Mary Barton Page #48

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

								

knew it was. Nevertheless, she said,

"Then, my dear, I ask your pardon, and God's pardon, too, if I've
weakened your faith, by showing you how feeble mine was. Half our
life's spent in waiting, and it ill becomes one like me, wi' so many
mercies, to grumble. I'll try and put a bridle o'er my tongue, and
my thoughts too." She spoke in a humble and gentle voice, like one
asking forgiveness.

"Come, Alice," interposed Mrs. Wilson, "don't fret yoursel for e'er a
trifle wrong said here or there. See! I've put th' kettle on, and you
and Mary shall ha' a dish o' tea in no time."

So she bustled about, and brought out a comfortable-looking
substantial loaf, and set Mary to cut bread and butter, while she
rattled out the tea-cups--always a cheerful sound.

Just as they were sitting down, there was a knock heard at the door,
and without waiting for it to be opened from the inside, some one
lifted the latch, and in a man's voice asked, if one George Wilson
lived there?

Mrs. Wilson was entering on a long and sorrowful explanation of
his having once lived there, but of his having dropped down dead;
when Alice, with the instinct of love (for in all usual and common
instances, sight and hearing failed to convey impressions to her
until long after other people had received them), arose, and tottered
to the door.

"My bairn!--my own dear bairn!" she exclaimed, falling on Will
Wilson's neck.

You may fancy the hospitable and welcoming commotion that ensued; how
Mrs. Wilson laughed, and talked, and cried, altogether, if such a
thing can be done; and how Mary gazed with wondering pleasure at
her old playmate; now a dashing, bronzed-looking, ringletted sailor,
frank, and hearty, and affectionate.

But it was something different from common to see Alice's joy at once
more having her foster-child with her. She did not speak, for she
really could not; but the tears came coursing down her old withered
cheeks, and dimmed the horn spectacles she had put on, in order to
pry lovingly into his face. So what with her failing sight, and her
tear-blinded eyes, she gave up the attempt of learning his face by
heart through the medium of that sense, and tried another. She passed
her sodden, shrivelled hands, all trembling with eagerness, over his
manly face, bent meekly down in order that she might more easily make
her strange inspection. At last, her soul was satisfied.

After tea, Mary, feeling sure there was much to be said on both
sides, at which it would be better no one should be present, not even
an intimate friend like herself, got up to go away. This seemed to
arouse Alice from her dreamy consciousness of exceeding happiness,
and she hastily followed Mary to the door. There, standing outside,
with the latch in her hand, she took hold of Mary's arm, and spoke
nearly the first words she had uttered since her nephew's return.

"My dear! I shall never forgive mysel, if my wicked words to-night
are any stumbling-block in your path. See how the Lord has put coals
of fire on my head! Oh! Mary, don't let my being an unbelieving
Thomas weaken your faith. Wait patiently on the Lord, whatever your
trouble may be."




CHAPTER XIII.

A TRAVELLER'S TALES.


   "The mermaid sat upon the rocks
         All day long,
   Admiring her beauty and combing her locks,
         And singing a mermaid song.

   "And hear the mermaid's song you may,
         As sure as sure can be,
   If you will but follow the sun all day,
         And souse with him into the sea."

   W. S. LANDOR.


It was perhaps four or five days after the events mentioned in the
last chapter, that one evening, as Mary stood lost in reverie at the
window, she saw Will Wilson enter the court, and come quickly up to
her door. She was glad to see him, for he had always been a friend of
hers, perhaps too much like her in character ever to become any thing
nearer or dearer. She opened the door in readiness to receive his
frank greeting, which she as frankly returned.

"Come, Mary! on with bonnet and shawl, or whatever rigging you women
require before leaving the house. I'm sent to fetch you, and I can't
lose time when I'm under orders."

"Where am I to go to?" asked Mary, as her heart leaped up at the
thought of who might be waiting for her.

"Not very far," replied he. "Only to old Job Legh's round the corner
here. Aunt would have me come and see these new friends of hers, and
then we meant to ha' come on here to see you and your father, but the
old gentleman seems inclined to make a night of it, and have you all
there. Where's your father? I want to see him. He must come too."

"He's out, but I'll leave word next door for him to follow me; that's
to say, if he comes home afore long." She added, hesitatingly, "Is
any one else at Job's?"

"No! My aunt Jane would not come for some maggot or other; and as
for Jem! I don't know what you've all been doing to him, but he's as
down-hearted a chap as I'd wish to see. He's had his sorrows sure
enough, poor lad! But it's time for him to be shaking off his dull
looks, and not go moping like a girl."

"Then he's come fra Halifax, is he?" asked Mary.

"Yes! his body's come, but I think he's left his heart behind him.
His tongue I'm sure he has, as we used to say to childer, when they
would not speak. I try to rouse him up a bit, and I think he likes
having me with him, but still he's as gloomy and as dull as can be.
'Twas only yesterday he took me to the works, and you'd ha' thought
us two Quakers as the spirit hadn't moved, all the way down we were
so mum. It's a place to craze a man, certainly; such a noisy black
hole! There were one or two things worth looking at, the bellows for
instance, or the gale they called a bellows. I could ha' stood near
it a whole day; and if I'd a berth in that place, I should like to be
bellows-man, if there is such a one. But Jem weren't diverted even
with that; he stood as grave as a judge while it blew my hat out o'
my hand. He's lost all relish for his food, too, which frets my aunt
sadly. Come! Mary, ar'n't you ready?"

She had not been able to gather if she were to see Jem at Job Legh's;
but when the door was opened, she at once saw and felt he was not
there. The evening then would be a blank; at least so she thought for
the first five minutes; but she soon forgot her disappointment in the
cheerful meeting of old friends, all, except herself, with some cause
for rejoicing at that very time. Margaret, who could not be idle, was
knitting away, with her face looking full into the room, away from
her work. Alice sat meek and patient with her dimmed eyes and gentle
look, trying to see and to hear, but never complaining; indeed, in
her inner self she was blessing God for her happiness; for the joy of
having her nephew, her child, near her, was far more present to her
mind, than her deprivations of sight and hearing.

Job was in the full glory of host and hostess too, for by a tacit
agreement he had roused himself from his habitual abstraction, and
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