 
 was wheeled to the tea-room, " Oh, dear, 
 this is a weary business. I hope none of 
 our boys were concerned. Expulsion from 
 a public school leaves a stigma on a boy for 
 life, to say nothing of the load upon the 
 conscience in a case like this, Edith declares 
 her mother's death was precipitated by the 
 outcry made by Solomon in his fright, and 
 vows she will never forgive the doer of the 
 mischief, whosoever he be. She heard 
 some one about the lane whilst the bells 
 
 were ringing." 
 
 Meals were eaten in the big best kitchen 
 or " house " there, as elsewhere. The 
 boarders had been kept waiting for their tea 
 during the two long confabs in the parlour.
 
 106 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 There was a sudden shuffling of feet when 
 Mrs. Cragg entered, talking as she came ; 
 Jasper liurried officiously across the floor 
 to push her chair to its corner near the fire ; 
 and the change which came over certain 
 faces was unobserved in the diversion so 
 created. 
 
 The table was well provided, and the 
 pupils were expected to wait upon each 
 other. Save for the elder boarders, youths 
 verging on sixteen or seventeen, tea was 
 scarce, but milk was plentiful ; oak-cake 
 contested the palm with wheaten bread ; and 
 honey, clear and pure from the hives in the 
 garden, served as a tempting substitute for 
 butter, although the latter was not excluded 
 from the board. 
 
 Miss Cragg, standing at the tea-tray end 
 of the long table — two rows of blue-and- 
 white earthenware mugs represented the 
 young patrons of the cow — asked a blessing 
 with slow impressiveness before she seated 
 herself, aud the long delayed meal began in 
 earnest. *- 
 
 But there was something in the manner
 
 SUSPECTED. 107' 
 
 of their elders, no less than in tlie words 
 dropped by Mrs. Cragg, calculated to 
 destroy the serenity of the meal. Looks and 
 whispers were exchanged, and little damsels 
 and tall youths alike pondered the question, 
 '' What next ?" 
 
 Miss CraofCT returned thanks, the vouiif; 
 ladies were dismissed to the school-room to 
 prepare their lessons for Monday, the young 
 gentlemen to the boys'-room for the same 
 purpose, and for a while all was hubbub 
 and clatter. No sooner, however, was the 
 handle of the baize-covered door turned 
 upon them than Burton, the senior boarder, 
 took up a position at the corner of the 
 fireplace, whence he issued a peremptory 
 command to Danson and Smith, juniors of ten 
 or eleven, to haul down the books and clean 
 the slates, and be brisk about it, an order 
 the youngsters thought best to obey, though 
 ears and eyes did not seem to move in unison 
 with hands and feet. Robins and Wardrop, 
 Burton's class-mates, joined him by the fire^ 
 fjasper followed, and Martin, who had held 
 aloof, was summoned to their conference.
 
 108 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 With their heads close and their backs 
 to the minors, they whispered together in 
 undertones, and apparently without too 
 much amity, for Martin Pickersgill, with 
 an angry flush showing through the clear 
 olive of his complexion, soon turned abrupt- 
 ly away from the group, saying with more 
 heat than caution, " You should have taken 
 my warning." 
 
 " And you'd best take ours," was sharply 
 retorted, at which little Danson pricked up 
 his ears, and blurted out, "What's the 
 niatter?" 
 
 "That's the matter. Long-ears," and 
 Jasper's hand set the said ears tingling. 
 " And take care you don't have your ears 
 pulled as long as your tongue." Jasper had 
 a faculty for bestowing epithets. 
 
 Martin was interposing, when the creaking 
 wheels of Mrs. Craijo-'s chair were heard in 
 the passage. There was a sudden scramble 
 for books and places, the chair stopped at 
 the door, and by the time it was opened, 
 and Miss Cragg had propelled her mother 
 into the room, all were at work save Burton.
 
 SUSPECTED. lOO- 
 
 He had turned leisurely to tlie bookshelves, 
 and stood, with arm extended, reaching 
 down his Greek Testament. 
 
 Of the whole group, Martin Pickersgill 
 and little John Danson alone appeared 
 discomposed, the red ear of the one and the 
 flushed face of the other attractiniijthe easfle 
 eye of the learned spinster, with whom 
 Martin was no great favourite. 
 
 It was no uncommon thino; for Mrs. Craofcp 
 to spend an hour with her boarders, and 
 hear the younger ones' lessons ; but her 
 coming this nigrht somehow carried another 
 meaning with it. 
 
 There was a troubled expression about 
 her lips and brow, and her voice lacked its 
 wonted cheerfulness, as she began, seri- 
 ously, 
 
 " Young gentlemen, can you conjecture 
 what brought your honoured masters here 
 this afternoon ?" 
 
 "Not the slightest notion," answered 
 Burton, with coolness, as spokesman for the 
 rest, whilst Martin only compressed his 
 lips.
 
 110 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 " Then you must know that suspicion rests 
 on the boarders under this roof, of having 
 personated a ghost last Saturday night for 
 the purpose of scaring the sexton. Now, I 
 can well believe that the actors in the 
 unseemly frolic never contemplated its 
 serious consequences, and, I have no doubt, 
 regret their part in it, much as I shall regret 
 if I find that any one of the young gentle- 
 men under our care had a hand in the 
 transaction." She paused before she con- 
 tinued, 
 
 " Mr. Ingram and Mr. Howson have left 
 me no alternative but to put to you the 
 question : 'Did any of you play that ghost?' 
 I trust in your honour to give me a truthful 
 answer." 
 
 There was a general and emphatic de- 
 nial. 
 
 '* Had 7ione of you a share in this 
 business ?" 
 
 " I had not," answered Martin Pickersgill 
 distinctly, to be echoed in varied tones by 
 the rest.
 
 SUSPECTED. Ill 
 
 "Then I may rest satisfied no one here 
 has any knowledge of the culprits ?" 
 
 Each and all proclaimed ignorance — all 
 save Martin, and Miss Cragg, silently 
 observant behind her mother's chair, noticed 
 that his lips never moved. 
 
 She looked at him steadfastly across the 
 table, and the blood mounted to his fore- 
 head. Her look said plainly, " You are the 
 delinquent, and I know it."
 
 112 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 IS IT SATISFACTORY? 
 
 " ri^HAT is satisfactory !" quoth the benign 
 i old lady, as her daughter thought- 
 fully wheeled her back to their cosy private 
 sitting-room, where by the faint light of 
 two mould candles in squat brass candle- 
 sticks, and the brighter light of the fire, Ann 
 Vasey was occupied in trimming with narrow 
 black love-ribbon (gauze ribbon striped 
 with satin, now out of date) a net cap of 
 almost puritan primness for Miss Cragg's 
 wear at the funeral next day. 
 
 When I say trimming, I simply imply 
 strings to be tied beneath the chin, and plain 
 folds of ribbon to cover joinings of the net.
 
 IS IT SATISFACTORY? 113 
 
 'No lighter style would have suited the 
 woman for whom it was made. Miss Crac-Q-'s 
 cap was part and parcel of herself. From 
 the crown of her head to the sole of her 
 foot, her dress was representative. 
 
 Quakerism — the leaven of Cromwell and 
 his puritans — flourishes in and around 
 Settle, and, albeit herself a clergyman's 
 widow, Mrs. Grass's father had been a 
 quaker, who took a sort of worldly pride in 
 his own descent from one of the illustrious 
 rebel's daughters. 
 
 Methodism has also a foothold in Settle, 
 and when it is told that fox-hunting Parson 
 Clapham thought it no sin to convert the 
 sanctuary into a market-house, and sell his 
 own cattle from the pulpit, we need be under 
 no surprise if parishioners, more pious than 
 their pastor, gave in their adhesion to that 
 evangelical offshoot of an establishment so 
 scandalised ; and whilst so far conformins as 
 to attend morning service at the parish 
 church betook themselves to the more de- 
 voutly conducted chapel in the afternoons. 
 
 The descendants of the ex-quaker were 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 1 14 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 of this number, and in Mrs, Cragg's raiment, 
 no less than in that of her daughter, might 
 be seen the influence of Quakerism and 
 Methodism toned down by strong good 
 sense. The latter had accepted her spinster- 
 hood lonGf before she crossed the borderland 
 of forty, and placed a covering on her head 
 as more becoming a woman of mature years, 
 who had undertaken the training of young 
 lives. Her gowns, always dark and of good 
 self-coloured material, rose to her throat 
 and came down to her wrists without super- 
 fluous plait or fold, the narrow skirt, as plain, 
 descended to her instep, and revealed shoes 
 always adapted to the roads and the weather. 
 As a relief to a dress otherwise severe, she 
 wore either frill or collar round her neck, 
 secured by a small brooch, and a thick gold 
 chain, to which hung a highly prized watch 
 and seals, once her father's. Fully pro- 
 portioned in form and features, she was 
 neither gaunt nor massive, harsh nor imperi- 
 ous, yet you saw at a glance she was born to 
 rule, and on good terms with herself. 
 
 And you saw this never more clearly than
 
 IS IT SATISFACTORY ? 115 
 
 when, as now, Ann Vasey was near to suggest 
 a contrast. Only three or four years younger, 
 yet the small, slight figure had the airiness 
 ^nd jauntiness of twenty ; a certain dapper 
 primness told its tale of unwedded precise- 
 ness, but there was that in her attire and 
 manner which suggested that matrimony 
 was not a relinquished possibility. Her thin, 
 light brown hair was drawn up from the 
 nape of the neck into erect bows on the 
 crown, backed by a tall Spanish comb, which 
 gave to the little lady fictitious height, whilst 
 on either side her pleasing face clustered a 
 faint show of curls. She cased lier tiny feet in 
 sandalled slippers or dainty boots, and had 
 not scrupled to widen her skirts, and short- 
 en them likewise, when the fashion reached 
 the north. Then she saw that sky, and 
 grass, and flowers were brightly tinted, and 
 so left sombre hues to her more sober rela- 
 tives, and, being but an unculled blossom 
 herself, thought it no harm to add in her 
 own person a bright spot of colour to a 
 landscape or to a faded room. 
 
 She must have been very pretty in her 
 
 i2
 
 116 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 youth ; even then she was the perfection of 
 littleness ; her tiny feet and hands, little 
 learning, no lofty ideas or intellect, little 
 in all but her heart, and that was larger than 
 her frame. 
 
 "That is satisfactory!'' repeated Mrs. 
 Cracfor ^vho had no desire to find the black 
 sheep in her own flock. 
 
 " Yes, I think it will do," said Miss Vasey, 
 holding the finished cap in her hand, and 
 surveying it from all points critically. 
 
 " Yes, it is very nice, Ann, but mother 
 does not refer to my cap," explained Eliza- 
 beth Cragg, as she stepped towards the 
 table and snuffed the candles. "She is 
 satisfied with the examination of our boys. 
 I am not,'' and down the brass snuffers went 
 into the trav, with decision. "If Martin 
 Pickersgill is not the prime offender, I have 
 no discernment." 
 
 Miss Cragg's superior wisdom and discern- 
 ment were tacitly admitted facts. It was not 
 without some trepidation Ann Vasey ven- 
 tured to break a lance with her, but the lit- 
 tle woman was strong in the cause of the
 
 IS IT SATISFACTORY? 117 
 
 weak, or of justice, and she had reason to 
 believe her sagacious cousin was biased by 
 prejudice. Both she and Mrs. Cragg lifted 
 their hands in amazement. 
 
 "Martin? never!" they cried. 
 
 " Yes, Martin. I watched him, mother, and 
 saw how uneasy he was under your ques- 
 tioning, how he changed colour, and kept 
 silent when the others answered you boldly." 
 
 " Sensitive people are not to be judged by 
 change of colour," Miss Ann observed, 
 faintly. 
 
 " He answered one question clearly, and 
 that is sufficient for me. The boy is the 
 soul of honour," was the old lady's protest 
 and opinion. 
 
 " So you two seem to think. And that is 
 the reason, I suppose, he was assigned the 
 only bed-room with a window a boy could 
 get out at." 
 
 The other ladies looked at each other 
 inquiringly. She continued : 
 
 " I have long suspected it was he who 
 steals the fruit. His West Indian mouth 
 was sure to water for it."
 
 1 1 8 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 " Yes, he likes fruit," assented Mrs. 
 Cragg. 
 
 "But the apples and pears vanished 
 before he came to board vvitli us, and even 
 his West Indian mouth could not consume all 
 the fruit stolen," objected Miss Vasey. The 
 fact was incontrovertible ; and the little 
 lady, having made a point, went on : "Now, 
 Elizabeth, it is not like you to be unjust. 
 Pray remember how superstitious Martin is, 
 from living amongst those negroes. Why, I 
 think it would kill him if he were forced 
 into a churchyard at night, and to fancy 
 he would play a ghost is ridiculous." 
 
 " I did not think of that," mused Miss 
 Cragg, adding — with no will to be con- 
 vinced — " Still he is no favourite with the 
 other boys." 
 
 " He is no favourite with Jasper, I admit," 
 urged her mother, " but John Danson seems 
 to worship him." 
 
 " Oh, John ! as he shares his room, he 
 may share the stolen fruit, and John has- 
 good reason to like him." 
 
 " Listen !" said Ann.
 
 IS IT SATISFACTORY? 119 
 
 During the greater part of this colloquy 
 the sound of a guitar had floated in from the 
 hall, but, as she spoke, a musical voice was 
 also heard singing to the guitar, with strange 
 pathos, " Home, sweet home." 
 
 " Listen !" said tender-hearted Ann Vasey, 
 "that poor boy has no home, no parents to 
 defend him. It would be a sin to breathe a 
 syllable of suspicion against him; just or 
 unjust. I would not have his expulsion 
 from the school on my conscience, I know !" 
 and her weak voice was stroncr in indignation. 
 " Sweet home," she added, in a softer tone, 
 " Poor Martin !" 
 
 She had scarcely known a mother's 
 fostering care, a parent's home. 
 
 Miss Cragg looked at her watch. 
 
 "It is time for prayers," she said, and so 
 closed the debate. 
 
 About five years previousl}'', Mrs. Cragg 
 had been visited by a brother's son, a 
 Jamaica Indigo-planter, who had come to 
 England as supercargo to his own consign- 
 ments, having at the same time a valuable 
 consignment of another kind on board.
 
 120 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 This was no other than Martin Pickersgill, 
 the son of Mr. Vasey's dearest friend and 
 partner, who had left the mother country 
 along with him when both had their fortunes 
 to seek. Both had married. Mr. Vasey 
 had lost the whole of his family by a 
 catastrophe which does not affect this historj^ 
 Mr. Pickersmll, whose wife had been a 
 wealthy and lovely Spanisli girl, lost her 
 and three children during an outbreak of 
 yellow fever, leaving only Martin, his 
 youngest boy, who was visiting his foster- 
 mother — a negress — in a distant part of the 
 plantation when the epidemic broke out, 
 and was kept apart. The sudden shock 
 thoroughly unnerved Mr. Pickersgill, and 
 under the assured conviction that he should 
 not long survive, he made his will, binding 
 his partner by a solemn promise to fulfil its 
 obligations. He lingered in a shattered 
 condition about five months, during which he 
 made an idol of his boy, and then the same 
 yellow monster laid its hot paws upon him, 
 and poor Martin, in his tenth year, stood 
 orphaned by a newly- made grave, with his
 
 *IS IT SATISFACTORY ? J 2 1 
 
 hand in that of his only friend, Elihu Vasey, 
 his father's partner, his own godftither, and 
 his guardian. 
 
 But there was vet another Gfuardian to 
 whom Martin was consio;ned, with whom 
 Laurence Pickersgill had maintained a 
 correspondence during the whole period of 
 his settlement in Jamaica. This was no 
 other than Josiah Proctor, the Skipton 
 lawyer, whom the will characterised as "an 
 honest, upright man, well acquainted with 
 the Pickersgill family and affairs, who would 
 surely watch over Martin and his interests," 
 and who was moreover enjoined " to assert 
 the boy's rights when he became twenty- 
 three, or earlier, if occasion required." 
 
 What those rights were the will did not 
 specify, but it provided that Martin should, 
 if possible, be entered at the Giggleswick 
 Grammar School, where his father, the 
 testator, had himself been educated. 
 
 Elihu Yasey was deputed to carry on the 
 plantation as heretofore, for the joint benefit 
 of Martin and himself, two-thirds of the 
 Pickersgill profits to be remitted to Mr.
 
 122 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 Proctor for safe investment in England, the 
 other to be placed out by Mr, Yasey as he 
 thought best for his ward. There was a 
 very liberal provision made for the two 
 executors, and also for his son during his 
 minority. The will was made in duplicate, 
 and one copy placed in a small sandal-wood 
 box along with sundry other papers — attes- 
 tations of marriacres and births — to be lodged 
 with Josiah Proctor. 
 
 He accepted his trust, the box and the 
 boy, as though he had expected them. He 
 made interest to obtain his ward's entrance 
 into Giggleswick School, and Elihu Vasey 
 made interest of another kind to place him 
 amongst his aunt's boarders. 
 
 The parting between Martin and his West 
 Indian guardian was a sorrowful one, and, 
 though the planter went out into the 
 world and its bustle, he could not forget the 
 mournful look of those black, lustrous eyes, 
 or the trembling of the full lips, the quiver 
 of the curved nostrils, or the pallor of the 
 clear, olive complexion, as the boy strove to 
 play the man and keep his emotion under in
 
 IS IT SATISFACTORY ? 123 
 
 the presence of strangers. He went away 
 haunted by the handsome melancholy face, 
 and Martin hurried to find a quiet corner 
 where he could shed his tears in secret. 
 
 Ann Vasey found the ten-year-old child 
 crouched down in the shadow of a great 
 sofa in the best parlour, sobbing bitterly. 
 She smoothed his wavy, jet-black hair, and 
 said a word or two of solace, and from that 
 moment the two understood each other, and 
 were fast friends. They were alike of quick 
 and hasty temperament, but generous and 
 forgiving nature, and had a like contempt 
 for au^ht that was mean or dishonourable. 
 In Martin's idea, deceit and meanness were 
 characteristic only of the black slave. 
 
 He had been in Giggleswick barely three 
 months, when, on his way from school one 
 day, he met Tim at the side gate, who told 
 him " ta raak haaste in ; theer war a rare 
 big box coom for him." 
 
 In he went, to find Miss Cragg kneeling 
 on the floor of the best kitchen, by the side 
 of an open box, with a letter in her hand, 
 also open, which she read to the end, and
 
 124 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 then handed over to Martin Pickersgill, to 
 whom it and the box also had been address- 
 ed by EUhu Vasey, then on the point of 
 saihng. 
 
 The box contained books, music, domi- 
 noes, draught-board and men, a magic 
 lantern and slides, a huge plum-cake, and 
 a iTjuitar in a case, but Martin took co2;nisance 
 of nothing but the open letter and the 
 broken seal. 
 
 His fiery blood was up. Without a 
 second glance at its contents, he cried, 
 passionately, " How dared you — 'how dared 
 you open my letter ? What right had you 
 to open either box or letter addressed to 
 some one else ? It is mean and dis- 
 honourable !" 
 
 Miss Cragg rose slowly to her feet, and 
 confronted the indignant boy, who stood 
 there, flushed and angry, crushing the letter 
 in his clenched ri<]jht hand. Never before 
 had she been so brought to bay. Her hand 
 was half raised as if to strike the insolent 
 lad who had presumed to call her privilege 
 in question. At that instant Mrs. Cragg,
 
 IS IT SATISFACTORY ? 125 
 
 then less infirm, came on the scene ; Ann 
 Vasey and a maid-servant hurried in from 
 the back-kitchen, and the other boys came 
 tripping in from school. 
 
 Mrs. Cragg had overheard half of Martin's 
 indignant protest ; the open box and letter 
 in his hand explained the rest. To her 
 immaculate daughter's surprise she maintain- 
 ed the right of the boy to receive his box 
 and letter inviolate, and admonished her 
 never again to commit such a breach of 
 trust. 
 
 The rebuke so publicly administered pre- 
 served intact all other letters from Martin's 
 guardians ; but from that time forth there 
 was a tacit antaojonism between Miss Cragf^ 
 and him. Her impeccability had received a 
 blow not to be forgotten, and hardly to be 
 forgiven. 
 
 Her dislike took the form of favouritism, 
 when, twelve months later, Mr. Proctor 
 brought another pupil to the Grammar 
 School, another boarder to them in the 
 shape of his own grandson, Jasper Ellis^ 
 wliose mother had made a runaway match
 
 126 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 and left a doting parent for a worthless 
 vagabond. Pinching want and privation 
 had Jasper known before his mother 
 surrendered hini to his grandfather, and the 
 boy's character had no doubt taken a tinge 
 from his early surroundings. His school- 
 mates nicknamed him " Foxey," whether 
 from the colour of his hair, or from other 
 peculiarities known only to them, has yet 
 to be seen. At all events he was wondrous- 
 ly obliging, and was careful in many small 
 matters which commended him to Miss 
 Cragg — ay, and to others.
 
 127 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 MRS. STATHAM's dignity. 
 
 SIATURDAY was the weekly holiday of 
 y both public and private schools. Miss 
 Cragg betook herself to Ivy Fold shortly 
 after breakfast, advising Miss Vasey to 
 lose no time in following her, as " poor 
 Edith would be sure to need countenance 
 and support." 
 
 Ann lost no time ; but the domestic 
 arrangements of a boardinof-school are not 
 raade with a wave of a fairy's wand, and 
 although Burton had undertaken the super- 
 vision of his fellows, and Miss Metcalfe, the 
 eldest pupil, had been deputed to watch 
 over the younger ladies, under the presi-
 
 128 WOOEES AND WINNERS. 
 
 dency of Mrs. Cragg, it was nearly ten 
 o'clock before she could assume her own 
 mourning habiliments and follow her cousin. 
 
 As she was about to turn from Well-bank 
 down Bell Hill, she beheld Jasper Ellis 
 running at full speed from the top of the 
 hill, and stood still until he drew near, when 
 she observed that he had buttoned his 
 topcoat over something bulky, and that 
 there was a broad grin on his face. She 
 had supposed him engaged on Monday's 
 lessons in the boys' room, 
 
 " I say, Miss Vasey," he called out before 
 he reached her, " here's Goody Statham in 
 a postchaise ! I saw her queer bonnet 
 poked out of the window. Fancy ' Pretty 
 Poll' at a funeral !" and on he rushed to the 
 side gate without pausing to be interrogated 
 or examined at closer quarters. 
 
 He dared not have so avoided Mi?s Crairii, 
 but no one stood in much awe of little 
 Miss Vasey. 
 
 She went on with her short steps to the 
 house of mourning, to repeat Jasper's news 
 and put all there in commotion.
 
 MRS. statham's dignity. 129 
 
 " Aunt Statham ! and not a word to say 
 she was coming !" ejaculated Edith, almost 
 piteously. 
 
 "And her parrot, too !" exclaimed Mr. 
 Thorpe, in a tone which at any other time 
 would have been lugubrious. 
 
 "Then there'll be that Deb, as sure as 
 foire burns and waiter's wet !" cried Janet, 
 in a huff, when the news was repeated to 
 her. She had some knowledge of Deborah, 
 and there was little love lost between the 
 two. Deborah was as stiff, slow, and 
 methodical, as her mistress was restless, 
 nervous, quick-witted, and, if anything, 
 rather more tenacious of respect, as Mrs. 
 Statham's confidential maid was likely to be 
 after more than thirty years' service. 
 
 But for once, Mrs. Statham was unaccom- 
 panied by either her parrot or Deborah. 
 
 In consideration of the steep hill, and 
 Mrs. Statham's apprehensions, the chaise had 
 been wisely left at the "Hart's Head," 
 and slowly, as befitted her sixty-five years 
 and that solemn occasion, she made her 
 way down to Ivy Fold, leaning on the arm 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 of her friend and legal adviser, Josiah 
 Proctor, whilst idlers stood still in the road 
 or round the old cross gaping after thera, 
 more than one saying as they passed out of 
 hearing, "There's a queer pair." 
 
 And certainly they did look peculiar. 
 The brisk, bright, middle-aged gentleman, 
 whose deeply dimpled face would not 
 smooth into solemnity, and whose dress 
 was at least a decade behind the time ; 
 as his ao;e was about the same distance 
 behind that of his corananion, looked 
 juvenile beside the woman whose garments 
 had not chauE^ed their fashion or their hue 
 for nearly four decades ; from the time 
 indeed when the first French Revolution 
 stamped its fashion, and something worse, on 
 civilised Europe. Had her hooded cloth 
 cloak been crrev, or even scarlet, and come 
 to her heels, it might have passed muster, 
 for such were still current in country places, 
 but it was black and descended little below 
 her waist ; and her dress was an open robe 
 of bombazine worn over a quilted petticoat 
 of taffeta, all black. It was her bonnet,
 
 MRS. statham's dignity. 131 
 
 liovvever, which attracted attention. Imaii- 
 ine the penthouse brim of a "mushroom 
 hat," with a huge bag-crown inflated like a 
 balloon ; and imagine the deep boarder of 
 a mob-cap showing beneath this over the 
 curls of her " front " (a genuine mob-cap of 
 fine French cambric, with a bag-crown and 
 frill-boarder deepening towards the ears). 
 Imagine, too, a face beneath the bonnet 
 somewhat pinched and lined, with keen, 
 restless grey eyes, an aquiline nose brought 
 into prominence, and the chin also by the 
 retirement of the lips where teeth were 
 deficient ; and suspend a fan nearly half-a- 
 yard long to a spare arm encased to the 
 elbow in a black-kid mitten, and you will 
 not be surprised that the "queer old dame," 
 on the arm of the attentive gentleman in 
 the spencer, attracted the attention of more 
 than village rustics. 
 
