Mary Barton Page #35

Mary Barton: A Tale of Manchester Life is the first novel by English author Elizabeth Gaskell, published in 1848. The story is set in the English city of Manchester between 1839 and 1842, and deals with the difficulties faced by the Victorian working class.

• Novel

								

I'm sure both you and I'se [36] weary o' tramping.'


   [Footnote 36: "I have not been, nor is, nor never
                 schal."--Wickliffe's "Apology," p. 1.]


"So he were quiet a bit. But he were one o' them as were sure to find
out somewhat had been done amiss, when there were no going back to
undo it. So presently he coughs, as if he were going to speak, and
I says to mysel, 'At it again, my lad.' Says he,

"'I ax pardon, neighbour, but it strikes me it would ha' been better
for my son if he had never begun to keep company wi' your daughter.'

"Well! that put me up, and my heart got very full, and but that I
were carrying her babby, I think I should ha' struck him. At last
I could hold in no longer, and says I,

"'Better say at once it would ha' been better for God never to ha'
made th' world, for then we'd never ha' been in it, to have had th'
heavy hearts we have now.'

"Well! he said that were rank blasphemy; but I thought his way of
casting up again th' events God had pleased to send, were worse
blasphemy. Howe'er, I said nought more angry, for th' little babby's
sake, as were th' child o' his dead son, as well as o' my dead
daughter.

"Th' longest lane will have a turning, and that night came to an end
at last; and we were foot-sore and tired enough, and to my mind th'
babby were getting weaker and weaker, and it wrung my heart to hear
its little wail; I'd ha' given my right hand for one of yesterday's
hearty cries. We were wanting our breakfasts, and so were it too,
motherless babby! We could see no public-house, so about six o'clock
(only we thought it were later) we stopped at a cottage where a woman
were moving about near th' open door. Says I, 'Good woman, may we
rest us a bit?' 'Come in,' says she, wiping a chair, as looked bright
enough afore, wi' her apron. It were a cheery, clean room; and we
were glad to sit down again, though I thought my legs would never
bend at th' knees. In a minute she fell a noticing th' babby, and
took it in her arms, and kissed it again and again. 'Missis,' says I,
'we're not without money, and if yo'd give us somewhat for breakfast,
we'd pay yo honest, and if yo would wash and dress that poor babby,
and get some pobbies down its throat, for it's well-nigh clemmed, I'd
pray for yo' till my dying day.' So she said nought, but gived me th'
babby back, and afore yo' could say Jack Robinson, she'd a pan on th'
fire, and bread and cheese on th' table. When she turned round, her
face looked red, and her lips were tight pressed together. Well! we
were right down glad on our breakfast, and God bless and reward that
woman for her kindness that day; she fed th' poor babby as gently
and softly, and spoke to it as tenderly as its own poor mother could
ha' done. It seemed as if that stranger and it had known each other
afore, maybe in Heaven, where folk's spirits come from they say; th'
babby looked up so lovingly in her eyes, and made little noises more
like a dove than aught else. Then she undressed it (poor darling! it
were time), touching it so softly; and washed it from head to foot,
and as many on its things were dirty; and what bits o' things its
mother had gotten ready for it had been sent by th' carrier fra
London, she put 'em aside; and wrapping little naked babby in her
apron, she pulled out a key, as were fastened to a black ribbon, and
hung down her breast, and unlocked a drawer in th' dresser. I were
sorry to be prying, but I could na' help seeing in that drawer some
little child's clothes, all strewed wi' lavendar, and lying by 'em
a little whip an' a broken rattle. I began to have an insight into
that woman's heart then. She took out a thing or two; and locked the
drawer, and went on dressing babby. Just about then come her husband
down, a great big fellow as didn't look half awake, though it were
getting late; but he'd heard all as had been said down-stairs, as
were plain to be seen; but he were a gruff chap. We'd finished our
breakfast, and Jennings were looking hard at th' woman as she were
getting the babby to sleep wi' a sort of rocking way. At length says
he, 'I ha learnt th' way now; it's two jiggits and a shake, two
jiggits and a shake. I can get that babby asleep now mysel.'

"The man had nodded cross enough to us, and had gone to th' door, and
stood there whistling wi' his hands in his breeches-pockets, looking
abroad. But at last he turns and says, quite sharp,

"'I say, missis, I'm to have no breakfast to-day, I s'pose.'

"So wi' that she kissed th' child, a long, soft kiss; and looking in
my face to see if I could take her meaning, gave me th' babby without
a word. I were loath to stir, but I saw it were better to go. So
giving Jennings a sharp nudge (for he'd fallen asleep), I says,
'Missis, what's to pay?' pulling out my money wi' a jingle that she
might na guess we were at all bare o' cash. So she looks at her
husband, who said ne'er a word, but were listening wi' all his ears
nevertheless; and when she saw he would na say, she said, hesitating,
as if pulled two ways, by her fear o' him, 'Should you think sixpence
over much?' It were so different to public-house reckoning, for we'd
eaten a main deal afore the chap came down. So says I, 'And, missis,
what should we gie you for the babby's bread and milk?' (I had it
once in my mind to say 'and for a' your trouble with it,' but my
heart would na let me say it, for I could read in her ways how it had
been a work o' love.) So says she, quite quick, and stealing a look
at her husband's back, as looked all ear, if ever a back did, 'Oh, we
could take nought for the little babby's food, if it had eaten twice
as much, bless it.' Wi' that he looked at her; such a scowling look!
She knew what he meant, and stepped softly across the floor to him,
and put her hand on his arm. He seem'd as though he'd shake it off
by a jerk on his elbow, but she said quite low, 'For poor little
Johnnie's sake, Richard.' He did not move or speak again, and after
looking in his face for a minute, she turned away, swallowing deep in
her throat. She kissed th' sleeping babby as she passed, when I paid
her. To quieten th' gruff husband, and stop him if he rated her, I
could na help slipping another sixpence under th' loaf, and then we
set off again. Last look I had o' that woman she were quietly wiping
her eyes wi' the corner of her apron, as she went about her husband's
breakfast. But I shall know her in heaven."

He stopped to think of that long-ago May morning, when he had carried
his grand-daughter under the distant hedge-rows and beneath the
flowering sycamores.

"There's nought more to say, wench," said he to Margaret, as she
begged him to go on. "That night we reached Manchester, and I'd found
out that Jennings would be glad enough to give up babby to me, so I
took her home at once, and a blessing she's been to me."

They were all silent for a few minutes; each following out the
current of their thoughts. Then, almost simultaneously, their
attention fell upon Mary. Sitting on her little stool, her head
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