“I almost was, in a way. But I forgave ye varry soon. Ye meant well. Ay, I am proud, and so are ye; but your pride and mine is t’ raight mak – what we call i’ Yorkshire clean pride – such as Mr. Malone and Mr. Donne knows nought about. Theirs is mucky pride. Now, I shall teach my lasses to be as proud as Miss Shirley there, and my lads to be as proud as myseln; but I dare ony o’ ’em to be like t’ curates. I’d lick little Michael if I seed him show any signs o’ that feeling.”
“What is the difference, William?”
“Ye know t’ difference weel enow, but ye want me to get a gate o’ talking. Mr. Malone and Mr. Donne is almost too proud to do aught for theirseln; we are almost too proud to let anybody do aught for us. T’ curates can hardly bide to speak a civil word to them they think beneath them; we can hardly bide to tak an uncivil word fro’ them that thinks themseln aboon us.”
“Now, William, be humble enough to tell me truly how you are getting on in the world. Are you well off?”
“Miss Shirley, I am varry well off. Since I got into t’ gardening line, wi’ Mr. Yorke’s help, and since Mr. Hall (another o’ t’ raight sort) helped my wife to set up a bit of a shop, I’ve nought to complain of. My family has plenty to eat and plenty to wear. My pride makes me find means to have an odd pound now and then against rainy days; for I think I’d die afore I’d come to t’ parish; and me and mine is content. But t’ neighbours is poor yet. I see a great deal of distress.”
“And, consequently, there is still discontent, I suppose?” inquired Miss Keeldar.
“Consequently – ye say right – consequently. In course, starving folk cannot be satisfied or settled folk. The country’s not in a safe condition – I’ll say so mich!”
“But what can be done? What more can I do, for instance?”
“Do? Ye can do not mich, poor young lass! Ye’ve gi’en your brass; ye’ve done well. If ye could transport your tenant, Mr. Moore, to Botany Bay, ye’d happen do better. Folks hate him.”
“William, for shame!” exclaimed Caroline warmly. “If folks do hate him, it is to their disgrace, not his. Mr. Moore himself hates nobody. He only wants to do his duty, and maintain his rights. You are wrong to talk so.”
“I talk as I think. He has a cold, unfeeling heart, yond’ Moore.”
“But,” interposed Shirley, “supposing Moore was driven from the country, and his mill razed to the ground, would people have more work?”
“They’d have less. I know that, and they know that; and there is many an honest lad driven desperate by the certainty that whichever way he turns he cannot better himself; and there is dishonest men plenty to guide them to the devil, scoundrels that reckons to be the ‘people’s friends,’ and that knows nought about the people, and is as insincere as Lucifer. I’ve lived aboon forty year in the world, and I believe that ‘the people’ will never have any true friends but theirseln and them two or three good folk i’ different stations that is friends to all the world. Human natur,’ taking it i’ th’ lump, is nought but selfishness. It is but excessive few, it is but just an exception here and there, now and then, sich as ye two young uns and me, that, being in a different sphere, can understand t’ one t’ other, and be friends wi’out slavishness o’ one hand or pride o’ t’ other. Them that reckons to be friends to a lower class than their own fro’ political motives is never to be trusted; they always try to make their inferiors tools. For my own part, I will neither be patronized nor misled for no man’s pleasure. I’ve had overtures made to me lately that I saw were treacherous, and I flung ’em back i’ the faces o’ them that offered ’em.”
“You won’t tell us what overtures?”
“I will not. It would do no good. It would mak no difference. Them they concerned can look after theirseln.”
“Ay, we’se look after werseln,” said another voice. Joe Scott had sauntered forth from the church to get a breath of fresh air, and there he stood.
“I’ll warrant ye, Joe,” observed William, smiling.
“And I’ll warrant my maister,” was the answer. – “Young ladies,” continued Joe, assuming a lordly air, “ye’d better go into th’ house.”
“I wonder what for?” inquired Shirley, to whom the overlooker’s somewhat pragmatical manners were familiar, and who was often at war with him; for Joe, holding supercilious theories about women in general, resented greatly, in his secret soul, the fact of his master and his master’s mill being, in a manner, under petticoat government, and had felt as wormwood and gall certain business visits of the heiress to the Hollow’s counting house.
“Because there is nought agate that fits women to be consarned in.”
“Indeed! There is prayer and preaching agate in that church. Are we not concerned in that?”
“Ye have been present neither at the prayer nor preaching, ma’am, if I have observed aright. What I alluded to was politics. William Farren here was touching on that subject, if I’m not mista’en.”
“Well, what then? Politics are our habitual study, Joe. Do you know I see a newspaper every day, and two of a Sunday?”
“I should think you’ll read the marriages, probably, miss, and the murders, and the accidents, and sich like?”
“I read the leading articles, Joe, and the foreign intelligence, and I look over the market prices. In short, I read just what gentlemen read.”
Joe looked as if he thought this talk was like the chattering of a pie. He replied to it by a disdainful silence.
“Joe,” continued Miss Keeldar, “I never yet could ascertain properly whether you are a Whig or a Tory. Pray, which party has the honour of your alliance?”
“It is rayther difficult to explain where you are sure not to be understood,” was Joe’s haughty response; “but as to being a Tory, I’d as soon be an old woman, or a young one, which is a more flimsier article still. It is the Tories that carries on the war and ruins trade; and if I be of any party – though political parties is all nonsense – I’m of that which is most favourable to peace, and, by consequence, to the mercantile interests of this here land.”
“So am I, Joe,” replied Shirley, who had rather a pleasure in teasing the overlooker, by persisting in talking on subjects with which he opined she, as a woman, had no right to meddle—“partly, at least. I have rather a leaning to the agricultural interest, too; as good reason is, seeing that I don’t desire England to be under the feet of France, and that if a share of my income comes from Hollow’s Mill, a larger share comes from the landed estate around it. It would not do to take any measures injurious to the farmers, Joe, I think?”
“The dews at this hour is unwholesome for females,” observed Joe.
“If you make that remark out of interest in me, I have merely to assure you that I am impervious to cold. I should not mind taking my turn to watch the mill one of these summer nights, armed with your musket, Joe.”
Joe Scott’s chin was always rather prominent. He poked it out, at this speech, some inches farther than usual.
“But – to go back to my sheep,” she proceeded—“clothier and mill owner as I am, besides farmer, I cannot get out of my head a certain idea that we manufacturers and persons of business are sometimes a little – a very little – selfish and short-sighted in our views, and rather too regardless of human suffering, rather heartless in our pursuit of gain. Don’t you agree with me, Joe?”
“I cannot argue where I cannot be comprehended,” was again the answer.
“Man of mystery! Your master will argue with me sometimes, Joe. He is not so stiff as you are.”
“Maybe not. We’ve all our own ways.”
“Joe, do you seriously think all the wisdom in the world is lodged in male skulls?”
“I think that women are a kittle and a froward generation; and I’ve a great respect for the doctrines delivered in the second chapter of St. Paul’s first Epistle to Timothy.”
“What doctrines, Joe?”