 Giggleswick was, however, not wholly 
 unacquainted with the peculiar old lady's 
 appearance, and by the time the door of 
 Ivy Fold had closed upon them, it was 
 buzzed about that Miss Statham had come 
 
 K 2
 
 132 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 to Thorpe's. She ivas Miss Stathain. Her 
 spinsterhood had been the one dominant 
 fact of her life's history, to which all that 
 was peculiar might be traced and dated back. 
 Only very recently had she intimated to her 
 friends, through Deborah, that Mrs. would 
 be a more respectable prefix, considering 
 her age, and friends had taken the hint. 
 There was, however, nothing peculiar about 
 the manner in which, as soon as she entered, 
 she threw her arms around Edith and Dora, 
 and even Allan, exclaiming, " Oh ! my poor 
 children, to think that my dear niece is taken 
 from you in her prime, and I, a worn-out 
 husk, I who have waited and longed for 
 death, am left behind !" Nothing peculiar 
 about the tears which rolled down her prema- 
 turely withered cheeks, and fell on Dora's 
 new crape, to crystallize and glisten there 
 as a memento, or in the way in which she 
 wrung the widower's hand, and sobbed out 
 her hopes that her niece was happy, and 
 that he would bear his loss like a man for 
 the sake of the children. 
 
 Nor was there anything peculiar in the way
 
 MT?s. statham's dignity. 133 
 
 in which she wept over the cokl, white, pas- 
 sive face in the white room upstairs, and 
 renewed old promises to care for those the 
 dead had left behind. 
 
 Nothing peculiar. There had been other 
 tears and promises — many promises. Would 
 the promises be kept? 
 
 There was, however, some restlessness 
 apparent when she came downstairs into the 
 large room, and found Miss Cragg presiding 
 over the funeral cake and wine, and Miss 
 Vasey handing it round to the assembled 
 guests ; but she drew Dora to her side, and 
 hid an}^ displeasure she might feel under 
 cover of her bonnet-brim, as she dived into 
 the pannier-like pockets beneath her robe, 
 and drew thence a large paper of sweets 
 wherewith to console the "lile bairn" who 
 had caught the infection of Aunt Statham's 
 tears, and cried, in part, because they had 
 spoiled the crape bows upon her sleeve ; but 
 the old lady knew not the shallow founda- 
 tion of Dora's tears, and the drops found 
 the way into her heart. Abstractedly she 
 ■drew from another receptacle a gold snuff-
 
 134 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 box, fitted with a tiny snuff-spoon, where- 
 by to console herself, but closed it with a 
 sharp snap, as if self-rebuked, and dropped 
 the box back into its pocket with a sort of 
 twinge. 
 
 She kept the child close to her, caressingly 
 smoothing the fair silken curls, which cost 
 Edith so much trouble nig-ht and morninsj, 
 her keen, restless eyes all the while glanc- 
 ing right and left, under covert of her bon- 
 net's drooping brim, noting all that passed, 
 from Miss Cragg's very much-at-homeness, 
 and Mr. Thorpe's mental absorption, to 
 Edith's seeming composure, as she handed 
 i>;loves and hatbands for distribution to her 
 brother, who, for his part, appeared only too 
 I'eady to spare his sister in performing these 
 little offices, which we now-a-da3's delegate 
 to a paid functionary, one of those who soon 
 appeared with a bundle of hideous cloaks 
 Avherewith to envelope the mourners of the 
 male sex, whilst Edith tenderly withdrew 
 Dora to equip her for the sad ceremonial. 
 
 There was a hearse of some kind stored 
 in a barn at the foot of Bell Hill, where a
 
 MRS. statham's dignity. 135 
 
 horse was also kept to assist carts or other 
 laden vehicles up tlie ascent ; but with the 
 churchyard so near to the house its use 
 would have been absurd. Four gentlemen, 
 friends of the family, bore the sad burden 
 to its last resting-place, the mourners follow- 
 ing in order, Mrs. Statham, whose face was 
 twitching with nervous tremors, marshalling 
 herself with her two grandnieces clasped by 
 the hand on either side, which the onlookers 
 regarded as a good augury for their future 
 — the old lady having the repute of being 
 richer than she really was, and " uncommon- 
 ly good where she took." 
 
 " Where she took !" Ah, there was the 
 rub ! She was somewhat peculiar in her 
 likings and dislikings. Apt to take preju- 
 dices and prepossessions, for which she gave 
 no reason — and was supposed to have none. 
 
 Among the spectators congregated in the 
 churchyard to witness the restoration of a 
 twice-wedded wife to her first husband, and 
 the overwhelmincr "rief of the second, there 
 was one who listened whilst the solemn 
 service was mumbled by the Vicar as a
 
 136 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 business to be despatched somehow, a mere 
 vouth of fifteen, who fixed his mournful 
 gaze on Edith, as the moisture gathered 
 in his black eyes, and his thoughts travelled 
 over the ocean to far-off graves in a tropical 
 isle, where his mother and father were laid, 
 but not forgotten. 
 
 His own orphanhood made him keenly 
 alive to that of others, and his aspect told 
 it. 
 
 Miss Crash's dance rested on Martin. 
 
 " Ah !" thought she, " his conscience is 
 pricking him." 
 
 " Poor fellow !" said Ann Vasey to her- 
 self, "I suppose he is thinking of his own 
 mother." 
 
 You see, people's thoughts will wander 
 even at such times, and differ as the people. 
 
 It was all over. The clods had fallen on 
 the coffin lid, with a sound that had its echo 
 in sobs and groans ; the red-eyed mourners 
 and their friends went back to Ivy Fold ; the 
 men to the lar^e room where Janet and 
 Betty Dyson (always in request when lives 
 came in or went out) had joined table to
 
 MRS. statham's dignity. 137 
 
 table and spread out the best napery, the 
 best glass, the best black-hafted knives and 
 three-pronged forks, the silver tankard, 
 salts and spoons, the quaint cruets and the 
 willow-pattern plates in piles, hot as the 
 dinner prepared to fill them, when the 
 blinds were drawn up, hats and cloaks laid 
 aside, bonnets and pelisses left above stairs, 
 and their owners ready to take their places. 
 
 All had gone pretty smoothly until this 
 said taking of places. 
 
 But no sooner had Janet planted a huge 
 smoking sirloin at one end of the table, 
 and a Yorkshire pudding at the other end, 
 a boiled leg of mutton and a ham midway, 
 with a few light matters in the way of fowls 
 and vegetables in the intermediate space 
 and Miss Cragg, in her temporary character 
 of hostess, indicated the seats of the guests, 
 right and left, assuming her place in front 
 of the pudding, and assigning to Mrs. Theo- 
 dora Statham the post of honour to the 
 right of the host, than the old lady's dignity 
 was touched. She threw all into con- 
 fusion by her sudden resentment of a sup-
 
 138 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 posed affront, and a breach of prerogative. 
 
 She clasped her black-mittened arms 
 across her waist, drew her slender figure up 
 to its full height ; the tremor which ever ran 
 through her frame when she was asritated 
 twitched her wrinkled face, disturbed the 
 regular folds of the white lawn kerchief 
 which decorously covered the withered 
 neck, shook the pendent borders of her 
 mob cap over her aged ears, and gave 
 undue prominence to her aquiline nose and 
 pointed chin. 
 
 "Methinks it is somewhat early, Miss 
 Cragg, for a stranger to occupy the place of 
 my dead niece." 
 
 And what a glance of fiery scorn and in- 
 dignation her keen, grey eyes shot at the 
 bewildered widower, then brought to bear 
 on Elizabeth Cragg as she flung the words, 
 as it were, in her face. 
 
 There was a breathless pause, men stood 
 with their hands on the backs of their 
 chairs ; Mrs. Hartley and Miss Vasey rose, 
 and so did Mr. Thorpe; Allan stood dis- 
 mayed.
 
 MRS. STATE Am's DIGNITY. 139' 
 
 For a moment Miss Cragg's eyelids trem- 
 bled, and her colour changed, but only for 
 a moment ; she was not one to blench when 
 she was conscious of no wrong. 
 
 Before Edith could do more than lay her 
 timid hand on her grand-aunt's arm, and 
 cast an imploring look, with the ejaculation, 
 "Oh, Aunt Stathara, don't!" Miss Cragg had 
 answered for herself. 
 
 " I think, madam, you labour under a 
 misapprehension. I occupy this place as 
 j\Iiss Earnshaw's very old friend, anxious 
 only to relieve my inexperienced young 
 pupil of an onerous duty at a trying time. 
 Had you, Mrs. Statham, announced your 
 intention to be present, no doubt other 
 arrangements would have been made." 
 
 " No doubt !" echoed the old lady, with 
 infinite scorn. 
 
 " Oh, aunt," pleaded Edith, " Miss Cragg 
 has been so kind." 
 
 " No doubt !" repeated the dame, in the 
 same icy tone. 
 
 "I shall be most happy to exchange- 
 places with Mrs. Statham, if "
 
 140 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 "No doubt!" and the close lips curled 
 into a contemptuous smile. 
 
 Mr. Thorpe blundered out something 
 unintelligible. 
 
 Allan came forward boldly. 
 
 "Come, auntie," said he, "this won't do. 
 Edith asked Miss Cragg to preside to-day, 
 and I know she is here at great inconveni- 
 ence to herself. We thought 3'ou were too 
 ill to come. You ought to be ashamed to 
 insult so kind a friend. You do not know 
 how good she has been to poor mother." 
 
 Mrs. Statham looked at her grand- 
 nephew blankly. Was this the subdued, 
 retiring boy she had hitherto known ? 
 Surely Leeds had wrought a marvellous 
 transformation ! 
 
 There was a hanimerino; on the table to 
 arrest attention. Dr. Burrow spoke. 
 
 " Ladies, dinner is spoiling ; cold York- 
 shire pudding is uneatable and indigestible. 
 I vote that we eat our dinner and settle 
 disputes afterwards." He had nothing either 
 to lose or gain by the touchy old dame. 
 
 " I agree with the doctor in every way
 
 MRS. statham's dignity. 141 
 
 and shape," seconded Mr. Proctor, who had 
 left his place and come round to try hi& 
 powers of" suasion. 
 
 Mr. Thorpe did the same, and finally 
 Mrs. Stathani filled the place Miss Cragg 
 insisted on vacating, whilst Mrs. John Hart- 
 ley sat by Mr. Thorpe, and Miss Cragg took 
 that lady's seat, having preserved an equable 
 demeanour that did infinite credit to her 
 forbearance. Mrs. Statham had contrived 
 to spoil the dinner, to substitute a real 
 affront for an imaginary one, and to make 
 everyone at the table uncomfortable, none 
 more so than herself. She felt anything 
 but triumphant, and not a little annoyed 
 when she discovered that agitation had 
 made her too nervous even to help the 
 pudding with dignity and composure.
 
 142 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A man's will and a woman's will, 
 
 APPETITE amongst the Yorkshire hills, 
 where the air is keen and bracincj, is 
 Tiot to be calculated from a smoke-dried 
 Londoner's dainty point of view. Meals 
 had need to be substantial, and " kickshaws" 
 were of small account there in the davs of 
 which I write. Funeral feasts were always 
 solid, and washed down by pure home- 
 brewed ale, and plenty of it ; sometimes a 
 little too much. 
 
 It was not so on this occasion. Mr. 
 Thorpe himself was a temperate man. Dr. 
 Burrow drank only water, and there were 
 two lawyers present who knew there was 
 business to follow the dinner.
 
 A man's and a woman's will. 143 
 
 It was this " business " which had deter- 
 mined Mrs. Stathani to dispense with her 
 maid and impress Mr. Proctor into her ser- 
 vice for the day, her plans by no means 
 embracing the discomfort of a " strange 
 bed," or a toilet without Deb. 
 
 She was therefore impatient to see the 
 table cleared and the said business intro- 
 duced, being anxious to know the precise 
 position of her nephew and nieces with re- 
 gard to money matters. She had come to 
 " look into affairs," and brought Josiali 
 Proctor to watch over the children's inter- 
 ests, " lest there should be any roguery, 
 you know ;" having quite made up her own 
 mind that the second husband must be ad- 
 verse to the children of the first marriage. 
 
 No sooner was the cloth removed than 
 she tapped on the bare mahogany with her 
 fan, to call attention, contriving at the same 
 time to arrest a conversation between Miss 
 Crairij and Mr. Proctor relative to his ward 
 and his grandson, 
 
 " Business, sir," said the old ladv to her 
 lawyer. "Time is flying."
 
 144 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 Had a drill-sergeant called " Attention !" 
 to his men, the effect could not have been 
 more instantaneous. The flow of talk was 
 checked, chairs were pushed back, spines 
 stiffened, and heads held up to attend. 
 
 Archibald Thorpe flushed slightly, leaned 
 across the table to say a word or so in an 
 undertone to old Mr. Hartley, the other 
 lawyer, then threw himself back in his 
 chair, and beckoned to little Dora to come 
 and take her accustomed place on his knee. 
 Lawyer Hartley began to fumble in his hind 
 coat pocket, and Josiah Proctor, bending 
 his head forward with a jerk, as if to ac- 
 knowledge Mrs. Statham's intimation, struck 
 his hands smartly together, gave the palms 
 a brisk rub, and began to say, whilst Allan 
 and Edith, seated together, looked in each 
 other's faces as if to ask what was coming, 
 
 " Mr. Thorpe, at the instance of our 
 friend, Mrs. Statham, when the intelligence 
 of Mrs. Thorpe's lamented decease reached 
 us, I communicated with the late Mr. Earn- 
 shaw's solicitor, and requested that the will 
 of the said deceased Allan Earnshaw should
 
 A MAN S AND A WOMAN S WILL. 145 
 
 be produced this day, and read over, for 
 the better instruction and satisfaction of all 
 parties concerned, and the due observance 
 of its conditions." 
 
 Mrs. Statham nodded. 
 
 Again Mr. Thorpe flushed slightly. " I 
 am not much of a business man mvself, sir," 
 he answered, quietly, " but I am quite as 
 desirous as Mrs. Statham can be to ascertain 
 the precise terms of — of — Mr. — the will, by 
 which my late wife held the property under 
 her control, not merely with regard to my 
 own position, but its bearing on the child- 
 ren of her former marriage, and our future 
 relations to each other. I had therefore 
 anticipated Mrs. Statham's wishes, and con- 
 veyed to Mr. Hartley my own desire that 
 the will of Mr. Earnshaw should be read 
 and duly carried out. But let me say this 
 beforehand, that, whatsoever be its provis- 
 ions, I trust that the connection between 
 myself and my step-children may not be 
 disturbed, and I venture to say that they 
 will find in me as much a father as they 
 have hitherto found me." 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 "Eugli!" muttered Mrs. Statharn, grum- 
 pily, " much that has been, I know," whilst 
 Edith wiped her tearful eyes, and wondered 
 if in her secret heart she had done her step- 
 father injustice. 
 
 Mr. Hartley had the will open, his gold- 
 rimmed spectacles descended from his fore- 
 head to his nose, and he proceeded to 
 peruse a lengthy document, of which it is 
 only needful to give an abstract; restless 
 Mrs. Statharn fidgeting with her fan or her 
 snuff-box, and throwing out an occasional 
 interjection meanwhile, but never shifting 
 her keen grey eyes from the face of Mr. 
 Thorpe the whole time. 
 
 This was not altogether a pleasant posi- 
 tion, as will be understood from the tenor 
 of his predecessor's will, which, in the first 
 place, conveyed to the testator's beloved 
 wife, Edith, Ivy Fold, and all the personal 
 goods and chattels contained therein, for 
 the term of her natural life, provided she 
 resided on the premises, and kept them in 
 good preservation for transmission to his 
 son Allan, and Allan's heirs in due course.
 
 A man's and a woman s will. 147 
 
 It set apart for the said son Allan two 
 thousand pounds, to be paid to him at the 
 age of twenty-one years, and one thousand 
 pounds for his dear daughter Edith, to be 
 handed over to her on her marriage or her 
 coming of age, the interest in these sums to 
 be expended in the education or mainten- 
 ance of the children at the discretion of his 
 ■executors. 
 
 All other properties whatsoever were left 
 unconditionally, for the use and benefit of 
 his wife Edith for the term of her natural 
 life, and at her death to be divided between 
 his son Allan and daughter Edith, in the 
 proportion of two-thirds for Allan, and one- 
 third for Edith ; and, in case his wife should 
 decease before the majority of Allan or the 
 majority or marriage of Edith, such propor- 
 tion of rentals or interest to be applied for 
 their use or benefit as the executors, his 
 friends William Hartley, solicitor, and 
 Thomas Dixon Burrow, surgeon, should 
 think fit, the executors' right and control 
 ending with the periods named. 
 
 Many an interjectional " Eugh !" and 
 
 L 2
 
 148 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 "Telia!" had Mrs. Statliam thrown out in 
 comment. As the last word fell from the 
 reader's lips, she jerked out, " Eugh, always 
 the lion's share for the lads !" addino;, " And 
 what may the separate shares be worth, 
 now ? At a rough estimate, that is, sir,"^ 
 addressing old Mr. Hartley. 
 
 The old gentleman lifted his head from 
 the parchment he was re-folding, looked 
 quizzically at the speaker down the long 
 table, over the gold rims of his spectacles, 
 and answered, drily, 
 
 " Values fluctuate, as you will be well 
 aware, Mrs. Statham ; but if we say approxi- 
 mately three thousand five hundred for the 
 girl, and seven thousand for the boy — ex- 
 clusive of Ivy Fold — we shall not overshoot 
 the mark. Eh, Dr. Burrow ?" 
 
 Dr. Burrow nodded assent. The eyes of 
 brother and sister, who sat with hands 
 linked together, met once again with an 
 expression which told how greatly inexperi- 
 ence magnified their fortunes. Mr. Proctor 
 rubbed his hands together as expressively 
 as if he had said, ''Perfectly equitable and
 
 A MAN S AND A WOMAN S WILL, 149 
 
 satisfactory," and he no doubt would have 
 said it but for j\Irs. Stathani's fresh inter- 
 ruption. 
 
 " Eugli ! And what's to be done with 
 Ivy Fold ? And where's Edith to go ? And 
 what shall you do with Dora, Mr. Thorpe, 
 since this is no longer your home, and Allan 
 lives in Leeds ?" 
 
 Allan started to his feet before Mr, 
 Thorpe could well stammer out, " Really, 
 Mrs. Statham, 3^ou — you take me by sur- 
 prise, I have not had time to consider," and 
 impetuously, as if he thought she had out- 
 raged all their feelings, the youth exclaimed, 
 
 " Not his home, Aunt Statham ? If it is 
 my home it is father's home, and Dora's, 
 and Edith's above all. She will not go 
 anywhere else if I have a voice in the 
 matter," and he threw his arm round his 
 sister as if to enforce his protest against any 
 separation, whilst a general murmur of 
 approval ran round the room, in which 
 iione was more hearty tlian Josiah Proctor. 
 
 Edith here put in a timid word. 
 
 "If you please, aunt, mother gave Dora
 
 150 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 into my charge. I was to take very great 
 care of her, and not to let any harm or 
 trouble come near her — so we must live 
 together, you see." 
 
 "Oh, you must, must you?" 
 
 "Yes, and if you please, aunt, mother 
 thought that, as Dora was your namesake, 
 you would — you would " 
 
 She hesitated. The old lady, with her 
 face twitchincf, concluded the sentence : 
 " Be a fairy godmother, to shower gifts and 
 good fortune upon lier, I suppose! Tcha! 
 I came here with a plan of my own for you 
 girls, but, as everything seems pretty well 
 settled without me, I shall go back as I 
 came. Come, Mr. Proctor," and she rose 
 from her seat, " there is nothing for you or 
 me to do here ; there will be a loill to draw 
 up when we are back in Skipton," and the 
 borders of her cap flew wide with the toss 
 of her old head. 
 
 There was a creneral movement in the 
 room. Mr. Thorpe put Dora down, and 
 came forward to explain. Edith clung to 
 her arm and Dora to her robe; Allan ten-
 
 A MAN S AND A WOMAN's WILL. 151 
 
 dered an apology ; the two lawyers inter- 
 vened, but she was not to be mollified. A 
 second affront had been put upon her, inas- 
 much as she, the wealthy head of the family, 
 had been utterly iQ;nored from first to last 
 — even in the will just read to her. That 
 was why her niece had always kept her in 
 the dark about it, she said. 
 
 With a wave of her fan ^ she rejected all 
 overtures, and, with as much majesty as she 
 could assume, she marched out of the room 
 on her high-heeled shoes, and mounted the 
 stairs to Edith's chamber, where her cloak 
 and bonnet awaited their owner, she having 
 previously expressed a desire, which was 
 tantamount to a command, that Mr. Proctor 
 should give orders to have the postchaise in 
 readiness immediately. 
 
 There was a wonderful deal of imperturba- 
 bility under Mr. Proctor's friskiness, and he 
 was in no such desperate hurry. He had 
 determined on a call at Well Bank to see 
 the boys, Jasper and Martin, before he went 
 back. Besides, glasses and decanters had 
 been placed on the table, and he had no
 
 152 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 mind to go without his glass of grog, or to 
 travel with the old dame in her then frame 
 of mind. 
 
 Whether, as he left the cottage, ostensibly 
 to obey instructions, he gave a hint to Janet, 
 or some one else did, certain it is that that 
 diplomatic individual hurried up to the bed- 
 room where the offended old lady was 
 vainly endeavouring, with nervous hands, 
 to dispense with Edith's proffered assistance, 
 and adjust her bonnet on her shaking head 
 to her satisfaction. 
 
 "Why, Mrs. Statham," she cried, in amaze, 
 *' ye's nivver goin' ! I's fair raaffled ! Goin' 
 withaght yer tay ! Goin' all t'way ta Skip- 
 ton withaght bite or sup ! I nivver heeard 
 av sich a thinof. I'd nivver hev baked them 
 pikelets if I'd thowt ye'd goa back afoar 
 tay. Yez baan ta staay an hev yer tay, an 
 taste mah pikelets. I'm not goin' ta hev ye 
 eoa hoam hauf clemmed. Ye'd be rare and 
 badly afoar ye got theer. An then I'd hev 
 Deb abaoht mah lu^s, suer as foire burns 
 and watter's weet." 
 
 Janet had measured the length of Mrs.
 
 A man's and a woman's will. 153 
 
 Statliam's foot before that day. She bad 
 fitted her now to a nicety. If the ancient 
 spinster had a special weakness, it was for 
 strong tea and pikelets ; and Janet's pike- 
 lets, like her haver-bread, were incompara- 
 ble ; and if she stood in fear of mortal, it 
 was of Deb — her own maid. The very 
 mention of Deb's name suggested that indi- 
 vidual's aspect if a fit of spasms followed the 
 fifteen miles' ride without the previous sus- 
 tenance of pikelets and hyson. Would Deb 
 regard her self-inflicted martyrdom as lieroic 
 or quixotic ? 
 
 Deb was certainly a good naaie to con- 
 jure with. She stood irresolute. Janet's 
 unsophisticated attention was evidently 
 soothing. Tlie tearful caresses and en- 
 treaties of her grandnieces moved her more 
 than she would own. An appeal in the 
 name of the dead niece whom she had 
 loved did the rest. She embraced both her 
 grandnieces, graciously condoned offences 
 which had never been contemplated ; con- 
 sented to have her bonnet and cloak re- 
 arranged — not removed ; and, not without
 
 154 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 considerable hesitation, allowed Editli to 
 escort her downstairs, and usher her into 
 the room below, much as one who had 
 condescended to remit a sentence of excom- 
 munication. 
 
 Her humours were pretty well known. 
 Janet had acted as courier in advance. She 
 was received with deference. No allusion 
 was made to what had cjone before. She 
 entered into affable conversation with Mrs. 
 John Hartley and Miss Vasey. Compared 
 notes with Miss Cragg in respect to certain 
 pains in the head and face to which 
 both were subject, expressed her willing- 
 ness to adopt a certain specific with which 
 Dr. Burrow provided Miss Cragg, and, by 
 the time Janet appeared with the tea and 
 hot pikelets, had apparently forgotten that 
 her messenger had delayed his return, or 
 the possibility of post-horses being kept 
 waiting. 
 
 But she did not change her purpose about 
 her new will, for which Josiali Proctor re- 
 ceived instructions during the ride home.
 
 1 ^ PC 
 
 DO 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 APPLE-TREE HALL. 
 
 WHATEVER might be Mrs. Statbam's 
 presumed haste, Josiah Proctor, on 
 his way to the '' Hart's Head," did not hesi- 
 tate to make a detour towards Well Bank, 
 rubbing his hands together in high glee, 
 and presenting his speckless person at the 
 door with a face as brimful of satisfaction 
 as that of a mischievous schoolboy in the 
 height of a frolic. 
 
 " Give the old dame time to cool," he 
 murmured, as he lifted the knocker. "I 
 am glad the family pie was baked before 
 she could put her finger into it. What does 
 she or Deb know of young children, in any
 
 156 WOOEllS AND WINNERS. 
 
 way or shape ? Let her be content with 
 spoiling Poll and Fido." 
 
 So radiant was his smile, so cordial his 
 salutation, that Mrs. Cragg, who had heard 
 from Martin of his presence at the funeral, 
 was surprised out of her own gravity, re- 
 turned his hand-shake with like heartiness, 
 and in five minutes was chattins; as easilv 
 with him as if there was nothing mournful 
 in existence. It was very hard to do other- 
 wise with Josiah Proctor, though he carried 
 some sorrow under his spencer, and had 
 felt a hard hand grip his heart many a time 
 and oft. Blows dealt at his daughter had 
 fallen heavily on him. 
 
 Who suspected anj^thing of this ? Not 
 Mrs. Cragg, as she bade him be seated, and 
 answered so cheerily his questions anent 
 the health and conduct and progress of Jas- 
 per and ]\Iartin, well pleased to be able to 
 furnish so good a report on the whole. 
 Lost frills, and rent and muddy trousers, 
 counted for nothing with Mrs. Cragg. So 
 long as the lads broke no limbs in climbing 
 trees or scrambling over scars, she over-
 
 APPLE-TREE HALL. 157 
 
 looked minor offences? which the laundress 
 and the seamstress could put right, and liad 
 some stiff ari^uments with her daughter on 
 what the latter was wont to consider " false 
 indulgence." 
 
 She recounted one or two boyish esca- 
 pades with almost as much gusto as Mr. 
 Proctor showed in hearing;. But when he 
 asked what was the ghost story to which 
 Miss Crao^o; liad darkly alluded, a chang-e 
 came over her features, and she gave the 
 details, so far as known, with much serious- 
 ness, dwelling upon the consequences to the 
 Thorpes and to Solomon Bracken, and the 
 trouble it would be if she thought any of 
 their boys were to blame. 
 
 "Then you don't fancy the spectre a real- 
 ity ?" propounded the lawyer, with a sly 
 twinkle in his eye. 
 
 " Real ! Preposterous ! I wonder you 
 put such a question to me." 
 
 " H'm ! You would not be the first old 
 woman — I beg pardon for the word — who 
 believed in ghosts. Mrs. Statham is by no 
 means a fool ; but let anyone so much as-
 
 158 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 mention an apparition in her presence, and 
 then see what she is made of ! True, that 
 reminds me," he abruptly added, " Mrs, 
 Statham may be for makins; a iihost of me 
 if I keep her waiting too long. Can I see 
 the lads ?" 
 
 Yes, he could see the lads, and, such 
 being his wish, see them as they were. 
 
 The twans: of a <:i;uitar led him to the 
 boys' room, where he found Martin alone, 
 with the instrument which had been his 
 mother's, and which Mrs. CraGf*? said was 
 the youth's chief companion, in his hands. 
 He sat in a corner of the deep window-seat, 
 with an old music-book before him, but evi- 
 dently not consulting the notes, for his fin- 
 gers seemed to wander mechanically over 
 tlie strings, he meanwhile looking drearily 
 out into the yard where the younger boarders 
 Avere playing leap-frog, John Danson making 
 a back for the frogs. 
 
 Martin did not stir until his guardian 
 spoke, and then the light which irradiated 
 his handsome countenance needed no inter- 
 preter. His visitor was surely welcome.
 
 APPLE-TREE HALL. 159 
 
 At first the latter bantered him on his 
 unsocial habits, love of solitude, and melan- 
 choly music, urged the necessity for open- 
 air exercise, and strove to elicit the cause 
 of his isolation from his proper companions, 
 Jasper among the rest. 
 
 Alternately frank and reserved in his 
 answers, on the last point he was impene- 
 trable, a deep crimson flush being his sole 
 reply. 
 
 Nor was he any more communicative 
 when questioned about the ghost which was 
 troubling Giggleswick, and the kind lawyer 
 took leave of his ward in some perplexity. 
 Josiah Proctor was a deeper judge of hu- 
 man nature than Miss Craij^. He had an 
 innate perception that there was something 
 ■wrong, which it was her business to fathom, 
 but he did not attribute that wrong to Mar- 
 tin Pickersgill ; and when he left him, a 
 crown-piece had passed into the olive-tinted 
 palm, with the smiling intimation that it 
 would serve to buy cat-gut. A very desir- 
 able " tip," for somehow Martin's guitar- 
 strings broke unaccountably.
 
 160 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 A thoughtful face the visitor carried witli 
 him across the passage, and through the 
 large bright kitchen (wliere Nancy was set- 
 ting the tea-things), down the steps into the 
 yard, past out-buildings and grass-plots, 
 along the hedge-side path, to the grassy 
 orchard, and Apple-Tree Hall. 
 
 The door was closed, and there was a 
 shuffling within before it was opened. When 
 it was, Josiah's nostrils detected the reek of 
 stnoke which never came from the dying 
 turf fire, and his sharp eye observed wet 
 rings upon the rough table, as though some 
 drinking vessel had there left its auto- 
 graph. Four or five youths, in age vary- 
 ing from sixteen to eighteen, were seated 
 or standing within, as if disturbed. Jasper 
 Ellis, the junior, confronted his grandfather, 
 with the door in liis hand. He was, by 
 virtue of his discretion, admitted to the 
 freedom of the hall, and, that admission in- 
 volving subservience to orders, he became 
 general scout and lackey to the small 
 establishment, hence his errand to the 
 " Hart's Head " ; but I liave a notion he
 
 APPLE-TREE HALL. 161 
 
 turned his alacrity in service to his own 
 account. 
 
 He had been detained at a secret conclave 
 held in Apple-Tree Hall that morning, which 
 Pickersgill had declined to attend, and he 
 had taken for granted Mrs. Statham's com- 
 panion to be Deborah ; consequently Jasper 
 was unprepared for his grandfather's appear- 
 ance, and his face showed it. 
 
 But, if Mr. Proctor was dissatisfied, his 
 manner did not reveal his private opinions. 
 The jaunty way in which he asked if visitors 
 were always kept so long waiting at the 
 door for admission, or if they barred it to 
 keep out the churchyard ghosts, and humor- 
 ouslv suggested that a horse-shoe nailed 
 thereon might prove equally effective, be- 
 trayed no suspicions he might entertain ; 
 whilst his " Snug place this ! How do you 
 amuse yourselves here ?" certainly invited 
 confidence other than the evasive " Oh ! 
 sometimes one way and sometimes another." 
 
 But he went on, " I see you have a game 
 of cards now and then," and he pointed to 
 the nine of diamonds lying face upwards 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 1G2 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 under the table. " Well, I like a quiet rub- 
 ber myself, and see no harm in it if you 
 play for love ; but once make money an 
 element in the game, and you will find 
 another curse besides the curse of Scotland 
 in the cards." 
 
 Oh, they never played for money, never ! 
 was almost an outcry, when other disclaimer 
 was discovered to be useless. 
 
 " At all events, I trust Jasper does not 
 play for stakes." 
 
 " What, Foxey ! He's too close-fisted for 
 that, sir," cried one. " Don't be afraid, 
 sir, Foxey loves his money too well," vouch- 
 safed Burton. " We don't play with juve- 
 niles," loftily observed another, a stranger 
 to Mr. Proctor, who interrupted Jasper's 
 flurried " Oh ! grandfather, I hope you 
 
 don't think I " with what seemed an 
 
 irrelevant question. 
 
 " Where is Martin ? Why is he not 
 amons you ?" 
 
 There was a general curling of lips. 
 
 "He has got a fit of sulks, as usual," 
 blurted out Jasper.
 
 APPLE-TREE HALL. 1G3 
 
 "The Senhora prefers ' the light guitar, 
 to our uninelodious society," sneered Robins. 
 
 A tliird suggested contemptuously that 
 " Miss Pickers<^ill miuht be most likely 
 found with the oilier young ladies." 
 
 A change came over their interlocutor. 
 " I am glad my ward shows so much good 
 taste, young (jentlemen. I would prefer 
 misses to mischief. Good afternoon." And, 
 leaving them to digest his words at their 
 leisure, he took Jasper by the shoulder, nor 
 released his hold until he had him safe out 
 of earshot in the bye-lane. 
 
 Then Josiah Proctor had a private word 
 or two with his grandson, cards being the 
 one topic, Martin Pickersgill the other. He 
 was not angry, but he was terse and peremp- 
 tory. What he had heard with his ears he 
 had filtered through his understandincr. 
 
 " Jasper," said he, quietly, " I am not 
 satisfied with the way you spend your holi- 
 days. YounfT men of seventeen or eifihteen 
 are no associates for lads of fourteen. Young 
 men with much pocket-money are no com- 
 panions for boys with little. The boy is upt 
 
 M 2
 
 164 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 either to sell himself" or ruin hiruself. Yoii 
 had better cultivate the friendship of Martin 
 Pickersgill. One good friend is worth more 
 than a dozen doubtful comrades. I desire 
 you will keep on friendly terms with Martin ; 
 it may be for your good hereafter." (He 
 did not say "for your interest^'' if he meant 
 it.) "And now, lad, look in ray face and 
 listen. You cannot have forgotten what 
 comes of card-playing. I have taken you: 
 away from loant and penury. I have prom- 
 ised to make a man of you, if you will let 
 me ; but, if I know you so much as shuffle a 
 pack of cards again, I cast you off to sink or 
 swim ; so remember !" 
 
 And away he went, without another 
 word, and without leaving any crown-piece 
 in the palm that had been itching for it. 
 Had he forgotten? Josiah Proctor was not 
 a man with a defective memory. 
 
 He carried av/ay with him from Giggles- 
 wick doubts requiring solution. The very 
 nicknames of the two boys troubled him. 
 Mrs. Statham poured instructions for her 
 new will into muffled ears, for which the
 
 APPLE-TREE HALL. 165 
 
 rattling of the chaise had afterwards to be 
 made responsible. 
 
 He had left the ghost mystery as he 
 found it, but he decided that others had the 
 matter in hand whom it concerned more 
 nearly, as he imagined. 
 
 The old Grammar School was a plain, 
 very plain oblong stone edifice, standing in 
 the shade of ash and sycamore in the middle 
 of a field below the northern wall of the 
 churchyard. A portion of this field was 
 used as a playground, and a path on a 
 gradual incline under the shadow of the wall 
 ascended from Love-lane to the Lancaster 
 highway, guarded by a stile at either end. 
 Stiles are of stone in this part of the world, 
 and seldom more than a slab placed on end 
 between uprights, or a narrow gap between 
 stone posts only. There was a bare, bald 
 aspect about the structure common enough 
 amons the dales and moorlands of York- 
 shire. The small-paned, unadorned, square 
 windows seemed to stare at you like two 
 rows of eyes without lids. The stone was 
 grey, and lichen-tinted with age, and Whit-
 
 166 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 taker conjectures the building to have been 
 originally the house of the Rood-priest, on 
 the strength of a somewhat obscure inscrip- 
 tion over the doorway — otherwise naked as 
 that of a barn — in which one ''Jacobuni 
 Carr " prayed "Alma Dei Mater" to defend 
 him and his house from evil, and further 
 indicated his priestly calling. 
 
 If the historian be rigfht, then had the 
 Rood-priest a house solid enough to resist 
 the blasts of winter, and roomy enough to 
 shelter wayfaring guests, but with no more 
 pretensions to architectural beauty than a 
 carpenter's workshop. 
 
 Yet, ugly and unpretentious as it was, 
 Paley, the theologian, and other men of 
 mark, found their Alma Mater within its 
 walls, and the invocation with which the 
 inscription closed, ** Young and old praise 
 the Lord," had in it the ring of prophec3\ 
 How many have had cause to " praise the 
 Lord " for education under that roof since 
 Jacobus Carr set up the stone ! 
 
 The building had, however, an uninviting 
 aspect at best of times. Especially uninvit-
 
 APPLE-TREE HALL, 167 
 
 ing was it on that Black-Monday morning 
 in February when the grey skies opened 
 their sluices over Settle, pelted the ground 
 into mire, and put a damper on the most 
 spirited youth who ever swung satchel 
 behind him, or rejoiced that his exercise 
 was safe under cover of a book-slate. 
 
 Young masters and misses, there was a 
 tax upon paper in those days, and no steel 
 pens, and rain was apt to wash the pencil- 
 lings from slates. But woe betide the 
 youth who had an illegible exercise that 
 particular wet Monday, for never was "Old 
 Howson " more disposed to test the supple- 
 ness of the lithe cane he carried in his 
 pocket, doubled up snug and warm, ready 
 for use, where none could tamper with it ; 
 never more inclined to fling the loose-leaved 
 Eton grammar he kept on his desk at the 
 head of the first boy who stammered over 
 a declension, or was guilty of a false quan- 
 tity, and to set him also the task of collect- 
 ing and arranging the so scattered leaves. 
 
 Nor was Mr. Ingram as amiable as his 
 wont. The deputation which had waited
 
 168 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 on Mrs. Cragg, taking the cue from her, had 
 likewise waited on Thomas Clapham, Esq., 
 and Thomas Clapham had laughed more 
 heartily than his clerical sire had done, 
 grinning like one of Darwin's friends, as he 
 declared he never enjoyed a ghost story so 
 much before, that it was " a devilish good 
 joke, an admirable farce," and, after indulg- 
 ing in considerable fun, seasoned with not a 
 little blasphemy, wound up with a request 
 that they would let him know when the 
 storm they had brewed in their tea-pot had 
 poured itself out. 
 
 A thin, monkey-faced, monkey-limbed 
 man was Thomas Clapham, all legs and 
 arms, as it were, raw-boned, and large- 
 jointed. His loose, dark coat failed to con- 
 ceal the angularity of his elbows, and his 
 drab breeches and gaiters brought the knees 
 into undue prominence. Mischief was born 
 in him, had grown with his growth, and 
 no doubt he had many an eccentric joke 
 fathered upon him for which he was nowise 
 responsible. But what cared he ? The 
 reputation was his glory. If he did any
 
 APPLE-TREE HALL. 169 
 
 damage, his purse was open to pay for it. 
 And that he did damage was unquestiona- 
 ble, although, as a rule, his fun inclined 
 more to coarseness than to viciousness, and 
 sometimes may be it had better prompting 
 than was apparent. 
 
 It was no easy task to tackle Thomas 
 Clapham. He was slippery as an eel, and 
 stood in no awe of his clerical catechists. 
 He was not a poor man, or a tradesman, 
 to care for either frowns or patronage ; he 
 was a land-owner, with wealth at com- 
 mand to throw away if he liked — and he 
 very often did like, but he must have his 
 jest out of it first. He was not greatly 
 troubled with a sense of responsibility, and 
 held that golden ointment was a panacea 
 for all wounds. To him it was good fun to 
 throw dust into the eyes of two school- 
 masters, and to send them away in greater 
 perplexity than before. It was also fan for 
 him to stand in the rain at the vicarage gate 
 that Monday morning, and salute Mrs. 
 Cragg's boarders with loud " Hilloos !" as 
 soon as they marched round the corner on
 
 170 WOOERS AND -WINNERS. 
 
 their way to school, writhing and grimacing 
 suggestively, as if undergoing a smarting 
 castigation from somebody's supple-jack.
 
 171 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 HO wson's cane. 
 
 WET morning though it was, the fire at 
 Howson's end of the long school- 
 room had only just been lit, that at Ingram's 
 end was barely bursting into a blaze, and 
 Betty Dyson and her daughter 'Liza were 
 still in a bustle with their dusters on the 
 magisterial chairs and desks on either 
 platform, when Mrs. Cragg's contingent 
 encountered a shoal of Settle and Stack- 
 house lads, wet and muddy with their long 
 tramp, coming from the opposite end of the 
 footpath, and they trooped in together at 
 the open door pell-mell, with as much 
 clatter and as little ceremony as a band of 
 wild Indians.
 
 172 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 There was a chorus of disappointment in 
 every note of the gamut, " No fires ?" 
 
 " I say, Mother Wellington, what is the 
 meaning of this ? School time, and neither 
 fires nor room ready ?" demanded Burton, 
 authoritatively, as spokesman for the rest. 
 
 The woman began to apologise, '' Whya, 
 ye see, faither niaks so mich wark for yan, 
 sin he wor flaayed wi' t' ghoast, an' had t' 
 fit, I cannot manish to leave haam ez suin 
 ez I sud." 
 
 "That's no excuse for Lizzy Lie-abed, 
 Mother Wellington," bawled Jasper, always 
 read}^ to follow Burton's lead ; but he punc- 
 tuated his speech with a pretty loud " Oh !" 
 as a pair of sharp nails met in his ear, and 
 he knew by experience that "'Old Howson" 
 was behind him. 
 
 "And no excuse for bad lanofuao;e, sir! 
 Apologise on the instant, or," and out of a 
 coat pocket came the elastic cane with a 
 very ominous swish. 
 
 At the first touch of the magic wand, 
 Jasper stammered out something which Mr. 
 Howson allowed to pass muster for an
 
 howson's cane, 173 
 
 apology. With a parting cut at the young- 
 ster's jacket, and another slash on his own 
 desk to arrest attention, he threatened cor- 
 poral punishment to any pupil who should 
 apply offensive sobriquets to Betty or her 
 daughter in his hearing, in the future.. 
 There was a smirk on the rosy face of 'Liza, 
 but Betty had the worldly wisdom to drop 
 a civil curtesv before retirino;, and to inti- 
 mate she " Didn't mich mind." 
 
 By this time Mr. Howson's own boarders 
 had defiled in, and then the select band 
 from Craven Bank, with Mr. Ingram at 
 their head, followed by sundry stragglers 
 from the villaoje and elsewhere. There was 
 a shuffling of feet whilst caps and coats were 
 hung up, places taken at the two rows of 
 seats ranged on either side, and a buzz and 
 a hum as books were opened with a sudden 
 show of assiduity. 
 
 The masters shook hands, and then, in- 
 stead of separating, marched to Mr. Ingram's 
 end for a few minutes, and stood together 
 over the fire with their backs to the school,, 
 as if in consultation.
 
 174 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 Hurried, low-voiced whispers ran down 
 the forms, then silence fell on the school, 
 for all, from the eldest pupil to the least, 
 knew something was wrong, and some one 
 was likely to smart for it ; the theory of 
 the period being that birch and cane made 
 boys smart in more ways than one. 
 
 The masters turned their faces, and very 
 awful faces they appeared to be that morn- 
 ing. The Rev. Rowland Ingram, Mr. Lang- 
 horne, and the Rev. John Howson remained 
 standing. The cane of the latter gave a 
 double rap on the desk of the former. All 
 ears and eyes were alert. 
 
 Each monitor was called by name. Then 
 orders were issued for the monitors to bring 
 their respective classes to the front of the 
 platform, and range them there, the juniors 
 foremost, the seniors in the rear. 
 
 And then the arbiters of destiny scanned 
 the phalanx of young faces with so keen a 
 scrutiny that surely conscious guilt must 
 have made some sign. 
 
 " Young gentlemen," began Mr. Ingram, 
 ^' several months have elapsed since it was
 
 howson's cane. 175 
 
 my unpleasant duty to admonish you 
 collectively from this platform. On that 
 occasion, you will remember, the parish 
 bone-house had been surreptitiously entered, 
 fragmentary relics of the dead irreverently 
 abstracted, and still more irreverently placed 
 within the pews of the congregation. The 
 Grammar School was, at that time, supposed 
 to shelter the delinquent, and, seeing that 
 the appeal I then made to your honour as 
 gentlemen was effectual, the inference is 
 conclusive. The offender or offenders must 
 have been in your midst ^ 
 
 Here the Rev. John Howson drew his 
 cane affectionately between the forefinger 
 and thumb of his risjht hand. There was a 
 weary movement of feet, but not an eye 
 dared glance aside lest the glance should be 
 misconstrued. 
 
 "Now, young gentlemen," Mr. Ingram 
 continued, "a much more serious offence 
 has been perpetrated. I refer to the sense- 
 less device for terrifying the sexton. No 
 doubt the effects have been more appalling 
 than were contemplated. An honest, hard-
 
 176 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 working man has been stricken down, and 
 most probably disabled for life. The death 
 of an estimable invalid lady has been preci- 
 pitated. The fears of ignorance and super- 
 stition have been aroused. To check credulity 
 the cheat must be exposed and punished. 
 If the offenders be in our midst expulsion is 
 the only remedy." He paused to give 
 weight to the question which followed. 
 " For the honour of the school, I demand 
 to know who had a hand in getting up the 
 o;host !" 
 
 There was many a deep-drawn breath, but 
 never an answer. 
 
 The question was varied, but faces were 
 set like flints in ignorance or wilfulness. 
 
 The masters looked disturbed. Possibly 
 Thomas Clapham was the only one to blame 
 after all ! 
 
 Again — "Does no one among you know 
 anvthing whatever of the matter?" 
 
 " Pickersgill, stand forth !" broke the 
 silence like an electric shock. 
 
 The peering, half-shut eyes of the Kev. 
 John Howson, wandering from face to face,
 
 howson's cane. 177 
 
 had rested for an instant on Martin, and 
 seen the quick blood leap in answer to his 
 brow. The frank, intelligent youth ; the 
 model scholar whose diligence defied the 
 cane, stood high in his esteem. The re- 
 action was swift ; the usher felt he had been 
 deceived. 
 
 A dozen hands were ready to thrust the 
 fallen favourite to the front. It is the way 
 of the world ; and what is a public school 
 but a world in embryo ? 
 
 Gripping his bluejacket collar the usher 
 jerked him on to the platform, amidst a 
 fresh buzz of surprise and excitement. 
 
 The cane went swishing in the air, "Now, 
 boy, confess ! Who were your con- 
 federates ?" 
 
 " I have nothing to confess, sir," answer- 
 ed Martin, but his voice was far from steady, 
 and his eye glanced furtively at the cane. 
 To him it was an instrument of utter degra- 
 dation. 
 
 " Nothing to confess, sir," repeated the 
 usher, severely. " Your guilty face con- 
 demns you. Name your accomplices at 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 once," and down came the cane in a couple 
 of sharp strokes on Martin's supple form. 
 
 The boy's black eyes flashed like meteors. 
 Before the cane again descended, the youth, 
 whose whole soul was on fire, wrenched 
 himself from the usher's grasp, and stood 
 aside with panting nostrils and orbs aflame, 
 confronting school and master. 
 
 " They whip slaves where I come from," 
 he said, haughtily. " I am free-born, and 
 have done no wrong, and will not submit 
 to it." 
 
 " We will see that directly, young gentle- 
 man," cried the Rev. John Howson. " You 
 shall be hoisted." 
 
 And hoisted he might have been but for 
 little John Danson, who started forward 
 from the ranks, crying piteously, 
 
 "Oh ! please, sir, please, sir. It was not 
 Pickersmll. It wasn't indeed, sir." 
 
 " Then who was it, Danson ?" asked Row- 
 land Ingram, kindly, but decidedly. 
 
 "Please, sir, I don't know, sir, but it 
 wasn't Pickersgill," and the boy looked up 
 imploringly.
 
 iiowson's cane. ] 79 
 
 " How do you know that ?" demanded the 
 usher. 
 
 "If you please, sir, I had had the ear- 
 ache all that Saturday afternoon, and 
 couldn't learn my collect for Sunday, and 
 Pickersgill kept awake after we went to bed 
 to teach it me in the dark. I sleep in his 
 room, sir, and we went to bed before 
 ei"ht." 
 
 " I think there is some mistake here, 
 Howson," remarked the head-master, in a 
 quiet undertone. " Boys are not ubiquitous, 
 and this sounds like truth." 
 
 "I'm afraid there is," assented the other, 
 '' and I'm not altogether sorry," in his satis- 
 faction that a favourite pupil was exonerated, 
 overlooking the temporary rebellion, for 
 Howson was not a bad fellow in the main, 
 though he did rap knuckles and dust jackets, 
 and grope in pockets for forbidden mis- 
 cellanea. 
 
 " You may go down, sir," to Martin, who 
 obeyed slowly, casting, as he went, a search- 
 ing, reproachful glance along the ranks to 
 which he was returning, and when lie took 
 
 N !i
 
 180 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 his place there was a curl of contempt on his 
 3^oung lip. 
 
 Just then a queer, sly voice from the door 
 broke in on the masters' conference. "Well, 
 have you caught the grinning ghost?" and 
 there was seen the apeish head and shoul- 
 ders of Thomas Clapham thrust forward, 
 his singular features twisted into a grotesque 
 leer. 
 
 At once all heads were turned, and there 
 were sounds of suppressed laughter. 
 
 " I say, when you do^ send for me, good 
 spirit or bad, I'm your raan ! Hurrah for 
 hobizoblins !" and with the shout, and a 
 parting grimace, head and shoulders disap- 
 peared. 
 
 Discipline and decorum were outraged. 
 Burlesque had kicked out solemnity. Tlie 
 masters were annoyed and baffled, so sug- 
 gestive was the grinning face in the door- 
 way. 
 
 The boys were abruptly dismissed to their 
 seats and their lessons. Not to admit de- 
 feat, the Rev. Rowland Ingram attempted 
 a grave harangue prior to the dinner hour.
 
 howson's cane. 181 
 
 It was a failure, and he felt it. The subject 
 was dropped. They had done with it. 
 
 In the playground it was otherwise. All 
 there was commotion. Notes of interroga- 
 tion and exclamation ran about in broad- 
 doth and fustian. Pickersarill and Danson 
 were surrounded, and no sooner had the 
 masters disappeared than " Bravo, pluck !" 
 "Brave lad!" "Bold young chap!" and 
 sundry like eulogiuras were emphasized on 
 Martin's shoulders with many a hearty slap 
 by Burton and other upper-class fellows. 
 But he pushed through them all, and, taking 
 John Danson by the hand, marched off 
 homewards, lookino; neither to the risrht nor 
 left. A sense of shame and injustice was 
 rankling in his breast ; he had no ear for 
 greetings such as these. 
 
 At the foot of Bell Hill they came face to 
 face with Allan and Edith Earnshaw, and he 
 would have passed without a word, had not 
 Allan and his sister put out their hands to 
 invite the other's clasp, saying they had 
 ^'just left Miss Cragg's." If her sable suit 
 made Edith's face pale beside her brother's,
 
 182 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 what a contrast did it present to Martin's ! 
 As they met, the hot blood surged upwards 
 to his forehead, and tingled in his cheeks 
 and ears as the thought swept over him, 
 '''' She will hear! She will hear! Jasper is 
 
 sure to tell her, and then she will despise 
 
 11 
 me. 
 
 What was said by either he hardly knew. 
 He heard her gentle voice as if in a dream, 
 and when they had shaken hands and parted 
 he went on up the bank, as much troubled 
 with oppressive fears as if he had been 
 eighteen instead of fifteen. 
 
 He had barely entered the house and 
 hung up his cap in the hall, when Miss 
 Vasey, who was coming downstairs with a 
 maund, or basket, of linen for the next day's 
 wash, with a motion of her head beckoned 
 him towards her, away from John Danson, 
 and, sinking her voice to a mysterious whis- 
 per, said, 
 
 " What have 3^ou been doing with your 
 top sheet, Master Pickersgill ?" 
 
 " Nothinsf," faltered he, nis heart sinkinsr 
 at the question.
 
 howson's cane. 183 
 
 "Well, but it is all over dirty finger 
 marks, and one corner has been trailed in 
 mud." 
 
 " Yes, I know, I know ; but, oh ! Miss 
 Yasey, I didn't do it, 1 really didn't." 
 
 "Well, but some one must have done it. 
 How was it done ?" 
 
 She had set down her basket inside the 
 kitchen door, and followed him into the 
 boy's room, where he flung himself into the 
 window seat, and, leaning his arm againet 
 the woodwork, buried his face upon it to 
 hide the tears springing into his eyes. 
 
 " How was it done ?" she repeated, in the 
 same undertone, but John Danson's thin 
 ears caught every word. 
 
 " Oh, this is too bad ! I do not — I 
 
 cannot — I Oh, do not ask me, Miss 
 
 Vasey, Believe I would tell you if I " 
 
 the last word was choked in a convulsive 
 sob. 
 
 Ann's tender heart could never withstand 
 the test of tears. She bent over him and 
 whispered for his comfort, "Never mind, 
 Martin, you will tell me some day. I will
 
 184 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 put the linen in steep for Sally, and then no 
 one will be the wiser." 
 
 A grateful pair of eyes looked up at her, 
 and she was repaid. 
 
 As she turned to go, she caught the eager 
 gaze of John Danson fixed upon her face, 
 as if full of a secret too big for him to keep. 
 
 The boy was following her, when a 
 peremptory, half-choked " John !" arrested 
 his steps. 
 
 If John Danson and Ann Vasey held any 
 communion in private afterwards, it never 
 transpired. One thing is certain, Johnny 
 thenceforth came in for an extra share of 
 good things, and Martin was higher in 
 favour than before. 
 
 As she left the rather dark little room, 
 the other boarders, who had been detained 
 by Thomas Clapham on the way, came 
 plunging in as gleeful as larks. 
 
 "Hillo !" cried Jasper, "if here isn't the 
 Senhora blubbering." 
 
 " Upon my word ! Miss Pickersgill in 
 tears !" exclaimed Robins, as if in lackadaisi- 
 cal surprise.
 
 howson's cane. 185 
 
 "Johnny dearie, haven't you a pocket- 
 handkerchief for your dear young lady ?" 
 drawled a third named Wardrop, in tones of 
 mock condolence. 
 
 They had rushed in together, and all 
 seemed to speak together. Martin sprang to 
 his feet, his tears gone. 
 
 " Cowards !" he hissed between his teeth, 
 as he stood like a young lion at bay. 
 
 Burton, the last to enter, found Jasper 
 within reach, and dealt him a smart cuff on 
 the side of his freckled face, crying out, in a 
 tone of command, "Drop that, Foxey, or 
 it will be the worse for you, or any of you " 
 — and he looked round — " who dare apply 
 such epithets to Pickersgill again in my 
 hearing. Never mind his tears, I feel that 
 he is right, and we are a set of sneaks 
 and cowards beside him." 
 
 " Here ! I say !" remonstrated Robins. 
 
 " I repeat it, cowards," insisted Burton. 
 "Pickersgill and Danson have the only 
 manly hearts in the room." Then in 
 another and rather patronising tone, " Yes, 
 Johnny, you're a downright grateful little
 
 186 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 fellow. I wish I could say the same for 
 some one else." 
 
 " Do you mean me ?" blustered Jasper 
 Ellis, with an air of defiance. 
 
 "Yes, Foxey, I do; and if you give me 
 any of your cheek, you shall have another 
 ducking, and one you will remember." 
 
 " 1 say, my lord, have you done ?" 
 interposed Robins, sarcastically. 
 
 " No," was the prompt answer, and the 
 young man stepped up to silent Martin. 
 "Look you, Pickersgill, there's my hand, if 
 you're not ashamed to take it. I tell you / 
 am sorry for my conduct towards you, 
 whatever others are." 
 
 The proffered hand was taken, and John 
 Danson cut a caper at the prospect of such 
 an ally, just as Miss Cragg opened the door 
 to say that the dinner bell had rung twice. 
 
 This altercation had not been carried on 
 in whispers, and it is likely that she had 
 heard much of it, and waited her time to 
 interfere. As a rule the boys were left to 
 settle their own disputes, and they pretty 
 generally righted themselves.
 
 187 
 
 CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 FISHING-TACKLE. 
 
 GRATITUDE and ingratitude. Do raan3r 
 of us exhibit the former? Will any 
 plead guilty of the latter? Shall I show 
 why Burton connected the words with his- 
 young schoolmates ? If so, T must go back 
 to Martin Pickersgill's first examination 
 before the governors of the Grammar School, 
 when he was but a neophyte. 
 
 The twelfth of March, or Fig-day, was- 
 set apart for the examination of the scholars, 
 and was a day of jubilation when the pant- 
 iniT little hearts had ^ot through their or- 
 deal. The governors met at the school. 
 Several boys — mostly the heads of classes — 
 stood up before them and recited passages-
 
 188 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 from Greek or Latin authors, and then such 
 of the governors as happened to have kept 
 up their acquaintance with tliose languages 
 would follow them book in hand ; some- 
 titncs cross-questioning uncomfortably at 
 the close. 
 
 It so happened that amongst the oral 
 traditions of the school had been handed 
 down sundry free renderings of classical 
 subjects, for private indulgence in oratory 
 or vocalisation — when masters were not 
 supposed to hear. 
 
 Some of these, set to old rollicking airs, 
 which Burton trolled out with considerable 
 spirit, had been caught up by Martin — for 
 instance : 
 
 " Queen Dido sate at her palace gate. 
 Darning a hole in her stocking, ; 
 She sighed as she drew her needle through, 
 While her foot was a cradle rocking, O, 
 For ^neas the soldier lad — " 
 
 I have said that Martin Pickersgill was 
 intelligent and diliiiijent. The latter fact 
 was due in part to the inborn horror of the 
 •cane which he had brought with him from
 
 FISHING-TACKLE. 189 
 
 Jamaica, where slavery, and consequently 
 ivhipping, was in full force, and not even 
 its frequent use on the white skins in the 
 school could obliterate his early impression 
 that it was meant only for a degraded race. 
 He had also brought with him no small 
 share of the planter's hauteur, to wliicli the 
 proud blood of the Spanish lady and the 
 independent blood of the Yorkshireman 
 had, I presume, contributed. Time toned 
 it down somewhat, but those were compara- 
 tively early days when he stood to be cross- 
 questioned by one of the governors of the 
 school, no less a personage than Lawyer Hart- 
 ley. The old gentleman, dressed in a blue 
 coat with brass buttons, with drab vest and 
 breeches, seemed to Martin to make quite 
 a dead set at him through the heavy gold- 
 rimmed spectacles, which came down from 
 his head when a question was asked, and 
 went up again when it was answered. 
 
 At all events, he kept the boy long under 
 inquisition, and at length began to put ques- 
 tions in advance of his class. Martin must 
 have felt somewhat like a frog under a har-
 
 190 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 row, for even the Rev. John Howson looked 
 anxious for the credit of his scholar. But, 
 thanks to persevering industry, the tyro 
 acquitted himself pretty fairly. Finally, as 
 a test and a poser, the old gentleman turned 
 to the first pastoral of Virgil, and bade the 
 youngster translate it. 
 
 Pickersfrill took the book and read out 
 with sufficient clearness the first line, but 
 for a translation out came, with the facility 
 of familiarity, one of Burton's burlesques. 
 
 " Eh !" said the examiner, with a back- 
 ward jerk of his head, before it came as 
 suddenly down to make a closer examina- 
 tion of the translator's face, which rapidly 
 reddened as the gold spectacles went up to 
 the top of the governor's head, and his un- 
 covered optics peered curiously into those 
 of the boy, now evidently beginning to chafe 
 under undue pressure and scrutiny both. 
 
 A shrewd observer was Lawyer Hartley. 
 
 "Well, my boy," said he, drily, "don't 
 put yourself out, but if you can give me the 
 Xatin for goose, you'll do." 
 
 Martin, rightly enough, took this as an
 
 FISHING-TACKLE. 191 
 
 insinuation that he was a goose, and, his 
 temper up, replied hotly and without pre- 
 meditation, but with considerable emphasis, 
 
 " I might anser, senilis antiquus /" 
 
 Instead of getting his ears boxed, as he 
 certainly deserved and expected, immedi- 
 ately the words had passed his lips, the old 
 gentleman turned his head with a comical 
 smile to the usher, and said, " Hear that, 
 Howson ? He'll leave this class !" to the 
 no s!nall relief of the lad himself, who had 
 been amazed at his own teraeritv. He had, 
 however, cooled down, and regained his 
 equanimity by the time the buns and parcels 
 of fi2;s were distributed, and was as alert 
 and eager as any when the residue of the 
 figs were thrown in their midst to be scram- 
 bled for accordino: to custom. 
 
 The school broke up after the announce- 
 ment of promotions and exhibitions. Martin 
 was hurrvinrr off with the news of his pro- 
 motion, wlien his badu;erinf]j examiner called 
 him back, saying he wanted him to carry a 
 note into Settle. 
 
 " Well, what are ^'ou cfoing to have ?" 
 
 7 ^ t-^ O
 
 192 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 was the query of Harrison, the Settle shop- 
 keeper, when Martin handed in the note. 
 A surprised stare, and the ejaculation 
 "Eh?" was the only answer. The note 
 was shown, and, to his delight and astonish- 
 ment, an order for fishing-tackle was there 
 on the bearer's behalf. 
 
 Running home, with all speed, to Well 
 Bank, to exhibit his prize in high glee, he 
 found that while he had been in Settle his 
 friend of the gold-rimmed spectacles had 
 been there aloncr with Mr. Howson, had 
 asked who and what he was, promised to 
 keep an eye on him, and said the youngster 
 was pretty sure of an exhibition if he con- 
 tinued equally persevering. Mrs. Cragg 
 patted Martin's black head as she repeated 
 these praises, and admired his fishing-tackle, 
 but he blushed as much with modesty and 
 bashfulness as pride, for, on a stool beside 
 the old lady, sat a dark-eyed maiden nine 
 years old that day, who had been "kept 
 in," to pick out and re-mark some defective 
 letters on a yellow sampler, and she smiled 
 as if she had been a pleased listener, too.
 
 FISHING-TACKLE. 193 
 
 That was his first introduction to Edith 
 Earnshaw. 
 
 It was also his introduction to the river 
 Kibble as an angler, for be sure he lost no 
 time in testing the quality of his tackle, and 
 many a dish of small trout did he lay as an 
 offering at the old lady's feet, Allan Earn- 
 shaw and Wardrop taking him in tow and 
 showing him how to bait his hooks and 
 manage his lines. 
 
 Two or three years went by. There had 
 been many changes. Jasper Ellis and John 
 Danson had, at long intervals, both entered 
 the Grammar School and Miss Crasrsj's 
 household, and the former had been re- 
 moved from Pickersgill's room to make 
 way for the latter, who was at once given 
 into Martin's charge — a smaller image of 
 himself when he first landed in Liverpool. 
 
 On Wold Fell, some fourteen or fifteen 
 miles from Settle, may 
 
 " Be traced a little brook to its well-head. 
 Where, amid quivering weeds, its waters leap 
 From the earth, and, hurrying into shadow, creep, 
 Unseen, but vocal, in their deep-worn bed," 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 194 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 to join another and another tiny rill, until 
 on crossing Geerstones the newly-born 
 Gale-beck is strong enough for re-baptism, 
 and, as the river Ribble runs on thence, still 
 feeding and feeding from many a runnel 
 and rillet, as it goes, through many a gill 
 and cave and chasm, over many a deep pot- 
 hole, leaping in cascades, foaming over 
 rocky boulders, deepening and widening 
 from ''Pennighent's proud foot" to Rib- 
 blesdale, where, here and there, under the 
 ramparts of the lofty scars and crags, its 
 limpid waters have been utilised for mills, 
 till, gliding under Settle Bridge, it spreads 
 and flows and winds its way under the ver- 
 dant umbrasje of fair trees, fertilisiuoj and 
 beautifying pasture and landscape in its 
 meanderinoj course towards Lancashire. 
 
 The region of the Kibble's birth and 
 growth is peculiar and mysterious. There 
 waters come and go, no one can tell whence 
 or whither. The waters of Malham Tarn 
 and Cove are of this class ; and twice witliin 
 record the river Ribble has stopped in its 
 course, or suddenly ceased to flow (as did
 
 FISHING-TACKLE. 195 
 
 Jordan of old), leaving for several hours a 
 dry bed ; then, whilst wonder was at its 
 height, came dancing merrily along again as 
 coolly as though its temporary disappear- 
 ance was nobody's business but its own. 
 
 What a surprise it must have been to the 
 fish and fishermen when the stream disap- 
 peared in one of these freaks ; but no such 
 catastrophe occurred whilst Martin Pickers- 
 gill held rod and line over its rocky bed. 
 Yet another and a different catastrophe 
 nji<2;ht have occurred had he not been 
 am^jlinsf there, which would have chanojed 
 the current of my story, perhaps sealed its 
 fountain altogether. 
 
 Some distance up the dale was a spot 
 where trees spread a grateful shadow over 
 bank and stream, and notably an aged 
 sycamore which long had held an out- 
 stretched arm, as if in benediction over the 
 trajislucent water, where trout and salmon 
 sported pleasantly. Or it might be in 
 silent warning the leafy arm pointed with 
 downward Answers. 
 
 Pellucid was the water, and smooth the 
 
 o 2
 
 196 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 rock}^ bed beneath, but, like a danger- 
 signal, a round black spot marked a swallow 
 hole of depth unfathomed, and hereabout 
 the fattest trout were said to congregate. 
 
 It chanced one holiday that Martin, having 
 become the possessor of a new and better 
 line, handed over his early one to Danson, 
 and the pair set forth to try them, accom- 
 panied by Wardrop and Jasper. 
 
 Johnny, as was the wont of the younger 
 lads, mounted the tree and crept along the 
 overhanging bough, where, lying perdu at 
 full lens^th, his baited line danerled below. 
 Soon his float disappeared, and a sharp tug 
 told that he had hooked a monster, and 
 that his tackle was in danger. The little 
 fellow had no mind to lose either line or 
 fish. He called to Jasper, who was idly 
 looking on, to run for Wardrop with his 
 landing-net. 
 
 Instead, regardless of frequent cautions 
 from their elders never to venture upon the 
 bough two at a time, and regardless of 
 John's cry for him to keep back, Jasper was 
 up the tree and along the bough with all
 
 FISHING-TACKLE. 197 
 
 speed, when crack ! it broke off short 
 and fell with the boys on it into the 
 river. 
 
 Their cries, the splash, attracted Martin, 
 then unhookino; a fish some little distance 
 away. "Hold fast," he called. Down went 
 his line, off went jacket and boots, he was 
 in the water and after them in a trice, whilst 
 they held on to the bough like grim death, 
 as it made for the black " pot," then floated 
 safely over it and swept on down stream, 
 dipping John Danson and Jasper in and out 
 as the current swayed it in its course. 
 Martin was a bold swimmer, but he had the 
 treacherous black hole to avoid ; that past, 
 lie struck out and gained upon them. Not 
 too soon, for fright and the drenching were 
 telling upon them both, and they might not 
 have held on much longer. 
 
 With a warninsT; word still to " Hold 
 fast," he caught the drifting boush, caused 
 it to swerve, and gradually steered it to the 
 bank where the water was shallow, and 
 Wardrop was ready to wade in and grasp 
 the branches whilst Martin released the two
 
 198 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 half-drowned lads and helped them to dry 
 land. 
 
 And helped them, moreover, to land 
 their fish, for John had held fast, even to 
 liis rod, and lo ! a fine salmon trout was 
 there to compensate for a ducking which, 
 but for Martin, might have been a drowning. 
 
 There was no going home to Miss Cragg, 
 drenched and dripping as they were. Martin 
 fished out two caps as they were floating 
 farther down the stream, and careful Jasper 
 was loudly deploring their loss. Then he 
 recommended a run to the lime kilns at the 
 end of the scars to dry themselves, picking 
 up his own boots and jacket by the way, 
 whilst Wardrop was left in charge of fish 
 and tackle. 
 
 They were not in much better plight after 
 the hasty drying, so much had broad cloth 
 shrunk, and there was a lamentable tale to 
 be told to abate Miss Cragg's displeasure 
 when they did get home with their fish as a 
 propitiatory offering. But little said Martin 
 of his own exploit. Indeed he scarcely 
 gave it a second thought.
 
 FISHING-TACKLE. 199 
 
 Yet it was to this Burton had referred as 
 a "ducking" when he reproached Ellis with 
 incrratitude.
 
 200 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 LETTERS HOME. 
 
 THE ghost was laid — in a sense. Thomas 
 Clapham twitted the reverend 
 gentlemen at the head of the Grammar 
 School with their small success in ghost 
 hunting, and they, fully persuaded that he 
 was the offender, proceeded no further with 
 their official inquirj^; and it somehow got 
 wind that Parson Clapham's son had played 
 the " boggard." 
 
 Yet even that theory had its disputants. 
 It was urged that young Mr. Clapham had 
 been to Skipton market that very day to 
 get rid of a broken-winded horse, coming 
 back with a sound one. 
 
 Others — Jasper Ellis for one — affirmed
 
 LETTERS HOME. 201 
 
 that he was back a few minutes after seven 
 o'clock, and had been spoken to by him at the 
 " Hart's Head " door, on horseback, before 
 he rode home. He had had plenty of time 
 for mischief if he were so minded, and he 
 was well primed for it. 
 
 Then the " Black Horse " claimed the com- 
 pany of Thomas Clapham for the rest of the 
 evening ; but again came the reminder that 
 the " Black Horse " had a door opening 
 conveniently into the churchyard, and, if 
 the churchwardens found it convenient on 
 the Sunday, some one else midit find it 
 convenient on the Saturday. 
 
 All these speculations and arguments 
 found their way through Betty Dyson's 
 open shop door to the disabled sexton. 
 But the dogmatic old man was not to be 
 argued out of his original belief; and to 
 have convicted him of affright at anything 
 less than the supernatural, would have 
 brought shame on his braver^^, and been 
 a greater affliction than his paralysed frame. 
 
 The end of it all was to place fear as a 
 sentinel at either end of the path beneath
 
 202 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 the northern wall of the churchyard, and to 
 leave Solomon Bracken and superstition 
 triumphant. 
 
 Such was the condition of things when 
 Allan Earnshaw returned to his high stool 
 ill the countinsj-house of Messrs. Metcalfe 
 and Polloc (situated in close proximity to 
 the Coloured Cloth Hall and Boar Lane, 
 and not far away from Briggate, the main 
 iu-tery of Leeds), the bearer of sundry 
 complimentary messages from Mrs. and 
 Miss Cragg, and of a quarto -sheet of gilt- 
 edged letter paper, duly folded and sealed, 
 containing Miss Grace Metcalfe's private 
 budget of news to " Dear Papa and Mam- 
 ma," accompanied by one or two little tri- 
 butes of her affectionate regard. 
 
 He also bore with him, under another 
 cover, a memento or two of a still more 
 private nature; one in the shape of a book- 
 mark, fashioned after a bygone style, with 
 cardboard, coloured paper, and purse twist, 
 the two former so deftly over-wrapped and 
 interwoven with the twist as to present on 
 the upper surface the pale blue paper
 
 LETTERS HOME. 20^' 
 
 motto, " Forget me not," on a dark blue 
 silken background ; the other, a tritle, now 
 utterly out of date and use, inasmuch as it 
 belonged to the time when watches were 
 made with separate outer and inner cases, 
 and ornamental watch-papers were laid as 
 preservatives between the twain. Watch- 
 papers, however, were not always of paper, 
 1 remember one so-called — a smooth disc 
 of mouse-skin, and the one Allan carried 
 away within his own watch was just a bit 
 of flimsy muslin on which was wrought, as 
 on a sampler, but with nothing less senti- 
 mental than the marker's own auburn hair,, 
 the touching inscription, —
 
 204 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 a couple of hearts and a true lover's knot 
 in red and blue silk being added for pictur- 
 esque completeness. 
 
 It is needless to inquire how often the 
 watch was opened to ascertain the time, 
 during the journey to Leeds, or how seldom 
 referred to within the walls of the counting- 
 house, where curious clerks had eyes to see, 
 and a stern parent had suspicious to be 
 awakened. 
 
 Alas ! for sixteen-year-old chivalry, with 
 the secret of a fifteen-year school-girl in its 
 keeping ! And, alas ! for the silly school- 
 girl, whose precocit}^ runs so far ahead of 
 common sense! 
 
 Although a good premium had been paid 
 with him, Allan Earnshaw was then but 
 junior clerk at Metcalfe and PoUoc's, there 
 being other rungs in the clerkly ladder 
 between himself and the head man, Mr. 
 Sheepshank, in whose home at Woodhouse 
 arrangements had been made for him to 
 board, in order that he might have the ad- 
 vantage of elder supervision after business 
 hours ; and Mr. Sheepshank had reported
 
 LETTERS HOME, 205 
 
 well of the youth alike to Mr. Thorpe and 
 to his principals. Youth is elastic and 
 business imperative ; the little memorials of 
 Miss Grace exercised a consoling influence, 
 and in time the restless speculation what the 
 unspoken words of his dying mother might 
 have been ceased to usurp the throne of 
 thought. 
 
 Years before, he and his sister had 
 dreamed dreams of a future in which they 
 w^ere to be all-in-all to each other, when 
 he, a man, should make a cottage home for 
 her, and they should dwell together, bache- 
 lor-brother and maiden-sister, serenely 
 happy in the good they would diffuse. 
 
 The bustle of the busy town soon dissi- 
 pated that placid dream. He remembered 
 it but to say "that was a dream for drones," 
 and whilst busy with pen and ink, copying 
 London and foreign price-lists for the firm, 
 looked ahead to the time when he should 
 enter the wool-market with his samples and 
 have clerks at his command. And now the 
 reading of his dead father's will had given 
 a basis for the edifice he was building in his
 
 206 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 brain. What might not a tnan of industry 
 and energy accomplish with seven thousand 
 pounds as a lever at his command? He 
 would make himself master of every detail 
 in the business, and then — the vision of 
 Fortune's palace, in which the goddess was 
 a sort of sublimed Grace Metcalfe, would 
 be rudely dispelled by a reminder from a 
 senior that whilst he was chewinsj the feather 
 of his pen he was more likely to make blots 
 than figures with the nib. 
 
 This was not often. His general dream- 
 ing-tirae was the hour he spent in his own 
 room between supper and bed ; or, being 
 an early riser, before the dressing-glass in a 
 morning, when he made so much ado over 
 shaving away down, and brushing his curl- 
 ing locks (a dark compromise between sable 
 and chestnut) into orthodox trim. Not that 
 he was vainer of his good looks than any 
 other young fellow of his age, but his co- 
 mates in the office were studious of their 
 appearance, and it naturally followed that 
 he must be so too. Fresh from the country, 
 he Avas desirous to shape himself after the
 
 LETTERS HOME. 207 
 
 town models. There was a faint sensation 
 of regret that his mourning suit had been 
 made in Settle. Leeds, in respect to fash- 
 ion, might be far away from London — but 
 Settle ! how much more remote ! 
 
 Of course, he wrote home to announce 
 his safe arrival ; negligence on such a point 
 Avould have been inexcusable. And, per- 
 haps it was also of course, he sent word to 
 Miss Metcalfe, via his sister Edith, that "the 
 small package of which he had been the 
 honoured bearer, had been received witli 
 the very fullest appreciation ;" a message 
 she innocently delivered, all unaware that 
 the words had a double meaning. 
 
 About a fortnight later, another missive 
 was received from,Allan, closely written on 
 the three available sides, and even on those 
 portions of the quarto sheet which were 
 hidden in the folding, for be it remembered 
 envelopes were not in use ; the back page 
 was the cover, and the address formed a 
 part of the latter. It may be well to make 
 an extract : — 
 
 " Who do you think walked into our office
 
 208 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 yesterday afternoon? Who but my old 
 stage-coach acquaintance. He seems to be 
 liere, there, and everywhere, and to care no 
 more for his personal appearance in Leeds 
 than in the country. Mr. Polloc, for whom 
 he asked, was not in. ' Then I'll wait,' said 
 Mr. Wilson, and, without more ado, he came 
 over to the long, high desk at which we 
 clerks were seated, and, planting himself 
 close to my elbow, in the angle formed by 
 the desk and the wooden partition, the 
 upper part of which is glazed, looked 
 straight down the desk at our new clerk, 
 Basil Buttermere, from under those great 
 rough eyebrows of his, so curiously and 
 searchingly through his heavy silver specta- 
 cles, that (as I saw with half an eye across 
 the ledgers) Buttermere quite changed colour 
 and grew uneasy under the scrutiny, as well 
 he might. T know it would have put me 
 out of countenance to have been stared so 
 hard at. Yet Buttermere must be over 
 thirty, and is not the sort of fellow one 
 would expect to be over-sensitive. He makes 
 such a boast of being ' a man of tlie world.*
 
 LETTERS HOME. 209 
 
 " After the old fellow had made such use 
 of his eyes, I was not surprised to hear him 
 use his tongue. His mode of address was, 
 however, as queer as himself. He began, 
 still leaning against the desk, and talking 
 across the backs of myself and Yeadon, 
 until I saw Mr. Sheepshank grow fidgety 
 at the interruption. 
 
 " ' Well, Mr. Buttermere, and how have 
 you used that oyster, the world, since I saw 
 you last ? And how h-as the world used 
 you all these years ?' 
 
 " ' Oh ! middlinoj,' was the answer. 
 
 " ' And how is that delicate creature, your 
 wife T 
 
 "I did not know until then that he was 
 married. 
 
 " ' Oh ! middling,' was again the only 
 answer, and I thought somehow these replies 
 seemed forced from the man, for he is not 
 generally so reserved, and his voice had not 
 its natural tone. 
 
 "'And how long is it since you left 
 London ?' 
 
 " ' About four months.' 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 " ' Ah ! and you have been here three 
 months, almost as long as our young friend 
 here' (meaning me). 'I trust you will both ' 
 (and he seemed to lay an emphasis on the 
 word) 'do your duty in the face of God and 
 mv friend PoUoc, as fine a man and cjood a 
 master as any in Leeds ; rather lenient, per- 
 haps, but you will find his partner, Mr. 
 Metcalfe, not a man to be trifled with by 
 any means, as Mr. Sheepshank there will 
 testify.' 
 
 " ' Quite right, Mr. Wilson, our senior is 
 not to be trifled with : but he never fails to 
 reward merit,' was the testimony elicited. 
 
 " ' Well, who is going to trifle with him ?' 
 grumbled out Butterraere. 
 
 " ' No one, I hope,' and the old man's 
 eyes shot a keen glance into the other's, 
 scarcely raised from the book before him. 
 ' Your wife in Leeds ?' 
 
 '"Yes.' 
 
 " 'Any more children?' 
 
 '' ' Two.' 
 
 " 'Perhaps you will favour me with your
 
 LETTERS HOME. 211 
 
 present address. And perhaps you would 
 like to know how I became aware that you 
 were here, and how long you had held your 
 situation. I chanced to hear so much as I 
 passed through Skipton on my last journey.' 
 
 " It was my turn to change colour, and I 
 think Basil Buttermere observed it as he 
 passed behind Yeadon to Mr. Wilson a slip 
 of paper on ^vhich he had scrawled some- 
 thing. Like lightning it had flashed over 
 my mind that I had named the new clerk 
 to Lawyer Proctor, during dinner at the 
 'Devonshire Arras,' and that Mr. Wilson, 
 then sitting opposite, dropped his knife and 
 fork with a clatter which caught Mr. Proc- 
 tor's attention, and brought on some dis- 
 course about ' Honest John,' whom it seem- 
 ed he liad formerly known, when in some 
 sort of trouble or other. You may recol- 
 lect, Edith, I mentioned this to 3'ou, the day 
 he was at Ivy Fold. 
 
 "Well, the old gentleman no sooner got 
 the paper, and cast his eyes over it, than he 
 took out of his top-coat pocket a great 
 
 p2
 
 212 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 pocket-book bursting with papers, and laid 
 the address very carefully within. Then he 
 turned to me with a sharpness that made me 
 start, and spoil the figure I was putting 
 down, and began to ask all sorts of ques- 
 tions, about home and school, mv studies 
 and my schoolfellows, and I think he too 
 gave a little start when I named Jasper 
 Ellis. At all events, he asked me the name 
 over again, aud where Jasper came from, 
 and who his father was, and seemed disap- 
 pointed that I only knew him as Lawyer 
 Proctor's grandson. You know, Edith, 
 Jasper never did talk aboat his father and 
 mother, Mr. Wilson went on to ask me 
 where I lived, and said he was glad to hear 
 that I was under Mr. Sheepshank's fatherly 
 care ; it was so very sad for a lad of my age 
 to be cast adrift, as it were, on the perilous 
 sea of a great town, where there were so 
 many stony rocks, so many sharks, and 
 other sea-monsters and temptations, ready 
 to snap up an unwary youngster. Then he 
 asked what books I read? what I did 
 with my evenings ? and if I had any com-
 
 LETTERS HOME. 213 
 
 panions ? Then he launched out on the 
 necessit}'' for all young men to avoid evil 
 companioiis, said there was no companion 
 like a good book ; asked if I had a Bible ? 
 bade me read it thoughtfuU}", and to make 
 myself well acquainted with Proverbs, on 
 the first chapter, tenth verse, of which he 
 laid great stress, telling me to search it out 
 when I got home. I find it is, ' My son, if 
 sinners entice thee, consent thou not.' He 
 might have thought I was in some particular 
 danger, he was so emphatic. At last he 
 wound up with a suggestion that I should 
 become a member of the Mechanics' Insti- 
 tution, and attend the lectures, use the 
 library and reading-room, and join any 
 evening class likely to advance my educa- 
 tion, ' For remember, young sir,' he said, 
 " education does not end with school or 
 college ; it only begins there, tutors lay only 
 the foundation, the superstructure must be 
 reared bit by bit in the outer world, and, if 
 you can avoid the whip of the sharp school- 
 master, Experience, by your own prudence, 
 so much the better. Never mind difficul-
 
 214 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 ties, press along the straight path onward 
 and upward ; no good effort's wAolly lost I 
 Remember, I say wAoUy.' 
 
 " Mr. Polloc, who had come in unob- 
 served, here touched him on the arm, and, 
 as they went into the private office together, 
 I was struck with the contrast between 
 them, he so bent in the shoulders, loose and 
 shambling in his joints and gait, so homely 
 » and untidy in his attire ; and neatly-dressed 
 Mr. Polloc, who is fully six feet high, so 
 erect and dignified, so noble in his bearing, 
 with fine features and a lofty forehead, that 
 only seems to want a crown to make him 
 ever}'' inch a king. Before the glass door 
 of the inner office well closed upon them, I 
 heard Buttermere, who looked uneasy, 
 mutter grumpily, ' Thank God we are rid of 
 the old bore at last ! I wish he'd keep his 
 lectures for the dirty mechanics he's so 
 plaguey fond of. Xobody wants him here 
 hinderincf business.' 
 
 "And — what do you think? If Butter- 
 mere did not stop me on my way home, 
 after closing, to ask, peremptorily, what I
 
 LETTERS HOME. 215 
 
 had been saying about him ! And to advise 
 me in future to keep my tongue within my 
 teeth in pubhc rooms, or I might do more 
 harm in a minute than I could mend in a 
 hfe ! I did not hke his domineering way, 
 but I think his advice worth taking; and I 
 also think of taking Mr. Wilson's advice, 
 and joining the Institution, for I find the 
 evenings dull here, with no young friends, 
 and no books I care for." 
 
 Allan's long communication ended abrupt- 
 ly, with a signature half under the seal, for 
 lack of space ; although he had spent two 
 nights thereon, and used his neatest calli- 
 graphy, to avoid the necessity for an extra 
 half sheet, which would have made a double 
 letter of it, and consequently have doubled 
 the sevenpenny postage fee. 
 
 He had written in the newness of surprise 
 and perplexity ; dropping all sense of un- 
 easiness into the box with his epistle, and, 
 it may have been, folded it up in the paper, 
 for the letter was read twice over, both by 
 Edith and Mr. Thorpe — a sort of misgiving 
 of the clerk, Buttermere, creeping over their
 
 216 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 minds — and in Edith's coupled with a won- 
 der why Mr. Wilson had been so inquisitive 
 about Jasper Ellis.
 
 217 
 
 CHAPTER XV^. 
 
 ARCHIBALD THOHPe's ANTECEDENTS. 
 
 ALLAN EARNSHAW'S long letter had 
 given Archibald Thorpe's memory a 
 sharp fillip; and recalled two promises made 
 to John Wilson durinsi; his somewhat un- 
 timely visit at Ivy Fold. 
 
 Virtually, that visit had been made in 
 the interests of popular education. John 
 had the history of the movement at his 
 fingers' ends, and could tell how the Leeds 
 Mechanics' Institution and others had sprung 
 up in the north since Dr. George Birkbeck, 
 who was born in Settle, had conceived the 
 idea and founded the first of them in Lon- 
 don some five or six years before. And to 
 incite Mr. Tliorpe to follow somewhat in his
 
 218 WOOEKS AND WINNERS. 
 
 "wake, and help on the cause of these helps 
 to the working classes, he urged that a 
 man's time was not his own ; he was bound 
 to use it for the good of others ; that his 
 talents were not lent to be buried in a nap- 
 kin or a country village ; that he had a light 
 within him not to be hid under a bushel, 
 but to be held forth for the illumination of 
 outer darkness ; and that, if he would pre- 
 pare and deliver a few homely lectures on 
 botany or geology, gratuitously, to the 
 members of such institutions, he would be 
 a public benefactor; the seeds of knowledge 
 so sown would spread and fructify for all 
 time to come ; and he hammered the whole 
 down with his favourite mottoes: "The 
 liberal soul deviseth liberal things," and 
 "No good effort's ivlioUy lost." 
 
 The enthusiast had carried his point, and 
 promise the first was given. The second 
 concerned Allan. With an interest in the 
 young fellow utterly inexplicable to the 
 step-father, but which Honest John ex- 
 plained as arising from the pity he always 
 lelt when he saw a frank, open-hearted lad
 
 Mu. Thorpe's antecedents. 219' 
 
 sent from a quiet country home alone into 
 the whirl of a large manufacturing town ; 
 he dilated on the dangers which beset the 
 path of such a youth, the traps and pitfalls 
 in the way of the unwary, dwelling espe- 
 cially on the danger of one so apparently 
 impulsive and impressionable associating 
 indiscriniinately with his unknown fellow- 
 clerks. Mr. Thorpe, who had more know- 
 ledge of plants and stones than of humanity, 
 opened his eyes in amazement, and wished 
 he had not been so ready to second Allan's 
 desire " to go out into the world and make 
 a man of himself" He did more, he prom- 
 ised before his step-son went back to his 
 desk to give him the best counsel and cau- 
 tion in his power. 
 
 Genuine promises both. But Archibald 
 Thorpe was an absent man, in great mental 
 anguish at the time, and, between the excite- 
 ment of Mrs. Statham's appearance at tlie 
 funeral, her remarks during the reading of 
 Mr. Earnshaw's will, and his discovery that 
 his home was no longer his home, both 
 promises drifted into oblivion.
 
 220 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 The executors, of course, took the matter 
 of tenancy out of Allan's hands. It was 
 settled that Mr. Thorpe should continue at 
 Ivy Fold, paying such a rental only as 
 might satisfy his self-respect, though Allan 
 grumbled, and said it was a shame his step- 
 father should pay any rent at all. Arrange- 
 ments were also made for Edith to remain 
 in her old home. But the business con- 
 nected with all this was so uncongenial that 
 the widower's palpable duties as mentor 
 floated into oblivion. 
 
 And here, lest Archibald Thorpe and his 
 position should be misunderstood, let me 
 sketch him as he sat in his sable suit, with 
 Allan's letter in his hand, pondering its 
 contents. 
 
 He was a fair-haired, broad-shouldered, 
 wiry man, on the shady side of forty, with 
 a massive forehead, and deep-set, specula- 
 tive eyes that always seemed lost in a 
 dreamy mist indoors ; but only set him on 
 the mountain or the crag, and those same 
 eyes could waken up to see the tiniest plant, 
 the faintest outline of a fossil.
 
 MR. TKORPPJ'S ANTECEDENTS. 221 
 
 And what if he lacked superfluous flesh ? 
 Think you he could have burdened himself 
 with so many " specimens," vegetable and 
 mineral, if he had been of the Daniel Lam- 
 bert order? And what if his long-armed, 
 short body, narrowed from shoulders to 
 feet like a wedge, and his head, narrowing 
 from forehead to chin, was set on the square 
 shoulders like a smaller wedge ? — he w^as 
 agile and tireless as a boy, and, if incipient 
 crovvs'-feet were gathering at the corners of 
 his eyes, they came of thought, not time. 
 
 His botanical tastes had developed early, 
 in spite of home discouragements. His 
 father, a country squire of an old and pro- 
 nounced type, who rode hard, drank hard, 
 swore hard, and fed in a like ratio, and 
 who leased to strangers the coal-mine on 
 his estate, had more feeling for oxen and 
 swine, dogs and horses, than for science and 
 study. He pitched the lad's plant treasures 
 into the fire, prohibited any more " weed- 
 ing," enforced his prohibition with his horse- 
 whip, and held Archibald's younger brother 
 up as a model of all that was manly, because
 
 222 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 he could ride his horse at a stone fence, and 
 take the leap flying. But when the Squire 
 died of repletion after a hutiting-feast, and 
 the family papers came to be looked over, it 
 was discovered that the Thorpes were but 
 usurpers, that the dead Squire held, by no 
 law but possession, the estate of a sister's 
 son, who had been his ward, had been 
 cruelly used, and was said to have run away 
 before he came of age, and never to have 
 been heard of since. 
 
 The discovery filled Archibald Thorpe 
 with dismay. There was a fierce quarrel 
 between the brothers. The Squire had 
 executed deeds of gift conveying the estate 
 to Archibald, the coal-mine to Robert ; but 
 the former renounced the gift, and adver- 
 tised in the Times for the lost heir. No 
 heir put in a claim, but the elder refused to 
 hold, and Robert, with a chuckle, laid his 
 hands on all. There was, however, a small 
 property in another county, to which Archi- 
 bald had honest ri^jht — a share in a Wear- 
 dale lead-mine — and so, content with a 
 diminished patrimony, he turned his back
 
 MR. Thorpe's antecedents. 223 
 
 upon his brother and his cousin's broad 
 acres for ever. 
 
 To Weardale he transported all his own 
 belongings, and, shortly afterwards, mount- 
 ing a knapsack on his square shoulders and 
 a wallet by his side, became a wanderer. 
 
 Far and wide, over hill and dale, he 
 strayed, but rarely among the haunts of 
 men. He was a true student of nature, an 
 observer and collector. With occasional 
 returns to Weardale, such was his life for 
 3^ears. But he began to weary of his wan- 
 dering, and to long once more for a settled 
 home where he could turn his observations 
 to account, when, as Providence would have 
 it, he came upon Mrs. Earnshaw in her 
 widow's weeds, sitting by the Ebbing and 
 Flowing well, onp sultry evening early in 
 July. 
 
 Her two children were G!atherin2f flowers 
 close at hand, Allan scrambling up the face 
 of the scar to gather for his sister the nod- 
 ding plumes of Solomon's-seal growing in 
 the clefts, whilst she below had filled her 
 little hands from more accessible stems with
 
 224 WOOERS AND WIXNEES. 
 
 the yellow pimpernel, the red vvood-betony 
 the azure forget-me-not, the purple fox- 
 glove, wild thyme and basil. 
 
 The traveller, laden with spoils from the 
 rocks and caves of Ingleton and Clapham, 
 stopped to rest and refresh himself at the 
 wayside well, offering as an apology for 
 intrusion that he was a stranger desirous to 
 quench his thirst. 
 
 The sparkling water was up to the brim. 
 He dipped the leathern cup of his flask into 
 the well, and was about to drink when his 
 uplifted eye fell upon the widow's son 
 clinging to the rock in a most perilous 
 position. Down went the flask, and up 
 went the man only in time to catch the boy 
 as he was falling. How sincere and tearful 
 were the mother's thanks may be imagined. 
 
 And the stranger's surprise may be imag- 
 ined too, when he found an empty well 
 where he had left a full one, not to say his 
 disappointment. But while the interesting 
 widow gave such explanation of the pheno- 
 menon as she was able, up rose the coquet- 
 tish water swiftly, to sink again almost
 
 MR. Thorpe's antecedents. 225 
 
 before a draught could be secured, and the 
 astonished traveller, lost in abstraction, 
 seemed to question the fitful waters and his 
 own brain. 
 
 A second service the dusty pedestrian did 
 the lady before they left that well-side, 
 snatching from the very lips of the wandering 
 little girl a bunch of berries she had gath- 
 ered for black currants, undeterred by their 
 odour. 
 
 It was the fruit of the Hyoscyamus Nigei\ 
 the deadly properties of which the botanist 
 explained to the children and their mother 
 as they walked together down the dusty 
 road towards the "Hart's Head," where the 
 pedestrian was left, with grateful thanks, to 
 stop for the night. 
 
 He stopped not one night but many, and 
 in the end took up his permanent abode at 
 Ivy Fold, when the young widow blossomed 
 forth as a bride for the second time, to the 
 unmitigated disgust of Aunt Statham and 
 others, who set Archibald Thorpe down as 
 a needy adventurer. He was simply reti- 
 cent about his private alFairs. 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 But he was liberal, unobtrusive, and un- 
 assuming, and soon lived that down, whilst 
 the very nature of his pursuits made him 
 friends among local scientific investigators — 
 Dr. Burrow foremost; for long before this 
 he had added geology to botan}^, and he had 
 a rich field for study and discovery around 
 hira in Craven. 
 
 The litter of leaves and dirty stones dis- 
 concerting housewifely Mrs. Thorpe, the 
 little sittins-room she had once called her 
 own was surrendered to him, and there he 
 gathered around him not only his own col- 
 lections, but the works of geological pio- 
 neers, perplexing his mind with their con- 
 flictinsr theories. Then, as he made dis- 
 coveries and deductions of his own, he 
 entered upon a sea of controversy and cor- 
 respondence, which took the edge off his 
 trouble during his wife's long illness, but left 
 the children too much without elder super- 
 vision. 
 
 Allan's letter had set the scientific en- 
 thusiast thinking for the time being ; but the 
 lines of thought crossed and diverged, and
 
 MR. Thorpe's antecedents. 227 
 
 soon his fears for his stepson were lost in 
 the reminder of his other promise to Honest 
 John, and in the gathering up of ideas and 
 the marshalling of facts for the lectures to 
 be written. 
 
 He put on his hat, left the letter on the 
 table, and went out, at first to pace back- 
 wards and forwards, with his hands clasped 
 behind him, to and fro in Love Lane, then 
 opened the wicket which gave access to the 
 Cateral Hall grounds, within which, close 
 at hand, a picturesque waterfall leaped and 
 frisked as it fell from rock to rock with 
 cadences and murmurs so musical as to lull 
 the soul to contemplation. There, though 
 the over-arching trees were bare, he took 
 his stand, with his hands behind him, in 
 sheer forgetfulness of time, until the whoops 
 and hurrahs of schoolbo3^s let loose recalled 
 him to earth, and making his way back 
 home, the door of his study closed upon 
 him, until Dora was sent to remind him that 
 tea was waiting, and Janet impatient, Dora 
 never waited to tap at his door ; in she ran 
 boldly, secure of welcome ; her voice acted 
 
 Q'2
 
 228 WOOERS AND WINNEKS. 
 
 like a charm ; the unfledged lecturer's pen 
 went down on the instant ; the child went 
 up in his arms, and so they found their way 
 to the tea-table. And, though such was 
 pretty generally the manner in which father 
 and daughter entered the "house" at meal- 
 times, something closely allied to pain crept 
 round Edith's heart that afternoon, and 
 smote her with the desolation of orphan- 
 hood. The one word "danQ;er"in Allan's 
 letter had filled her with vague fears for 
 him, and perhaps that had made her more 
 than ordinarily sensitive to the reserve be- 
 tween her stepfather and herself. 
 
 Yet, as she lifted the child into the hi^li 
 chair that had once been her own, and did 
 her best to accommodate the whimsies of 
 little miss, first with regard, to her place at 
 table, and then in her likes and dislikes, no 
 one could have suspected that she was crush- 
 ing bitterness and impatience down, with 
 self-reminders of the promise made to her 
 mother. 
 
 She had not an easy task before her. A 
 child, slightly delicate, had been rendered
 
 MR. Thorpe's antecedents. 229 
 
 more so by indulgence. She had been 
 humoured lest a cry of hers should reach 
 the sick-room ; and now Mr. Thorpe petted 
 her the more, as his lost wife's legacy, and 
 seemed inclined to perpetuate the mischief, 
 and render futile Edith's attempts at disci- 
 pline. She would soon have grown un- 
 bearable had not Janet Carr sturdily set her 
 face against " spoilin' t' lile bairn." 
 
 It chanced, about a week or two after- 
 wards, Dora had been especially fractious all 
 the day, " gitten aat at wrang side o' th' 
 bed," as Janet phrased it ; had been cross 
 and troublesome when Edith dressed her in 
 the morning — a process always carried on 
 before the warm " house" fire so long as the 
 cold weather lasted — had over-set the bowl 
 of water on the white hearth, as a protest 
 against being washed ; had kicked off her 
 socks and shoes as fast as Edith put them 
 on, and, when the latter rose from her 
 knees to recover a stray shoe, scampered, 
 half-dressed, over the stone floor, with bare 
 feet, regardless of her sister's expostulations 
 or fears lest she should take cold, dancing
 
 230 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 round the big table, and mocking at at- 
 tempts to catch her. 
 
 Half this had been fun, half wilfulness, 
 but it was of almost daily occurrence, and 
 Janet had not Edith's patience. 
 
 Coming from the back-kitchen, whither 
 she had gone with her floor-cloth after mop- 
 ping up the wet hearth, the energetic woman 
 caught at the child, lifted her up, and, with 
 a smart shake, set her down ao;ain on the 
 chair by the fire, with a sharp intimation 
 that she had better be still. 
 
 The shake, and still more Janet's deter- 
 mined tone, produced submission, and, 
 though Miss began to whimper and pout, 
 she submitted, after a sort, to have her feet 
 and body clothed ; but no sooner did Edith 
 begin to remove the curl-papers from her 
 silken hair, and attempt to comb out her 
 curls, than the young vixen roared out, 
 " You're lugging me, you're lugging me," 
 ending with a roar which brought Mr. 
 Thorpe upon the scene. 
 
 At once Dora rushed sobbing to his arms,
 
 MR. Thorpe's antecedents. 231 
 
 and to his concerned inquiry, " What is the 
 matter, my pet?" blubbered forth, " Edie's 
 been cross, and been lugging me," She 
 would have liked to say Janet had shaken 
 her, but she had her share of childish cun- 
 ning, and judged it unsafe to tell tales of 
 that individual. 
 
 " I wish, Edith, you would be more care- 
 ful with Dora, you know how tender and 
 delicate she is," remonstrated Mr. Thorpe, 
 not too well pleased at having been called 
 downstairs with only one side of his. face 
 shaven, the other all lather, and a slight 
 wound on his chin. His fears for Dora had 
 driven away all thought for his own appear- 
 ance in the first instance. Now it annoyed 
 him. 
 
 " Indeed, father," pleaded Edith, " I did 
 take all the care I could, but she would not 
 keep her head still, and if I hurt her I could 
 not help it." 
 
 " Well, lile Dora will be still now% won't 
 she, darling ?" said he, fondling the pettish 
 child, and smoothing down the uncombed
 
 232 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 curls, " sister will be careful and not hurt 
 her again ;" and after that wise speech went 
 back to finish shaving, with tepid water. 
 
 But as he trod the stairs he could not fail 
 to hear loud-voiced Janet's exclamation, 
 whatever construction he might put upon it. 
 
 " Hurt t' bairn ? I knaw wha's hurtin' on 
 her ! Shoo'll be ta nesh " (tender) " ta luik 
 et suin. Bud I'm nut gangin' te stond it 
 mich longer." 
 
 The low whisper in which Janet was 
 ansvv^ered could, however, reach only the 
 ears for which it was intended. " Never 
 mind, Janet. Perhaps we were as trouble- 
 some when we were as little. Children 
 copy the tempers they see, and we can only 
 make her better by being better ourselves. 
 And you know she has a loving little heart. 
 Remember when Martin Pickersgill brought 
 the little starved kitten he had found lying 
 hurt in Tarn Lane, how she cried over its 
 wounds and bruises, and how she feeds and 
 nurses Tippie still." 
 
 "Ay, an' plagues kittling as weel. An 
 I seed moor ov her luive an' less ov her
 
 MR. Thorpe's antecedents. 233 
 
 tantrums I'd be gay pleeased. Copy tem- 
 pers, indeed !" and Janet looked as though 
 her own had been impeached.
 
 234 
 
 CHAPTER XYI. 
 
 Dora's doing. 
 
 PETTED when she should have been 
 rebuked, no wonder Miss Dora con- 
 tinued the day as she began. 
 
 The village was dependent for its butcher's 
 meat on a cart which came from Settle twice 
 a week. It was the butcher's day. It was 
 Edith's birthday, Fig-day likewise; and there 
 was a keen March wind blowing from the 
 east ; a strong, blusterous wind, that nipped 
 the freshly-budding trees, swept a shower of 
 old leaves from the ivy, and drove back the 
 heavv door with a clano; when Edith lifted 
 the latch, almost overturning her with it. 
 
 Now, from this said east wind, the wind 
 that blew straight across the churchyard and
 
 Dora's doing. 235 
 
 into the house, Edith had been especially 
 cautioned by her mother to guard Dora. 
 
 But Dora had a will above winds or 
 guardianship ; and Dora had decided that it 
 was a delightful day for a walk. Fatherl}^ 
 authority had to be called upon to de- 
 cide otherwise. Then followed petulance, 
 which sorely tried Edith's self-control. 
 \Yhen she would have made entries in her 
 housekeeping book wilful Miss shook the 
 table and spilled the ink. When she brought 
 out her work-basket to repair a rent in a 
 little pinafore, the numbers were picked off 
 her cotton-balls, cotton unwound, and the 
 knitting-pins drawn from a sock in progress. 
 To keep her out of mischief whilst these 
 were replaced a spice-cake was cut into 
 prematurely. With a sigh of resignation, 
 Edith set work aside, and, with a box of 
 ivory letters, made an attempt to give an 
 alphabetical lesson. The little one was deaf 
 to the voice of the charmer ; flung A and B 
 into the batter Janet was mixing for a pud- 
 (Vmg:, and clamoured for her doll. The 
 letters were fished from the batter, put back
 
 236 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 clean into the box, and the doll dressed. 
 Soon she tired of that, and Edith was called 
 upon to give Tippie a lesson in sitting up 
 to beg, and offer a paw to be shaken, and, 
 truth to tell, the kitten was more docile 
 than the child. Then " lakins," i.e.^ play- 
 things, were in demand, and Edith, with 
 scissors and paper, manufactured a set of 
 chairs, and dolls to sit thereon. 
 
 Barely were these complete when the 
 butcher's cart was heard, and a penny from 
 Edith's pocket-money given as an induce- 
 ment for Dora to play quietly, and keep 
 out of the cold, whilst their purchases were 
 made. 
 
 But no sooner did Dora see Edith and 
 Janet pass the "house" window on their 
 way to the gate than she left her toys, 
 darted out of the open door, bareheaded 
 and barenecked, and, whilst they were en- 
 gaged with the butcher, ran off as fast as 
 her little legs would carry her round the 
 churchyard corner out of sight. 
 
 Until Edith was back in the house, Dora 
 was not missed. There was a hasty run
 
 Dora's doing. 237 
 
 upstairs, a search from room to room, and 
 then — the truth surmised — the elder sister, 
 reproaching herself for leaving the door 
 open, rushed out in quest of the truant, just 
 as the Grammar School boys came noisily 
 trooping into the lane with their books and 
 parcels of figs. 
 
 At the end of the lane the anxious girl 
 stood looking hither and thither with a 
 troubled countenance, her curls and gar- 
 ments blown by the wind, undecided which 
 way to turn, seeing that behind her lay the 
 road to the school-yard and Cateral Hall, 
 and that, whilst Bell Hill rose to her left, 
 Tarn Lane swept past the gable of Ivy Fold 
 to her right, with a curve round the back 
 of Wildman's pasture, past the dwellings of 
 Howson and Ino;ram, on to the Tarn. 
 
 At that moment little William Hartley 
 came racing down the hill fresh from Miss 
 Cragg's school-room. She accosted him, 
 hurriedly. 
 
 " Willie, have you seen Dora ?" 
 
 '' Have you lost her?" " What, lost your 
 sister?" came in twofold answer from voices
 
 238 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 in the rear, and, barely waiting her affirma- 
 tive, books and figs were thrust into John 
 Danson's hands, and off went the speakers, 
 Jasper and Martin, in search of the runawa}^, 
 with others at their heels, 
 
 Martin, with an instinctive dread of beck 
 and tarn, at once took to the right ; Jasper, 
 another instinct uppermost, paused as he 
 ran to ask " Had she any money ?" and, 
 being answered with a nod, made straight 
 for Betty Dyson's spice shop. 
 
 Back came he, triumpliant, half carrying, 
 half dragging Miss Dora by the arm, whilst 
 William Hartley held the other, she fighting 
 and strucrorlincp to release herself 
 
 CO o 
 
 " I found her at Mother Wellington's, 
 wanting half the shop for a penn}^," Jasper 
 exclaimed, as Edith met them, and Dora 
 scratched and kicked to get free. 
 
 " I sa3% you're a little tigress !" he cried, 
 with the addendum, " I shall call vou Felina 
 in future." 
 
 "You sa'ant!"Dora screamed. "I not 
 F'lina — let me ^o !" 
 
 Edith meanwhile thanked her sister's
 
 Dora's doing. 239 
 
 captor, offered an excuse for her wilfulness, 
 and begged her to " be quiet and come 
 home like a orood girl." 
 
 " I don't envy you, Miss Edith," observed 
 Jasper, when they had got Dora as far as 
 the gate ; " and nobody need envy the man 
 that gets her for a wife when she grows 
 up. 
 
 " I wouldn't be your wife if I was growed 
 up !'' snapped out the irate five-year-old 
 damsel, cheeks and eyes aflame, as strong- 
 armed Janet came on the scene and snapped 
 her up. 
 
 " I'd tame you, Felina, if you were," the 
 lad of fourteen called after her, and, with a 
 laugh and a nod to Edith, was away after 
 his hilarious fellows. 
 
 Janet had a summary method of dealing 
 with the refractory damsel, the efficacy of 
 which was in good repute at the time, and 
 had been well tested on herself, and she 
 did not fail to apply it now, without waiting 
 for Edith's assent. 
 
 Dora's roar had stilled to quiet sobbing 
 when Mr. Thorpe, who had been " gather-
 
 240 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 ing ideas " in a stiff walk, came in with hur- 
 ried anxiety, accorapanied by Martin, whom 
 he had met in his search for the lost child 
 at the junction of Tarn Lane with the Lan- 
 caster highroad. 
 
 As they crossed the threshold, the cry 
 broke out afresh, and some time elapsed 
 before any explanation could be given. 
 He had known nothing of Edith's patient 
 forbearance during the morning, nothing of 
 her endeavour to amuse. He blamed her 
 for negli,^ence, and though his reproof was 
 mildly administered, still it luas reproof, 
 and gained poignancy from the fact that 
 Master Pickersgill was present, and would 
 not know it to be untrue. 
 
 Though swelling with a sense of injustice, 
 Edith was too proud to reply, and Martin 
 Pickersgill, self-instructed, " read the rede 
 aright." 
 
 Had he not done so, Janet, whose wrath 
 had been gathering all the morning, would 
 have enlightened him. She broke forth not 
 only in defence of Edith, but in protests 
 against spoiling Dora by false indulgence ;
 
 Dora's doing. 241 
 
 and the wrong that was done to both by 
 keeping them from school, winding up with a 
 threat to leave at the next hiring unless 
 Dora was sent to school ; a threat which put 
 the widower in a quandary, for Janet was 
 a first-rate cook and a capital manager, and 
 more brusque than ill-tempered. 
 
 "Well, well, Janet, I'll see about it," 
 said Mr. Thorpe, hurriedly; and then, 
 observing that Martin was desirous to depart, 
 shook hands, thanked him, and gave the 
 youth an invitation to come and inspect his 
 fossils, at which the black eyes brightened 
 with pleasure. 
 
 He next brou2;ht a book out of his room, 
 and determined to keep watch over his 
 darling that afternoon for himself. Little 
 was the reading he got over, although Dora 
 was on her best behaviour ; at all events he 
 satisfied himself that the duty was irksome, 
 to say the least. 
 
 At Edith, however, the child contrived to 
 have another fling before the day was done. 
 
 To keep Dora quiet at bedtime during 
 her mother's illness, it had been Edith's 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 wont to lull her to rest with nursery rhymes 
 and fairy tales. Her store was soon 
 exhausted. The wayward Miss objected to 
 a thrice-told tale, and soon her sister had to 
 draw upon her own imagination, or to dress 
 up facts in fiction's robes. 
 
 The Ebbing and Flowing Well was made 
 the theme for many a romantic tale, 
 besides the true one, how a gallant knight 
 named Archibald rescued a fair lady's 
 children from peril there, and was rewarded 
 with the lady's hand. There was generally 
 a fairy of the fountain who had wondrous 
 gifts to bestow, and always a good child set 
 as a foil to the bad one ; and no wonder if 
 the morale of these narratives pointed to frail- 
 ties of Dora. 
 
 That night, Edith, weary with the harass 
 of the day, hoped to escape without being 
 so taxed, but Dora was imperative, and 
 Edith had to yield. She began, " Once 
 upon a time, there was a little girl " 
 
 Up in bed started Miss Dora. "Now, 
 Edie, I'm not a 'doin to have any 'tories 
 'bout me !"
 
 Dora's doing. 243 
 
 ''I shall not tell you one at all, if 3''0u do 
 not lie down and be sfood," answered Edith, 
 quite worn out. 
 
 "Then, if 3'ou don't," said the child, with 
 cunning emphasis, " I'll cry, an' I'll say you 
 slapped me !" 
 
 Edith was herself ready to cry, but she 
 sat down again by the bed-side with a weary 
 sigh and related first the old story of 
 *' Diamonds and Toads," then "The Yellow 
 Shoestrings," and was half-way up the Bean 
 Stalk with Jack before the remorseless 
 tyrant was content. By that time she was 
 asleep. 
 
 Not downstairs did Edith go when once 
 at liberty, but into the cold white room 
 where her mother died, and where in fancy 
 she still saw her form beneath the coun- 
 terpane. 
 
 Down she sank on the floor at the bed- 
 side, poured out her heart and her trouble 
 as if God and her mother could both hear, 
 and prayed for strength to bear and ability 
 to do her duty. 
 
 The prayer was no doubt vague and 
 
 II 2
 
 244 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 incoherent, but it came from the heart, and 
 such prayer is audible in heaven without 
 words. 
 
 An impatient call from below roused her. 
 She gave a look at the Latin inscription over 
 the fireplace. "Never alone when alone!" 
 she murmured. " Shall I ever understand 
 it? I seem more lonely every day. Poor 
 Allan ! he must be lonely too." 
 
 In the morning, Dora seemed desirous to 
 atone for her previous wilfulness by clinging 
 to her sister, putting up her pouting lips to 
 be kissed, following her whithersoever she 
 turned, and sitting on a footstool beside her, 
 with her head in the willing lap, when she 
 sat down to sew. 
 
 Edith was delighted with these tokens of 
 affection, stroked the shining head, and 
 resented Janet's shrewd remark. 
 
 " Moore like, shoo's takken a hoast," by 
 which she meant a cold, " and wants fondlin' 
 hersen. I's gie t'barn soom hot wey t'neet, 
 and shoo'll be a' reet in th' morn." 
 
 Janet's inference was right, but Dora was 
 not.
 
 Dora's doing. 245 
 
 In the middle of the night, notwithstand- 
 ing the hot whey, Edith was awakened by 
 that sound which once heard is never to be 
 mistaken. 
 
 Croup had Dora's throat in its savage 
 clutch. 
 
 To slip from the room and hammer at 
 her father's door was the work of a few 
 seconds ; to glide down the dark staircase 
 and arouse the sound sleeper in the box-bed, 
 whilst she groped for the tinder-box, took 
 little lonsjer. Edith had no thought for 
 
 CD O 
 
 herself, the cold night, her bare feet, her 
 thin robe ; her soul was filled with the 
 danger of her darling Dora, and that 
 only. 
 
 Janet was more thousfhtful. Snatchinsj 
 flint and steel from fingers trembling too 
 much to use them, she brusquely bade her 
 young mistress "gang and put soom claes 
 on, or theere'd be twee ill insteaad o' one ;" 
 and stirring up the peat-raked fire soon had 
 a blaze, with the aid of a lonir brimstone 
 match or two. 
 
 After one hasty look at his child Mr.
 
 246 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 Thorpe was speeding to Settle, but, before 
 lie was back with Dr. Burrow, Janet's 
 rough remed}^ — a dose of goose oil — had 
 been forced down an unwilling throat, and 
 the child was in a warm bath. 
 
 Dr. Burrow complimented the woman on. 
 her promptitude, nevertheless there was a 
 lona; after-battle for the little one's life, and 
 anxious Edith, utterly regardless of a chill 
 taken by herself, would surrender her preci- 
 ous charge to no one, night or day. 
 
 The consequences were easy to foresee. 
 By the time Dora was so far out of danger 
 as to bear removal to the big softi down- 
 stairs, Dr. Burrow had another patient, 
 over whom he shook his head in private, 
 and Archibald Thorpe, whose heart had 
 been stirred by her devotion to Dora, sat in 
 perturbed dismay beside the couch where 
 delirium told so much. 
 
 There was no lack of feminine sym- 
 pathy with the distressed widower, no 
 dearth of volunteer nurses professing 
 interest in Miss Earnshaw. To some of 
 these Janet was barely civil, and no sooner
 
 bora's doing. 247 
 
 did the doctor breathe the word " fever " 
 than, without taking him into her confidence, 
 she contrived to drop the additional word 
 "sraittle," i.e., infectious, so as to drive 
 away the more officious of these "single 
 ladies wi' double raoinds," as she called 
 them. 
 
 She did not drive away the two lads, 
 Jasper and Martin, who, fearing nought, 
 Avere constant inquirers ; but I rather fancy 
 she made the former her medium for keep- 
 ing Aunt Statham and Deb at bay. 
 
 Somehow or other these two youths had 
 made rapid strides into Archibald Thorpe's 
 good graces since the day of their race after 
 Dora, more especially the West Indian. 
 And it could not be that he took his tone 
 from the little convalescent, who at first 
 treated Jasper Ellis with some disdain, for 
 when a titnely present of birds' eggs — which 
 had cost nothing but a holiday scramble — 
 purchased pardon for all offences, and she 
 was extra-gracious to him, the father's 
 preference for Pickersgill underwent no 
 diminution.
 
 248 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 And so, one sunny Saturday when April 
 (the fickle month that gave Dora to the 
 world) had melted into May, the large room 
 was fragrant with flowers these two had 
 brought as offerings to another convalescent, 
 and Dora came dancing gleefully in to an- 
 nounce the advent of Edie downstairs. 
 Allan's two young school-fellows pressed 
 forward to help her to the chintz sofa Dora 
 had vacated, just as though they were on a 
 familiar footing in the family. Mr. Thorpe 
 hovered in the background, not less kindly 
 in his greeting, and notwithstanding her 
 pallor Edith's face flushed with animation at 
 the pleasant surprise. Allan's friends both ! 
 She was glad to see them there, and 
 said so !
 
 249 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 VISITORS. 
 
 AFTER this, I fancy, raore fish found 
 their way from the Ribble to Ivy 
 Fold than to Well Bank ; and many a 
 plant and fossil only attainable by lithe 
 young limbs, regardless of rent garments, 
 were brought for Mr. Thorpe's collection. 
 Here Martin bore off the palm, for, though 
 Jasper was equally reckless with regard to 
 his limbs, he was wonderfully careful of 
 anything that cost money, his clothes and 
 books to wit. Many was the stray six- 
 pence that found its way to his pocket from 
 Miss Cragg, when his companions came 
 home from a holiday ramble, with extra 
 work for the mender and the washer ;
 
 250 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 and he, if not quite so trim and specldess as 
 his grandfather, brought in a minimum of 
 mud, his frill round his neck and not in his 
 pocket, one or both of his shoestrings, and 
 not a tatter or a fray for repair. And did not 
 half-crowns occasionally follow the sixpences 
 when his grandfather received the bills for 
 both ward and grandson, accompanied with 
 Miss Cragg's flattering report that Master 
 Ellis must certainly be taking Mr. Proctor for 
 his model, he was so much more neat and 
 careful than any other boarder; so very 
 polite and obliging. 
 
 What became of those sixpences and half- 
 crowns was not very clear. He was never 
 lavish with his coin. Betty Dyson's most 
 toothsome cates never drew a penny from 
 his pocket. From her he bought twine and 
 marbles, and slate pencils, never sweets ; the 
 latter he bought from Miss Cragg, and 
 others, with his polite readiness to run 
 hither and thither; the other articles he kept 
 in reserve, to be disposed of at a profit to 
 less provident schoolfellows whose kite- 
 strings ran short, whose pegtops and cob-
 
 VISITORS. 251 
 
 nuts were useless Avithout leverage, whose 
 marbles were crone before the <zame turned 
 in their favour, whose pencil had slipped 
 through the luckless hole in the pocket, and 
 whose back would smart if sum or exercise 
 were not ready in due course. 
 
 " Waste not, want not ; politeness costs 
 little and gains much," had been the teach- 
 ing of his mother in those early years when 
 privation, caused b}' prodigality, had given 
 force to the lesson — and he had certainly 
 bettered the instruction. 
 
 His grandfather had told him to make 
 the most of his time at school, he would 
 have to earn his own living in the world, 
 and he had made the most of it ; had been 
 sedulous at his studies ; had been always 
 willing to help idler lads, whose balls and 
 fishincr-tackle and what not were conse- 
 quently at his service, and, having a fund 
 on which the impecunious could draw — al- 
 ways on interest payable on y)ocket-money 
 days — he was sure of help from the upper 
 class boys when needed ; and he had man- 
 aged it all so cleverly that he was a general
 
 252 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 favourite ; and if he had been dubbed 
 *' Foxev," it was more in admiration of his 
 pecuhar talents than otherwise ; indeed, he 
 rather regarded it as a comphment. 
 
 Oddly enough, he never attempted to 
 conciliate Martin, whose liberal allowance 
 of pocket-money came, so he presumed, 
 from the same purse as his small one, which, 
 to his thinking, was hardly fair. 
 
 Probably he tliought there was more to 
 be gained by joining the majority in tanta- 
 liziniij the outlandish foreio;uer, who twiddled 
 with the strings of a guitar ; and he did not 
 feel better disposed towards him after 
 Burton and his grandfather spoke their 
 minds so freely, even if he felt constrained 
 to be civil. The rapid advance of Pickers- 
 gill at school he attributed wholl}^ to 
 favouritism, and the manifest prepossession 
 of Mr. Thorpe added another drop to the 
 jealousy in his cup ; it needed but a like 
 show of partiality from Edith to brim it 
 over. 
 
 There can be little doubt that the lonely 
 lot of the handsome West Indian, parentless
 
 VISITORS. 255 
 
 like herself, struck a sympathetic chord in 
 Edith's breast, but she was too innately the 
 lady to give it emphasis, to the neglect of 
 his more ordinary companion, and was 
 equally friendly with both. 
 
 When Janet lowered the danger flag she 
 had hoisted, and the little housekeeper re- 
 sumed her nominal rule, and showed her 
 face at church, other visitors, "gentle and 
 simple," came to Ivy Fold, the former to 
 munch spice-cake and sip gooseberry wine, 
 the latter to be resaled with home-brewed 
 ale, cake and cheese, and both to offer con- 
 gratulations. 
 
 Amongst the latter, Solomon Bracken, 
 who thanked God Almighty he could 
 " manish to git aba2;ht a bit i'th sunshine wi' 
 t' help o' twee sticks," must be noted, his 
 homely congratulations had such a profes- 
 sional flavour, and were so mingled with 
 lamentations that anybody but himself 
 should have tolled the knell and opened 
 the grave for poor j\Irs. Thorpe, he liad 
 " counted on deein' his best for shoo sa lang, 
 an' ta think that gaumless Joe Guyer suld
 
 254 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 dee 't at last^ an' aw through t'ghoast!" 
 As he recalled the memories of that awful 
 Saturday night which had left such a blank 
 in her 3'oung life, Edith shivered, not the 
 less that he dogmatically insisted on the 
 evidence of his "own eyen " that he had 
 «een a disembodied spirit, " a token " of her 
 mother's end, and scouted as an insult to 
 his common sense her su^crestions of human 
 agency. 
 
 She had been trained to disbelieve in 
 such, but as she listened to his imperfect 
 utterance, and watched from the gate she 
 herself had kindly opened for him, how 
 painfully the old man dragged his limbs 
 along the road, to her lips arose once more 
 the decisive, "I could never formve mischief 
 so thouo-htless and cruel." 
 
 She had not left the gate when the post- 
 man's loncj tin horn was heard, warninsf the 
 village scribes to have their correspondence 
 ready for him to carry away, and to hail 
 him, for he made no pause where he had 
 notliing to deliver; and Settle post-office 
 was a mile away.
 
 VISITORS. 255 
 
 Edith had a letter for Allan awaitins; the 
 postman ; and he had two letters for Ivy 
 Fold, on which the united postal charge was 
 elevenpence. Both were for Mr. Thorpe, 
 and Mr. Thorpe was " over the hills and far 
 away." 
 
 Edith turned them over, wondering if 
 either required immediate answer ; and 
 Dora insisted on knowing all that outsides 
 could tell. One, apparently from Leeds, 
 was addressed in a minute, cramped hand, 
 which the former at once recognised as that 
 of Honest John, and she knew well that, 
 whatever might be the nature of its busi- 
 ness, pithy sayings and moral quotations 
 would fill up all valuable space, as her step- 
 father had shown her. Nay, a verj^ shower 
 of tiny slips might tumble thence when the 
 wafer was unfastened, scraps of wisdom and 
 terse philosophy cast aside by the receiver, 
 but gathered and treasured in the desk and 
 in the brain of the young girl. 
 
 From her Aunt Statham came the other, 
 to set curiosity on the qui vive, Mrs. Statham 
 being chary of her correspondence. Dora's
 
 256 WOOERS AND "WINNERS. 
 
 small stock of patience was exhausted long 
 before the pedestrian returned from his 
 three days' ramble, laden with spoil from 
 moss and moorland, rock and cave. 
 
 Mrs. Theodora Statham had been right so 
 far as her namesake was concerned. In all 
 Edith's elfin lore the fair}' godmothers had 
 gracious gifts to bestow, and the antiquated 
 spinster having had an open hand, it fol- 
 lowed that Dora looked upon her oddly- 
 dressed godmother chiefly as a bestower of 
 crood thincjs, and wondered if there was 
 half a-sovereisn under the h'm red seal. 
 
 She sat nearly all the third day in her 
 window-seat, with dolly and Tippie in her 
 arms, the latter by this time developed into 
 a finely- marked cat, remarkable alike for 
 intelligence and affection, which could only 
 arise from a grateful sense of care, caresses, 
 and protection, contrasted in memory with 
 previous cruelty and starvation. As proof, 
 it never forgot Martin Pickersgill, and would 
 sit at the back door to watch him pass to 
 and from school, greet him with a quiet 
 *' miaw," then walk gravely in, as if a duty
 
 VISITORS. '257 
 
 had been done, and, if he entered the house 
 and failed to caress him, would sidle up to 
 him or mount his lap, and, untaught, with 
 uplifted paw draw his hand to his bent 
 head, as an intimation it was there to be 
 stroked. And not alone with him, but with 
 Edith and Dora, in whose arms puss was 
 wont to nestle, with his head on her shoul- 
 der, and his paws round her neck, as if he 
 had been human. Indeed, there were 
 human beings within his sphere to whom 
 Tip might have taught a lesson. 
 
 A tiny black spot on the end of his white 
 nose, and a habit of putting out the tip of 
 his tongue when purring his satisfaction, had 
 won pussy his cognomen which had grown 
 with the handsome tabby from Tip to Tippie. 
 
 Mutually caressing, he and his little mis- 
 tress watched at the recess window, as they 
 had often watched before, Tip's sharper eyes 
 and ears "ivino; the signal to dismount and 
 clamour to have the door opened that she 
 might rush, with puss at her heels, to meet 
 her father at the gate. 
 
 "A letter from Aunty 'Tatham " had 
 
 A^OL. I. S
 
 258 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 been proclaimed in advance, but, to Dora's 
 mortification, John Wilson's communication 
 was opened, read and re-read before the 
 other was even glanced at. 
 
 Indeed, in Archibald Thorpe's pre-occu- 
 pation, it might have been forgotten, but for 
 impatient Dora, who would then have had 
 to forego — not a coin concealed from postal 
 authorities — but a visit to her great-aunt, 
 who had therein sent a formal invitation to 
 both her nieces, and expected an immediate 
 reply. The invitation was equivalent to a 
 command. Even Mr. Thorpe considered 
 he had no right to resent personal indignity 
 to the detriment of Dora, and accordingly a 
 letter, assigning absence as a cause for 
 delay, was written and packed up in brown 
 paper like a parcel, to be sent by the morn- 
 ing coach, and so save a day. Saving 
 postage was no part of Archibald's thought. 
 
 John Wilson's letter also contained a sort 
 of invitation. Several friends of education 
 were about to meet in a friendl}'' way at the 
 Leeds Mechanics' Institution, to take into 
 consideration the dense ignorance amongst
 
 VISITORS. 259 
 
 the working-class, and to discuss the problem 
 which was to be started by Mr. Polloc, 
 " How to advance the cause of Mechanics' 
 Institutions," and both Mr. Polloc and J. 
 W. were anxious to have Mr. Thorpe 
 amongst them on the occasion. It went on 
 to say that, as neither the class-room nor 
 the library of the Institution was very 
 large, being little more than the garret of a 
 house in Bult's Lane, having an entrance 
 from Park Row, it was probable the meet- 
 ing would adjourn to the rooms of the 
 Philosophical Society, where their lectures 
 were delivered, and where he hoped to have 
 the pleasure of listening to Mr. Thorpe, and 
 moreover expected that j\Ir. Edward Baines 
 would once more bring forward his project 
 of the union of Institutes for mutual benefit. 
 He hoped, too, something would be done at 
 the meeting towards the erection of a 
 suitable buildino-. A few words were then 
 adroitly thrown in about Allan, who had 
 become a member of the Leeds M. L, and, 
 as he said, " bade fair to be a worthy mem- 
 ber of society also." 
 
 s2
 
 260 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 In all his life, Mr, Thorpe had never felt 
 himself of importance to anyone but his 
 wife and child. He began to feel he had 
 another place in the scheme of creation, was 
 called into the ranks of the earnest army 
 fighting against ignorance, and so he decided 
 that when he took Edith and Dora to 
 Skipton he might just as well extend his 
 journey, see for himself how Allan was get- 
 ting on, and attend the meeting as a silent 
 listener. 
 
 Mourning does not require jnuch change ; 
 but Janet was all in a bustle with suds and 
 starch, box-iron and Italian iron, to make 
 the young ladies superlatively presentable 
 to Deborah and Deborah's somewhat less 
 important mistress. 
 
 Precisely seven days after the receipt of 
 the letter, the Skipton coach received the 
 three travellers, Janet husdnsr the mrls, and 
 crying over them before they stepped in, as 
 though they were her own and parting for 
 ever, sending sundry messages to Deb, 
 which were forgotten on the road, and 
 giving the guard as many charges about
 
 VISITORS. 261 
 
 their hair-trunk as if they were going alone, 
 and were helpless. 
 
 It may be she had floating reminiscences 
 of" parcels, brushes, collars, and cravats left 
 behind by their guardian when he went 
 journeying on his own account. 
 
 She watched the handkerchief waved 
 from the window whilst the coach was in 
 siiiht, then hurried back with a determina- 
 tion, now the house was clear, to give it the 
 thorough turn-out impossible in the spring, 
 and " mak ivvery inch on it es sweet an' 
 cleean es a new pin afore theah coomed 
 hoam." 
 
 Deb was duly at the " Devonshire Arms " 
 to await them, with her arras sedately folded 
 across her waist ; and not Deborah only, but 
 Mr. Proctor; he with a face all smiles, she 
 with a countenance of rigid gravit}^, cast in 
 no smiling mould, but in her dress as speck- 
 less and old-fashioned as he, with not a plait 
 or a fold out of place. 
 
 Mr. Proctor was there to convey the 
 assurance that Mrs. Statham would be glad 
 to receive the widower, if he had time to
 
 262 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 spare for the call, and he was only too well 
 pleased to be able to excuse himself with a 
 good grace. He had not yet overcome her 
 insinuation on the day of the funeral. 
 
 Mr. Proctor had o;iven the old ladv to 
 understand (wherever he acquired his in- 
 formation) that her " supposition respecting 
 Archibald Thorpe was utterly unfounded, 
 he was the last man in the world to indulge 
 a mercenary motive, in. any way or shape." 
 
 And Mrs. Stathara, with all her odditie 
 was the last to retain an unfounded preju^ 
 dice once assured that it was unfounded 
 She was apt enough to conceive one. 
 
 ^^
 
 263 
 
 CHAPTER XVlir. 
 
 AUNT STATHAm's SONG. 
 
 IT was tlie first visit the children had 
 paid to Aunt Statham since Dora was 
 a hahj. To lier, with the parrot, tlie com- 
 fit-box, and the fairy godmother in per- 
 spective, it was a vision of delight, and she 
 literally danced along, with her hand in 
 that of Edith, who for her part had much 
 ado to hide her trepidation. Not that she 
 was timid on her own account, but she 
 knew not how soon Dora would get into 
 disgrace, either with Aunt Statham or stolid 
 Deborah. 
 
 To Edith, therefore, Mr. Proctor's pres- 
 ence was somethinE^ beatific, so re-assurino- 
 was his elastic step and the cordial welcome
 
 264 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 ill his voice and smile. They chatted as 
 they went along of Allan, of her friends at 
 Well Bank, of his grandson and his ward, 
 until all that was formidable in anticipation 
 was forgotten. Had Deborah alone met 
 them, the young girl would have presented 
 a very different countenance to the old lady 
 on their arrival, and it is more than pro- 
 bable their reception would have been less 
 gracious in consequen^ce. 
 
 As it was, by the time Dora, who ran in 
 first with expanded arms, had got over 
 her hu(Z2;in£!; and kissing-, Mrs. Statham was 
 read}'- for the less demonstrative embrace 
 of the elder grand-niece, and to meet her 
 pleasant smile with one as encouraging. 
 
 " I am glad to see you, my dears. I 
 hope you will consider yourselves welcome, 
 and make yourselves at home," said she, 
 the deep frill of her mob-cap shaking not 
 with the breeze from the open window, but 
 the earnestness of her speech. 
 
 Her voice was, however, almost drowned 
 in the shrill echo from lier grey parrot, 
 wonderfully glib with its lesson.
 
 AUNT STATU AM's SONG. 265 
 
 " Glad to see you, my dears ! Make 
 yourselves at home ! Heartily welcome, 
 heartily welcome ! Kiss Poll, pretty Poll !" 
 
 Away with a rush went Dora to return 
 the greeting of her old acquaintance, who 
 had made more than one visit to Settle. 
 Ere she was half way across the large room 
 to his cage in the embayed front, she 
 stumbled over something unseen, and fell 
 sprawling her whole length on the sad- 
 coloured Brussels carpet. 
 
 Of course there was an instantaneous 
 roar. 
 
 " Oh ! Fido, Fido, what have you done ?" 
 exclaimed Fido's mistress, with fan uplifted 
 in semi-rebuke. 
 
 " I'm afraid you have hurt the carpet, 
 Miss Dora," said JMr. Proctor, as he raised 
 the fallen damsel. 
 
 " Don't cry, dear," entreated Edith. " It 
 was not poor Fido's fault," and out came 
 her handkerchief to wipe away tears. 
 
 " Not much damage done either to the 
 beast or bairn," grimly suggested Deb, who 
 had been waiting stillly apart until the girls
 
 266 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 were readv to be shown to their rooms. 
 
 Dora, not much hurt, was twinkling away 
 her tears at Mr. Proctor's suggestion, her 
 mouth hesitating between a sob and a 
 smile. At that instant her eye sought the 
 offending Fido. With a shriek, up went 
 her hands ; in her fright she started back, 
 almost overturning Polly and her cage. 
 This time she was not so easily stilled. 
 
 Fido was a large land tortoise, and not a 
 poodle ! 
 
 Dora's eyes dilated with horror as she 
 saw the silent monster slowly put forth the 
 snake-like head he had retracted, and crawl 
 along the floor towards her aunt, across 
 whose wrinkled features grave displeasure 
 was creeping as silently, her trembling hand 
 meanwhile going down to caress the head 
 of her pet, " poor Fido !" 
 
 With a stride Deborah reached the terri- 
 fied Dora, caught her by the arm, and 
 simpl}^ raying, " Come, it's time your things 
 were off," nodded to Edith to follow, and 
 drew the little one from the room. 
 
 When they had mounted the stairs and
 
 AUNT STATHAM's SONG. 267 
 
 reached the quaintly ohl-fashioned chamber 
 assigned to tlieni, where the spindly chairs 
 had worsted-work seats, where amber-lined 
 netted curtains draped both the windows 
 and spindly four-post bed, where the very 
 floor was covered with broadcloth, overlaid 
 with faded pansies and nasturtiums of tinted 
 cloth, in a stra<Z2lingj device that would have 
 
 7 COO 
 
 gladdened the hearts of modern media3val 
 needleworkers, then, and not till then, did 
 Deborah open her lips again, and it was 
 with a caution. 
 
 " Ye'd best, Miss Edith, make th' little 
 one understand that yon dumb beastie Fido 
 won't harm her. But it may happen harm 
 both of ye, if she don't take kindly to her 
 aunt's pets. So mind !" 
 
 A motion or two of hand and head to 
 indicate that the open drawers of an oaken 
 bureau were ready for the contents of the 
 uncorded hair trunk, and that there were 
 dress pegs in a corner closet, and Deborah, 
 always sparing of words, was gone. 
 
 Edith's thanks for the timely hint were 
 uttered in tones which, clearly as words,.
 
 268 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 conveyed her sudden discoveiy that Deborah 
 \Yas not as grhn as she looked, and, with the 
 discovery, long instilled repulsion faded like 
 a mist. In future, Deborah was to be trust- 
 ed, not feared. 
 
 Before they went back, clothes had been 
 put away in order, and Dora had been 
 schooled to re2;ard the tortoise as a wonder- 
 ful creature, Robinson Crusoe having been 
 pressed into the service ; but Dora's first 
 repugnance was not to be so easih" con- 
 quered. Luckily, Mr. Proctor was not gone 
 when Edith led Dora into the room where 
 her aunt sat in somewhat ruffled state, and 
 he, seeing the blue eyes in quest of the mon- 
 ster, carried the child to the window, where 
 under cover of conversation with Poll, who 
 reiterated her welcome, he contrived to 
 screen her from the keen grey optics of her 
 aunt, leaving Fido full in view. When he 
 fancied her familiar with the unwieldly form 
 of the peculiar pet, he asked, in his airy 
 manner, if she had ever heard of the race 
 between one of Fido's brothers and a pussy 
 called a hare, the tortoise coming in winner,
 
 AUNT STATU AM's SONG. 269' 
 
 and so managed that, before he took leave, 
 he had induced her to examine Fido's won- 
 derful armour, and even to put out her little 
 soft hand to feel how hard it was. 
 
 That danger was past. The fluttering 
 fan was stilled, the snufF-spoon allowed to 
 rest in its golden case, the puckered lines on 
 Mrs. Statham's face smoothed into gracious- 
 ness, and Edith was inexpressibly grateful to 
 the old gentleman. 
 
 The room in which they ordinarily sat 
 contained, besides the parrot cage and its 
 noisy inmate, an old-fashioned harpsichord, 
 with music and song books to suit. There 
 was also a fine harp in one corner of the 
 room. 
 
 With this latter instrument both sisters 
 were familiar. There was one at Mrs. Crash's. 
 But the curiosity of irrepressible Dora led 
 her to an examination of the harpsichord, 
 and finally to inquiries concerning its name 
 and use, in a stage whisper, to Edith. 
 
 The whisper had been ovei'heard. In 
 excess of affable condescension, Mrs. Statham 
 rose from her arm-chair, took her seat in
 
 270 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 front of the key-board, yellow with age, 
 and ran her withered fingers over it. The 
 sound, it could scarcely be called music, did 
 not seem to satisfy Dora, but presently the 
 old lady, who had kept a once melodious 
 voice in marvellous preservation, broke out 
 into snatches of song, and gave them one or 
 two Jacobite strains with much spirit, con- 
 sidering; her asre. 
 
 The girls were deliejhted, and so was she. 
 She had discovered a way to amuse them, 
 and they to gratify her; she was always 
 willing to oblige with a song, and never 
 better pleased than when she caught either 
 of them humming snatches of her melodies. 
 
 Dora" was soon at home even with the 
 tortoise. At first she only watched hiui 
 crawl in and out through the open glass door 
 at the back, appear and disappear amongst 
 the garden shrubs, but, after a while she 
 grew bold enough to take a seat upon his 
 back for a ride on the well-kept walks. 
 And then Aunt Statham, in the plenitude 
 of her satisfaction, called Deborah as a 
 spectator.
 
 AUNT STATH Ail's SONG. 271 
 
 In spite of her withered features, Mrs. 
 Statham was not infirm. It was sunny 
 weather, and every morning found her step- 
 ping out of doors to take the air and exhibit 
 her grand nieces, of whom she was not a 
 little proud, introduced them with much 
 precision as "Miss Earnshaw" and "Miss 
 Theodora Thorpe," to the friends, married 
 and single, she called upon or met. There 
 were delightful walks around Skipton, and 
 — always with Deborah in attendance — these 
 were traversed, and then, treat of treats to 
 Edith, permission was obtained to explore 
 the Castle, Mr. Proctor being called upon 
 as cicerone. Mr. Proctor's "two plagues;' 
 as he playfully dubbed his ward and grand- 
 son, were then in Skipton for their mid- 
 summer holidavs, and of the favoured 
 party. 
 
 Josiah Proctor had the history of the 
 place and people at his finger ends, from 
 the time when Willian the Norman granted 
 it to his follower De Romille, to its brief 
 possession by the luckless Piers Gaveston, 
 through the fierce battering it underwent at
 
 272 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 the Lands of the Cromwellians during its 
 three years' siege, and its final restorations 
 by the noble lady, Ann Clifford, whose 
 motto "Desormais" is stamped in stone 
 above the chief gateway, and who holds 
 high place in history as "the repairer of the 
 breach, the restorer of paths to dwell in," 
 and, as they traversed long stone passages and 
 staircases between the one large octagonal 
 tower and the numerous old round ones, 
 scanned monumental brasses and tombs, he 
 had ample space to discourse on salient 
 points of character, and of the changes 
 wrought by time in families. 
 
 " I'se tired," said little Dora, long before 
 they stood outside the gate again, where 
 Mr. Proctor, who had been silently watch- 
 ing the animated faces of Edith and Martin, 
 paused once more to impress the motto 
 "Desormais" upon the latter, as that of a 
 grand woman who had done a great work. 
 
 "It must have cost a lot to build all 
 those tiresome passages and towers," re- 
 marked Jasper. " I wonder where she got 
 so much money to waste !"
 
 AUNT STATHAm's SONG. 273 
 
 " Waste !" was Edith's sole response. 
 She had been revelling in the " Sicilian 
 Roraance," "The Mysteries of Udolpho," 
 "The Old English Baron," and other 
 volumes of a like nature contained in her 
 aunt's book-case. Skipton Castle had car- 
 ried her back to times remote, and made 
 them living realities to her. 
 
 " Waste !" echoed Martin. " I don't call 
 it waste to build up the ruined home of 
 one's father, and his people before him. 
 And only think what a monument she has 
 built for herself!" he exclaimed, the solidit}^ 
 of the massive building having impressed 
 him greatly. 
 
 "Then take care you build up your 
 father's house when you come into your 
 fortune, Donna Martini," said Jasper, with a 
 curl of the Hp. 
 
 " I hope he will,'' put in the lawyer, with 
 quiet emphasis. 
 
 "It would not take much of a fortune to 
 build that up," remarked the W^est Indian. 
 "You should see how soon the houses are 
 built up in Jamaica after a hurricane. Tliey 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 are card houses compared with that," and a 
 backward glance pointed the words ; then 
 in an undertone to Jasper only, " But don't 
 you call me Donna Martini again, or you 
 will find I shall knock yow house down 
 pretty quickly." 
 
 He looked as if he meant it, and, being in 
 his grandfather's presence, Jasper thought 
 silence his best shield. 
 
 Tea was waitino^ for them all at Mrs. 
 Stathara's. The parrot screamed its loudest 
 welcome, and Edith carried away the tippet 
 and bonnet of weary little Dora, too 
 fatigued to walk upstairs herself It was a 
 substantial tea, with cakes and sweets, ham 
 and tongue, the freshest of salads, and 
 appetites ready to enjoy. Mrs. Statham 
 was in her most chatty mood, and, when 
 tea was over, proposed they should " have 
 a sonoj all round, " and that Mr. Proc- 
 tor should lead off. He. havins^ Dora in 
 his mind, after a little preliminary clearing 
 of his throat, beo;an, with infinite drollery, 
 "A frog he would a- wooing go !" at which 
 little Miss was highly amused.
 
 AUNT STATHAm's SONG. 275 
 
 Then Mrs. Stathara, trifling with her fan, 
 declared her inability to select her own 
 song, and left the choice to the company. 
 
 Dora at once put forward a suggestion that 
 her aunt should play the harp for thera. 
 
 " Nay, dear, my fingers are now too old 
 for that," she answered, patting her fair 
 head, and putting her comfit box in the 
 child's hand. "The harp will have to wait 
 for little fingers to "row h\^ ; and now, 
 what shall I sinir?" and, closinsr her fan, 
 complacently seated herself at the harp- 
 sichord, and struck a few notes with every 
 suspicious line smoothed out of her features, 
 
 Edith had been turnincr over an old 
 music-book from the bottom of a pile. 
 
 " Oh, aunt, here is such a sweet song ! 
 Can you sing this, ' Mary's Dream ' ? " and 
 she placed the book in front of the player. 
 
 The change was instantaneous. The thin 
 hands wandering over the yellow keys were 
 arrested, then dropped, then clenched as 
 the mittened arms grew rigid, the strained 
 eyes closed, and the face, from whicli every 
 particle of colour faded, became convulsed. 
 
 T 2
 
 276 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 Edith shrieked, and caught her aunt as 
 she was falling, Martin comincr to her aid. 
 Dora screamed her loudest. 
 
 There was a rush and a commotion. 
 Deborah was in the room before she could 
 be called. 
 
 Mr. Proctor helped the handmaid to bear 
 her mistress to a sofa, discomposing her 
 head-gear thereby. Hartshorn, kept at 
 hand, was applied to the pinched nostrils of 
 the sharply-defined nose, and while Poll 
 cried "What's the matter? what's the mat- 
 ter ?" Deborah demanded stiffly what had 
 been said or done to " make the mistress 
 go off," as she called it. 
 
 ''Nothing," said Edith, white and aghast. 
 
 Mr. Proctor whispered something to 
 Deborah. 
 
 " Nothing ?" cried Deb, with more emo- 
 tion than Edith had thought she could dis- 
 play. " Why, if t' lass had gone th' world 
 over for something worse, she'd not have 
 found it. But it's her own fault. I shall 
 tak' th' book awa}'' ! Hush-sh ! She's com- 
 ing round."
 
 AUNT STATHAm's SONG. 277 
 
 " Stand back, all of yon, out of" sight !" 
 And, at Mr. Proctor's command, the young 
 people stepped back, Dora sobbing, all more 
 or less awed, until Poll's solemn echo of 
 Deborah's " Hush-sh !" changed Jasper's 
 mood to mirth, and he had much ado to 
 keep his face in order during the silence 
 which followed. 
 
 Soon they overheard, in tones of acute 
 pain, "Cruel! cruel! How could she? 
 Oh ! Deb, I saw him, I saw him 1" The old 
 woman burst into a flood of passionate tears 
 on Deborah's sustaining shoulder, and, in the 
 motion, lost her head-dress altogether, leav- 
 ing a closely-cropped, white crown exposed. 
 
 The outburst was but momentary. The 
 grief-bowed head was raised, and, through 
 the tear-blurred eyes, the aged woman saw 
 reflected in a mirror before her, Jasper, 
 with one hand over his mouth, as if to hold 
 his laughter in, grimacing and gesticulating 
 with his whole body, while his other hand 
 pointed to the fallen wig and the grey hair, 
 which should have been sacred in its owner's 
 sorrow.
 
 278 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 One passion overmastered another. With 
 vehemence hardly tempered by her late 
 attack, she — pointing in her wrath to the 
 mirror — cried, 
 
 " Out with the wretched imp ! Out with 
 him, I say !" 
 
 And out he went, with Josiah Proctor's 
 hand upon his shoulder, to receive as sound 
 a drubbing as ever was administered by 
 Howson's cane. 
 
 That was not all. As Martin retreated 
 also, and Dora, Edith lost what followed in 
 the sound of footsteps and closing doors. 
 It seemed as if Deborah was remonstrating 
 with her mistress. 
 
 "The book should have been put away 
 lang syne ; how was th' poor lass to know ?" 
 
 "Pack them off, I sa}^ pack them off!" 
 was the only answer, and Edith stayed to 
 hear no more.
 
 279 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF POESY AND THE SPIRIT OF 
 MISCHIEF. 
 
 SURE enough when Edith arose next 
 morning their trunk was packed, and 
 the owners of the trunk were " packed 
 off" with it in the afternoon coach, with 
 no further leave-taking than could be trans- 
 mitted through Deborah, Mrs. Statham being 
 invisible. She had been closeted with Mr. 
 Proctor best part of the da}^ another last 
 will and testament being on the tapis. Most 
 certainly she was a profitable client. 
 
 The lawyer's office occupied the ground- 
 floor of his dwellincr-house within hail of the 
 Market-place, and thither Deborah had been 
 despatched as soon as Mrs. Statham w^as up
 
 280 WOOEKS AND WINNERS. 
 
 and dressed. On the step she encounter- 
 ed Simon Postlethwaite, sober, dry, and 
 caustic, as his master was vivacious ; and if 
 Deborah had a friend besides her mistress, 
 the formal clerk was the one. 
 
 She delivered the message of her mistress 
 with a supplement of her own, whereupon 
 the clerk took his way to the " Devonshire 
 Arms," and booked " two insides " for the 
 Giggleswick coach, feeling as well paid with 
 Deborah Gill's thanks as Lawyer Proctor 
 with Mrs. Stathani's guineas, Simon holding 
 the grave handmaiden, who moved like a 
 machine, in no small reverence. 
 
 He moreover wrote out a clerkly label for 
 the small hair trunk, and, when the two 
 sisters, thus ignominiously " packed off,'' 
 reached the inn under Deborah's guardian- 
 ship, their box going on ahead on the 
 gardener's shoulders, Simon Postlethwaite 
 was there to meet them, to tender his hum- 
 ble services as protector on their journey, 
 supposing they were at all timid, he having 
 a dispensation from his master to that effect. 
 
 Edith thanked him, but dechned. Her
 
 POESY AND MISCHIEF. 281 
 
 proud spirit was rebelling against her aunt's 
 caprice and injustice; she would much 
 prefer travelling alone than with a strange 
 man who would have to be talked with. 
 
 " Miss Earnshaw," said Deborah, with 
 impressive gravit}^, as the coach was being 
 horsed, " you will find something at the 
 bottom of your box. Keep it out of your 
 aunt's sight. It always makes her ill. She 
 will come round some day. And, mind! 
 never let her hear of the fjhost as came afore 
 your dear mother departed." 
 
 As gravely, Deborah shook hands, then 
 stood with arms folded across her waist to 
 watch them off. Simon Postlethwaite had 
 given the guard charge of" box and bairns," 
 and it may be the word he exchanged with 
 one of the other inside passengers was also 
 in their behoof. 
 
 When they were fairly off, Edith found a 
 small reticule basket in Dora's hands filled 
 with cakes and strawberries, but she did not 
 accredit Mrs. Statham with the attention. 
 
 That might have been a very sad and 
 thoughtful ride for Edith, but for a duty at
 
 282 WOOEES AND WINNERS. 
 
 hand, and Simon Postlethwaite's precaution. 
 She was inclined to dwell upon her own 
 loneliness, and, under the shade of her great- 
 aunt's displeasure, her musings might have 
 become morbid, had she been allowed to 
 indulge them. 
 
 Dora, however, did not leave her much 
 time for reverie. She had no talent for 
 sitting still, and in a very short time became 
 restless. She would have liked to stand at 
 the coach window and look out, but the 
 long legs of the opposite traveller were in 
 the way, and Edith was at first afraid the 
 fidgety little one would incommode him. 
 
 He was a young man some twenty years 
 of age, and six feet in height, giving 
 promise of a stalwart and muscular frame 
 in maturer life. His face had the same 
 massive outline, and was lit with an intelli- 
 gent eye that looked as if it could kindle 
 into enthusiasm. His apparel was of homely 
 texture, but in colour and cut proclaimed 
 the Quaker, even if his speech and broad- 
 brimmed hat had not done so. 
 
 He speedily relieved Edith's fears for his
 
 POESY AND MISCHIEF. 283' 
 
 discomfort, and, taking Dora on his knee, 
 said pleasantl}^ that he would " make room 
 for both, and would gratify the little bairn," 
 who soon began, as was her wont, to ply 
 him with questions fast and thick. 
 
 So long as these referred to objects along 
 the road, Edith let her run on, but when 
 little miss drifted into personalities, and 
 required to know the stranger's name, 
 whence he came, and whither he was ^oina:, 
 she thought it quite time to interfere, and 
 give her a quiet lesson in politeness, 
 at which Dora was inclined to pout. 
 
 The young man only seemed the more 
 amused, and soon they were possessed of 
 the fact that his name was Thomas Lister, 
 that he came from Barnsley, was the son 
 of a farmer and gardener, had gone to a 
 great school at Ackworth, was going to 
 Settle, going to see John Tatham, had a 
 garden of his own, but only cultivated flowers 
 of poes}'. 
 
 Equally communicative was Dora, ex- 
 changing confidence for confidence. At the 
 mention of John Tatham Edith claimed
 
 284 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 acquaintance with the worthy scientific 
 <^uaker, and Dora volunteered the informa- 
 tion that their frocks came from his shop. 
 But, when he spoke of cultivating " flowers 
 of poesy," Dora was lost in perplexity, and 
 Edith in a mist of sublime ecstasy. 
 
 A poet ! Could it really be her favoured 
 lot to meet a living poet? 
 
 Dora soon settled the point. " Flowers 
 of poesy! You mean 'pecimens. Father 
 brings home 'pecimens." " 
 
 Edith explained that Mr. Thofpe amused 
 himself with botany and geology. 
 
 "Then I may meet thy father at John 
 Tatham's some day, for he and I study 
 the book of nature from the same leaves ?" 
 
 The last word alone caught Dora's 
 comprehension. 
 
 "Leaves — 'pecimens? Father don't call 
 Specimens flowers of poesy !" 
 
 At this juncture the coach stopped, and a 
 farmer, his wife, and son, who had occupied 
 the other seats, were put down. 
 
 As they alighted, the Quaker smiled and, 
 in language better adapted to Dora's
 
 POESY AND MISCHIEF. 285 
 
 capacity, explained that he, too, collected 
 specimens of plants and fossils, but the 
 " flowers of poesy " were of another order. 
 And in elucidation, with all the enthusiasm 
 of a young poet who had chanced on good 
 listeners, he favoured them with specimens, 
 not only of his own versification, but of 
 other and better known bards. He started, 
 just to amuse the child, with Sonthey's 
 "Cataract of Lodore," and drifted to the 
 rest, having a long spell with Ebenezer 
 Elliot. 
 
 Dora's ear was caught with the rhyming 
 jingle, the rhythmic flow, the sonorous 
 voice, but as with a lullaby, and soon her 
 eyelids closed, and her cottage bonnet was 
 crushing against the collarless drab coat. 
 
 But Edith seemed to have entered upon 
 a world of enchantment. Enthusiasm is as 
 contagious as fever to kindred souls. Her 
 dark hazel eye glowed as she listened, and 
 though the voice of Yorkshire breathed in 
 every cadence and inflection, she, "native 
 and to the manner born,'* heard only the 
 utterance of divine poesy. A new spirit
 
 286 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 seemed to waken within her. There was no 
 such living fire in the poetry of Miss Cragg's 
 class-room. 
 
 Would she ever look at a waterfall aojain 
 without thinking of Lodore ? How she 
 wondered if it were like Stainforth Foss, or 
 Scalebar ! 
 
 Aunt Statham, Deborah, Janet, all were 
 forgotten, and, when some timid query of 
 her own elicited that Thomas Lister had 
 verses in print when a boy ten years old, 
 her thoughts went wandering into dream- 
 land very far. 
 
 The coach, lurching in a deep rut, waken- 
 ed Dora to a remembrance of the cakes and 
 strawberries, putting poetry and dreams to 
 flight. It was almost time ; they were 
 drawing near to Settle. 
 
 At the "Golden Lion" Thomas Lister 
 got out, and bade them good day, not, how- 
 ever, before he had expressed his satisfac- 
 tion that there had not been room for him 
 on the roof of the coach, and his hope to 
 meet with his young friend again, a hope 
 reciprocated.
 
 POESY AND MISCHIEF. 287 
 
 " Aunt Stathara little fancies what a 
 pleasant journey we have had," thought 
 Edith, forgetting how she had " talked to a 
 
 strange man 
 
 Janet's surprise was only equalled by her 
 displeasure, and that was only exceeded by 
 her delipfht to have thera at " hoam asaen ;" 
 but nothing would persuade her that 
 Deborali was not "at boddom on it all." 
 
 Tippie frisked about thera, a poor meagre 
 shadow of his own self, Janet's explanation 
 being that "t' cat had fair pined efter 'em." 
 She had been " too thrang i' gettin' th' place 
 redd up t' sit an' laak wi' a cat." 
 
 And truly the house was "in apple-pie 
 order;'" she could not have had much time 
 to play with cats. 
 
 Rather too much in " apple-pie order." 
 She had invaded Archibald Thorpe's sanctum 
 with brush, pail, and duster, and on his 
 return was he not wrathful thereat? The 
 dust she had kicked up was nothing to it ! 
 Even his annoyance at Mrs, Statham's 
 vagaries was thrown into the shade. 
 
 What mischief she had done it was im-
 
 288 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 possible to say, even he did not realise it all 
 at once. He could only cry out, " Order, 
 woman; you have put everything into dis- 
 order ; you do not know the very meaning 
 of the word. 1 cannot find a thini^ I want. 
 Newton's dog, Diamond, was not more 
 destructive to his master's papers than you 
 have been to mine. Heaven save the 
 student and collector from a tidy woman 
 and her duster !" and he sat down in a chair 
 by the window, gazing woefully on the new 
 classification of papers, stones, and plants by 
 Janet's method. 
 
 A soft hand touched his square shoulder. 
 
 " Is your loss irreparable, father ? Dia- 
 mond destroyed the labour of years. Is 
 Janet more to blame than the dog? She 
 was equally unconscious of the mischief she 
 mi"ht do ; and I am certain her intention 
 was to do you a service." 
 
 "Well, well, Edith, perhaps you are 
 right," Mr. Thorpe said, with a heavy sigh. 
 " I forgive her this time, but never let 
 her bring brush or duster into this room 
 again."
 
 POESY AND MISCHIEF. 289 
 
 From the room, disordered by the very 
 spirit of order, Edith turned to the kitclien, 
 where Janet was flouncing about as irate as 
 her master. "Compare me to a dog ! Ah 
 nivver wor called a dog afore, an a' for 
 riddin' aght a heap o' clarty rubbidge !" she 
 was muttering, angrily. " He may cleean it 
 aght hissen next time, fur Janet. Dog, 
 indeed !" And Edith found it a much more 
 difficult task to soothe the wounded pride 
 of the domestic who had done the unconsci- 
 ous wrong, than the temper of the scientific 
 inquirer who had realised at a glance what 
 tidiness had done for him. Possibly Janet 
 had upon her conscience sundry stones and 
 other " litter " cast into the midden ; and 
 was less placable in consequence. 
 
 Edith had, however, the blessed power of 
 throwing oil on troubled waters. Janet 
 toned down, and early next morning 
 brought in an apron-full of stones and dead 
 plants, for which she had groped amongst 
 dust and ashes, and laid them silently in the 
 window-seat, in sight of her master. 
 
 At the bottom of Edith's hair-trunk lay 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 the faded music-book, with a slip of paper 
 inserted at the unlucky song. In Deborah's 
 stiff and large hand was written, 
 
 " Miss Edith, 
 
 " I trust this book with you for 
 safe keeping. I would burn it if I dared. 
 Kead the song, and remember it. Some 
 day, when you are older, perhaps your aunt 
 will tell you all about it. If not, I will. 
 Keep the book out of sight. 
 
 " Deborah Gill." 
 
 Dora happened to be downstairs nursing 
 Tippie, and giving Janet her impressions of 
 Skiptou from the castle to the tortoise, or 
 it might not have been easy to compl}^ 
 Dora's inquisitive eyes were everywhere. 
 
 The ballads were old and precious, a 
 future store of wealth to Edith, in whom 
 poetry lay dormant like gold in quartz. 
 Yet had she the resolution to put the book 
 away in a sure place? Nay, she had no 
 care to proceed when she had gone through 
 John Lowe's pathetic old ballad —
 
 POESY AND MISCHIEF. 291 
 
 IVIARY'S DREAM. 
 
 ■" The moon had climbed the highest hill 
 
 "Which rises o'er the source of Dee, 
 And from the eastern summit shed 
 
 Her silver light on tower and tree, 
 When Mary laid her down to rest 
 
 Her thoughts on Sandy far at sea ; 
 When, soft and low, a voice was heard 
 
 Saying, ' Mary, weep no more for me !' 
 
 ■" She from her pillow gently raised 
 
 Her head, to see who there might be, 
 And saw young Sandy, shivering, stand 
 With visage pale and hollow e'e : 
 ' 0, Mary dear, cold is my clay, 
 It lies beneath a stormy sea. 
 Far, far from thee, I sleep in death ; 
 So, IMary, weep no more for me. 
 
 " ' Three stormy nights and stormy days 
 
 We tossed upon the raging main, 
 And long we strove our bark to save, 
 
 But all our striving was in vain. 
 E'en then, when horror chilled my blood, 
 
 My heart was filled with love for thee ; 
 The storm is past, and I at rest, 
 
 So, Mary, weep no more for me ! 
 
 *' ' 0, maiden dear, thyself prepare ; 
 
 We soon shall meet upon that shore 
 Where love is free from doubt and care, 
 And thou and I shall part no more !' 
 
 u2
 
 292 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 Loud crowed the cock, the shadow fled, 
 
 No more of Sandy could she see ; 
 But soft the passing spirit said, 
 ' Sweet Mary, weep no more for me !' " 
 
 Eclith closed the book with a saddened 
 feelino;, as if she had been intruding into her 
 aunt's heart and history. How little could 
 she foresee the circumstances under which 
 both would be unfolded ! 
 
 Edith went back to school, and Dora with 
 her, and never was child so watched, so 
 tended, so assiduously guarded from sun 
 and shower, from draughts and discomforts, 
 as was she. Her wants, her requirements, 
 were paramount ; so imperceptibly were the 
 thousand little sacrifices made to her caprices 
 that Edith ceased to perceive the sacrifice. 
 There was a dying charge ever in her mind 
 to influence her action, though asfe and ex- 
 perience were too immature to suggest its 
 probable tendency. 
 
 For some few days the companionship of 
 other little misses made the change a pleas- 
 urable one, but no sooner did the newness 
 wear away than Dora began to chafe under
 
 POESY AND MISCHIKF. 293 
 
 the restraint, and to break out into utter 
 rebellion. Not even Miss Vasey could 
 induce her to look at the letters on her 
 battledore (a leafless book of folded card, 
 on which the alphabets were printed large 
 for little learners), or to repeat them after 
 her. She snatched the battledore from her 
 kind teacher's hand, and threw it across the 
 room, to the dismay of the assembled school. 
 Equally refractory was she over her early 
 lessons in sewing, and gentle Ann Vasey 
 was in despair. 
 
 Then Miss CrasfG; took her in hand, and 
 Miss Grass's will was stronger than Dora's. 
 
 It was some time, however, before dis- 
 cipline prevailed. The indulgent father at 
 home, who could see no fault in his loving 
 little darling, would grant anything so long 
 as he was not disturbed. 
 
 On any pretence, or no pretence, Miss 
 Dora could buy holidays with kisses, and a 
 holiday for Dora meant a game of romps, 
 or a ramble in the fields, or up Ribblesdale, 
 and consequently meant also so much time 
 wasted for Edith, whose anxiety to recover
 
 294 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 lost ground by close attention to study was 
 apparently of no moment. 
 
 Mrs. Crago; and Miss Crajro; both called at 
 Ivy Fold to remonstrate with the widower, 
 but he pleaded the child's delicacy of con- 
 stitution, her affectionate nature, her want 
 of a mother as so many reasons for indulg- 
 ence, and could not see how an occasional 
 holiday could affect Edith, save for the 
 better. 
 
 He was not always at home, fortunately, 
 and Janet was apt to whip the demurrer up 
 in her strong arms, and, in spite of kicks 
 and scratches, bear her off up the village. 
 
 Sometimes the boys bound to the Gram- 
 mar School would meet them by the way, 
 when Jasper never failed to salute her as 
 " Felina," and offer to "cut her claws," and 
 not infrequently would Thomas Claphara 
 rub his hands in glee as he saw the fight for 
 mastery between the woman and child. 
 More than once he had called across the 
 road, "Shall I come and gobble up the naugh- 
 ty bairn?" with a display of ogreish grimaces, 
 certain to frighten her to obedience.
 
 POESY AND MISCHIEF. 295 
 
 It chanced on one of Dora's refractoiy 
 days, when Edith herself had been the 
 patient victim, Thomas Claphara, standing 
 at the vicarage gate, had been a witness of 
 the ineffectual coaxing and pleading the 
 child required. In the afternoon, about 
 four o'clock, he loitered near the Bank Well 
 to watch for the coming of the day-pupils 
 with their bags and books. 
 
 Miss Dora was always one of the earliest 
 to break loose. As she danced up the 
 narrow lane he darted upon her, with a 
 grin on his apish face, caught her in his 
 bony arms, and ran up the road as fast as 
 his long, thin legs would carry him, she 
 shrieking her loudest. On he went for 
 several hundred yards before he quitted the 
 road in search of a tree to suit his purpose, 
 then, climbing like a cat, he placed her 
 between a fork of the main branches, and, 
 bidding her hold on, left her there, with aa 
 intimation that that was the way he cured 
 bad tempers. 
 
 In extremity of horror she clung to the 
 tree, afraid to fall, afraid to cry out, afraid
 
 296 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 lest he should leave her there to starve, and 
 foxes or bears come and eat her up. Any- 
 way, the prospect was dolorous. 
 
 He was out of sii2;ht, there was no one 
 there. Minutes seemed wofuUy long. Pres- 
 ently she began to sob. Then her little 
 arms grew tired, and, fearing to lose her 
 hold, she cried out, piteously, " Oh, Edie, 
 Dora iviJl be good, Dora loill be good !" 
 
 She could not see Edith runnino: distract- 
 edly hither and thither in search of her, 
 with a conscience full of self-accusation for 
 losiuGj sii^ht of the child. But she cried to 
 Edith, nevertheless. 
 
 After a time, a terrible time to her, her 
 tormentor appeared at the foot of the tree, 
 capering and making antic;?, but not offering 
 to release her. She besjan to identify 
 Thomas Clapham with a legion of goblins 
 and evil genii, her notions of either being 
 somewhat crude. 
 
 At length, when his innate spirit of mis- 
 chief was satisfied, and he concluded she 
 had been ftiirly punished, he opened a 
 parley, the end of Vv^hich was a vague threat
 
 POESY AND MISCHIEF. 297 
 
 of horrors in store for disobedience, and on 
 her part a ready promise of future good 
 behaviour. 
 
 Thereupon he went up the tree, like a 
 monkey, and descended with Dora to terra- 
 firma, set her on her feet in the middle of 
 the road, and bade her "be off." He 
 laughed until his sides ached as he watched 
 her dash down the hill ; then followed to 
 keep her in view, talking to himself all the 
 way, as was his wont. 
 
 Miss Dora's fright was not soon forgotten. 
 She was thenceforth more amenable to 
 control, a reminder of Mr. Thomas Clapham 
 being an unfailing specific for obstinacy. 
 
 Of course Mr. Thorpe was indignant, and 
 called at the vicarage to demand an ex- 
 planation and an apology, with some refer- 
 ence to a horsewhip. 
 
 He got the explanation ; for an apology 
 was told to " be thankful," and was re- 
 minded that his interlocutor's arm and 
 horsewhip were both as long and strong as 
 his own.
 
 298 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 A MIDNIGHT EXCURSION. 
 
 T has been said that Martin and Jas- 
 _L per had found favour in the sight of 
 Archibald Thorpe, but just as the former 
 was the senior in years and grew in stature 
 more rapidly than his fellow, so did he 
 o'ertop the other in Mr. Thorpe's estima- 
 tion. Not that he took more pains to earn 
 that good-will. One was as ready as the 
 other to rise with the lark on a holiday 
 morning, and tramp with him over moor- 
 land and mountain, to hammer away at 
 rocks, dig up roots, pare off moss and lichen, 
 or help to carry home the spoil. But even 
 Mr. Thorpe could discern that the one had 
 his heart in these expeditions, the other 
 feigned an interest he did not feel. It mat-
 
 A MIDNIGHT EXCURSION. 299' 
 
 tered not to Martin whether they rambled 
 to Ingleton or Attermire, to Malham or 
 even to Ingleborough ; he was gaining health 
 and strength and information with every 
 step ; the languor and listlessness of the 
 West Indies had passed away ; he trod the 
 heather or the crag with a firn], free step' 
 and a kindling cheek, and was quick to 
 learn what the elder was proud to teach. 
 
 It was not he who strayed away to chase 
 the sheep from their pasture on the scant 
 herbage above the scars, and occasionally 
 got into difficulties with the angry rams, 
 whilst Archibald Thorpe, low on his knees, 
 bent over and measured the curious holes in 
 the limestone pavement, and speculated on 
 their ancient use and origin. It was not he 
 who talked of "weeds" when the botanist 
 discovered some common plant, with minute 
 efflorescence in an unknown habitat. It 
 was not he who ruthlessly shied a group of 
 ecrinities or quartz crystals at an anxious 
 peewit, and deprecated blame with the easy 
 declaration " there were lots to be had 
 where those cauie from."
 
 300 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 Something be^^ond either plants or fossils 
 must have hiin at the bottom of this reticent 
 man's liking for the dark-complexioned 
 youth who knew nothing of his pedigree, so 
 little of his immediate kith and kin ; who 
 could onl}^ tell that his mother's name was 
 Jnez, and she of Spanish blood, and that 
 his father, the indigo-planter, Lawrence 
 Pickersgill, was an Englishman. Certainly 
 something, or Archibald Thorpe had never 
 been stirred to question him so closely, or 
 to resolve he would some day ask Mr. 
 Proctor what he knew of Martin's relatives, 
 even though the absent man forgot, and the 
 '' some day " never came. 
 
 Absent indeed, for he never tliouirht of 
 future possibilities when, at the close of 
 these holidav excursions, he carried the 
 boys home with him to Iv}^ Fold for early 
 supper; or when, the meal over, he would 
 spread out his earthy collections of roots 
 and stones on the polished parlour table, 
 to the sore annoyance of Janet, or seated, 
 well contented, in his chintz-covered arm- 
 chair, with his back to the recess, would
 
 A MIDNIGHT EXCURSION. 301 
 
 cross his long limbs and listen, whilst Mar- 
 tin and Edith practised with voice and 
 piano — to which sometimes the guitar was 
 added — the duets Mr. Pulman, their music- 
 master, set them at school, calmly looking 
 on while Jasper — whose education did not 
 include music, and to whom nature had 
 denied a voice — found an outlet for his 
 boyish jealousy in tantalizing Tippie, which 
 was equivalent to tantalizing Dora ; or, to 
 show his indifference, built card-houses for 
 the child, or with the same cards initiated 
 her into the sublime mysteries of beggar- 
 my-neighbour, his grandfather's prohibition 
 notwithstanding. Absent, indeed ! But why 
 should a man, pondering the occult secrets of 
 creation, be expected to note the actions or 
 development of young people, even though 
 one should be his own ? The fossilized 
 past had a more intelligent voice for him 
 than had the human present. 
 
 It is true he had been awakened to the 
 intellectual needs of the people at large, 
 and was filled with the importance of the 
 mission he had undertaken, to carry the
 
 302 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 stores of his information to the uneducated 
 in dark corners of the county ; but, intent 
 on the enhghtenment of the masses, his 
 mental vision had so wide and comprehen- 
 sive a range, it is small wonder the incon- 
 siderable individuals on his own hearthstone 
 were overlooked. 
 
 Matters went on at Well Bank pretty 
 much in the same round. Miss Cragg, the 
 Minerva of the establishment, Mrs. Crafjcr, 
 the Penelope, her busy fingers darting the 
 swift hook throuoi:h the muslin in the tarn- 
 bour-frame, or plying netting or knitting- 
 needles even when drawn into the garden 
 and tlie sunshine by ever-ready hands. 
 Poonah-painting and velvet-painting, hem- 
 rainci:, seamimx, and backstitchinof, with the 
 Reading-made-easy and Mavor, found occu- 
 pation for Miss Vasey in the school-room — 
 out of it her duties were multifarious. 
 
 Apple-Tree Hall kept up its repute as a 
 focus for mischief, the lads varied their 
 lessons with gallant or elfish tricks on the 
 girls, got into and out of quarrels and scrapes, 
 stole the fruit, smoked surreptitious pipes,
 
 A MIDNIGHT EXCURSION. 303 
 
 friQ;htened the maids and Mother Wellinfrtoii 
 with her own rip-raps and crackers, and per- 
 formed sundry exploits for which there is 
 no space in this chronicle ; but throughout it 
 all Jasper kept in favour with Miss Cragg, 
 When Martin would leave a scrap of his 
 surtout fluttering on the top of the tallest 
 tree in the parish, Jasper would come home, 
 neat and trim ; then he had an eye like a 
 hawk for stray pins, needles, buttons, tacks, 
 or twine, and was not beneath stooping to 
 pick them up in the house or on the road. 
 If a pin was wanted there was always a 
 collection under the colkir of Jasper's 
 jacket; if a parcel or a jar needed tying 
 he was sure to have a ball of scrap twine in 
 his pocket, so very careful was he, and this 
 frugality of his commended itself to Miss 
 Orao'O". 
 
 ^* "no* 
 
 That year wore itself out, and another 
 was on the wane before Martin had his 
 innings. 
 
 It chanced that some of the Clapham lads 
 conveyed to tlie Grammar School intelli- 
 gence that a tribe of gipsies liad encamped
 
 304 WOOEllS AND WINNERS. 
 
 on Clapham Common. Here was food for 
 adventure ! A conclave, with Burton at its 
 head (assembled in Apple-Tree Hall, when 
 all good folk were supposed to be abed), 
 decided on a moonlight visit to the encamp- 
 ment the following night, and Martin, whose 
 imagination had been excited by gipsy tales, 
 and who had more than once been likened 
 to a Spanish gitano, consented to be of the 
 party. Within the last few months lie had 
 strengthened considerably, was no longer 
 afraid of exposure to the night air, or a 
 midnight ramble ; besides, was it not Sep- 
 tember, ripe and mellow as its fruits ? 
 
 The "Ebb-and-Flow " was appointed as a. 
 general rendezvous, the hour for starting 
 eleven, b}' the church clock. Six or seven 
 miles lay between them and Clapham Com- 
 mon. They must be oflP in good time if 
 they meant to have a fair gossip with the 
 gipsies, yet must they wait until there was 
 small chance of meeting tell-tale stragglers 
 by the way. 
 
 It yet wanted souje ten or fifteen minutes 
 to eleven when Martin was awakened by a
 
 A MIDNIGHT EXCURSION. 305 
 
 slight noise, which he took to mean Bur- 
 ton and Jasper at his door. He had 
 laid his clothes ready overnight, with his 
 shoes tied together for slinmno; round his 
 neck, whilst he descended the pear.tree 
 ladder. Quickly slipping on socks and 
 trousers, he had his waistcoat in his hand, 
 when a sort of stifled groan met his ear, 
 and made him pause. It was followed by 
 a crash as of glass, and another suppressed 
 moan. 
 
 He was fully awake now. The sound 
 came from the next chamber, where Miss 
 Cragg slept. 
 
 In another minute he was tapping at her 
 door, but a moan was the only distinguish- 
 able answer, and he ventured to raise the 
 latch and speak through the slightly-opened 
 door. 
 
 "Are you ill, Miss Cragg? Can I do 
 anything for you ?" 
 
 " Oh-h ! my face is aching dreadfully. 
 My bottle and glass are both gone. I drop- 
 ped them in a sudden spasm. Oh ! what 
 shall I do ?" she gasped rather than said. 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 " Wait awhile, I'll soon get you some 
 more," cried Martin, and he was gone, leav- 
 ing her in pain, and in perplexity as to his 
 meanini?. 
 
 Had not her head been muffled in a 
 woollen shawl, she might have heard other 
 footsteps pass her door, and been in greater 
 perplexity. 
 
 Martin had known at once that her " bot- 
 tle" meant the specific of Dr. Burrow for 
 face-ache, or as we call it now neuralgia, and 
 he had his vest and jacket on, his window 
 opened, and was down the great pear-tree 
 and putting on his boots in less than three 
 minutes. 
 
 He had bridled Punch and led him from 
 his stable as the church clock was striking, 
 and under cover of the sound his compan- 
 ions joined him. 
 
 " Off to Dr. Burrow's and not with us ?" 
 was the general exclamation when he had 
 explained. 
 
 " I say now, that's not fair, to sneak off 
 that way !" cried Jasper, as Martin opened
 
 A MIDNIGHT EXCURSION. 307 
 
 the gate and was mounting the bare-backed 
 pony. 
 
 " I'm not sneaking off. I'll be after you 
 and overtake you before you are two miles 
 away. Or you can wait for me at the ' Ebb- 
 and-Flow.' " I cannot let Miss Cragg suffer 
 if I can help it. It would spoil all my pleas- 
 ure," and off he went as fast as Punch's 
 shanks would permit, leaving Jasper to sneer 
 at his leisure and to "go gipsying " without 
 him. 
 
 But Martin did not follow 
 
 He reached Lazy Corner, pulled the night 
 bell — the doctor always kept a night-lamp 
 burning — and before long was speeding 
 back with a fresh bottle of the infallible 
 remedv. 
 
 Punch was turned loose in his paddock, 
 and up the tree, bottle in pocket, went 
 Martin. The clatter of Punch's hoofs on 
 the paved yard had roused Ann Vasey as 
 they went. Her listening ears caught her 
 cousin's moans. There was a light bui-ning 
 in ]\Iiss Cragfoj's room when he handed in the 
 
 DO 
 
 x2
 
 308 WOOEUS AND WINNERS. 
 
 bottle, and an explanation was required as- 
 to his means of exit when doors were locked 
 and barred. 
 
 The specific did its duty, and Miss Craprg 
 must have been grateful, but there was no 
 going off for Martin. 
 
 Ann Vasey remained with her cousin so 
 long as pain was paramount ; and, not being 
 inclined for after-sleep, was awake to the 
 fact that there were footsteps in the house, 
 before it was the servants' hour to rise. 
 
 The spirited little woman was out on the 
 landing to confront the supposed robbers 
 without a moment's hesitation. She con- 
 fronted, not thieves, but midnight excur- 
 sionists who had fallen amoncr thieves, and 
 were somewhat airy in their apparel. 
 
 Their trip had scarcely been as satisfactory 
 in fact as in anticipation, although they had 
 seen the gipsies ; since those interesting 
 nomads had obligingly relieved them, not 
 only of the coin in their pockets, but of the 
 pockets likewise, and that without the 
 preliminary of severance from outer broad- 
 cloth.
 
 A MIDNIGHT EXCURSION. 309 
 
 There was immediate work for the tailor. 
 
 and work for gibing tongues, schoolfellows 
 being as ready with banter as croaking Solo- 
 mon Bracken with his after-date wisdom. 
 Thomas Clapham was in ecstasies, and in 
 face of his derision Mrs. Cragg's homily was 
 as nothinof. 
 
 There was an immediate change of apart- 
 ments. Miss Vasey took possession of the 
 room over the pear-tree. 
 
 There was an end to night rambles, an 
 end also to Miss Cragg's tacit hostility to Mar- 
 tin, and she was less ready to open her ears 
 to hints and suggestions in his disfavour. 
 
 If she was more gracious, his fellow- 
 boarders were not. They, Burton excepted, 
 resented this desertion and their detection 
 as an act of treachery. Jasper in particu- 
 lar, whose jacket had gone, and with it not 
 only seven or eight shillings hidden in the 
 lining, but the prospect of his grandfather's 
 crown piece at the end of the " half," was 
 bitterly incensed, and resolved to "' pay the 
 rascal off." He had been wounded in his 
 most vital part, and such wounds are long
 
 310 WOOERS AND WINNERS. 
 
 in healing. There was another grudge ot 
 lonser standing aojainst Martin, and he cal- 
 culated on paying off both at once. 
 
 He did not wait long for his opportunity, 
 and probably without the opportunity 
 Jasper's threat might have been mere 
 vapouring. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 LONDON : PRINTED BY DUNCAN MACDONALD, BLENHEIM HOUSE.
 
 fc. 
 
 vISlli 040258292