A Woman-Hater [134]
know that, I suppose."
"No, I had not the honor."
"Well, he is, then: and I thought you would consent, because you are so good: and so I thought there could be no harm in sounding Tom Wilder. He offers to take the whole contract, if squire's agreeable; bore the well; brick it fifty yards down: he says that ought to be done, if she is to have justice. 'She' is the well: and he will also construct the gear; he says there must be two iron chains and two buckets going together; so then the empty bucket descending will help the man or woman at the windlass to draw the full bucket up. 315 pounds: one week's income, your Majesty."
"She has inspected our rent-roll, now," said Vizard, pathetically: "and knows nothing about the matter."
"Except that it is a mere flea-bite to you to bore through a hill for water. For all that, I hope you will leave me to battle it with Tom Wilder. Then you won't be cheated, for once. _You always are,_ and it is abominable. It would have been five hundred if you had opened the business."
"I am sure that is true," said Zoe. She added this would please Mrs. Judge: she was full of the superiority of Islip to Hillstoke.
"Stop a bit," said Vizard. "Miss Gale has not reported on Islip yet."
"No, dear; but she has looked into everything, for Mrs. Judge told me. You have been into the cottages?"
"Yes."
"Into Marks's?"
"Yes, I have been into Marks's."
She did not seem inclined to be very communicative; so Fanny, out of mischief, said, pertly, "And what did you see there, with your Argus eye?"
"I saw--three generations."
"Ha! ha! La! did you now? And what were they all doing?"
"They were all living together, night and day, in one room."
This conveyed no very distinct idea to the ladies; but Vizard, for the first time, turned red at this revelation before Uxmoor, improver of cottage life. "Confound the brutes!" said he. "Why, I built them a new room; a larger one: didn't you see it?"
"Yes. They stack their potatoes in it."
"Just like my people," said Uxmoor. "That is the worst of it: they resist their own improvement."
"Yes, but," said the doctress, "with monarchial power we can trample on them for their good. Outside Marks's door at the back there is a muck-heap, as he calls it; all the refuse of the house is thrown there; it is a horrible melange of organic matter and decaying vegetables, a hot-bed of fever and malaria. Suffocated and poisoned with the breath of a dozen persons, they open the window for fresh air, and in rushes typhoid from the stronghold its victims have built. Two children were buried from that house last year. They were both killed by the domestic arrangements as certainly as if they had been shot with a double-barreled pistol. The outside roses you admire so are as delusive as flattery; their sweetness covers a foul, unwholesome den."
"Marks's cottage! The show place of the village!" Zoe Vizard flushed with indignation at the bold hand of truth so rudely applied to a pleasant and cherished illusion.
Vizard, more candid and open to new truths, shrugged his shoulders, and said, "What can I do more than I have done?"
"Oh, it is not your fault," said the doctress, graciously. "It is theirs. Only, as you are their superior in intelligence and power, you might do something to put down indecency, immorality, and disease."
"May I ask what?"
"Well, you might build a granary for the poor people's potatoes. No room can keep them dry; but you build your granary upon four pillars: then that is like a room over a cellar."
"Well, I'll build it so--if I build it at all," said Vizard, dryly. "What next?"
"Then you could make them stack their potatoes in the granary, and use the spare room, and so divide their families, and give morality a chance. The muck-heap you should disperse at once with the strong hand of power."
At this last proposal, Squire Vizard--the truth must be told--delivered a long, plowman's whistle at the head of his own table.
"Pheugh!" said he; "for a lady that is more than half republican, you seem to be
"No, I had not the honor."
"Well, he is, then: and I thought you would consent, because you are so good: and so I thought there could be no harm in sounding Tom Wilder. He offers to take the whole contract, if squire's agreeable; bore the well; brick it fifty yards down: he says that ought to be done, if she is to have justice. 'She' is the well: and he will also construct the gear; he says there must be two iron chains and two buckets going together; so then the empty bucket descending will help the man or woman at the windlass to draw the full bucket up. 315 pounds: one week's income, your Majesty."
"She has inspected our rent-roll, now," said Vizard, pathetically: "and knows nothing about the matter."
"Except that it is a mere flea-bite to you to bore through a hill for water. For all that, I hope you will leave me to battle it with Tom Wilder. Then you won't be cheated, for once. _You always are,_ and it is abominable. It would have been five hundred if you had opened the business."
"I am sure that is true," said Zoe. She added this would please Mrs. Judge: she was full of the superiority of Islip to Hillstoke.
"Stop a bit," said Vizard. "Miss Gale has not reported on Islip yet."
"No, dear; but she has looked into everything, for Mrs. Judge told me. You have been into the cottages?"
"Yes."
"Into Marks's?"
"Yes, I have been into Marks's."
She did not seem inclined to be very communicative; so Fanny, out of mischief, said, pertly, "And what did you see there, with your Argus eye?"
"I saw--three generations."
"Ha! ha! La! did you now? And what were they all doing?"
"They were all living together, night and day, in one room."
This conveyed no very distinct idea to the ladies; but Vizard, for the first time, turned red at this revelation before Uxmoor, improver of cottage life. "Confound the brutes!" said he. "Why, I built them a new room; a larger one: didn't you see it?"
"Yes. They stack their potatoes in it."
"Just like my people," said Uxmoor. "That is the worst of it: they resist their own improvement."
"Yes, but," said the doctress, "with monarchial power we can trample on them for their good. Outside Marks's door at the back there is a muck-heap, as he calls it; all the refuse of the house is thrown there; it is a horrible melange of organic matter and decaying vegetables, a hot-bed of fever and malaria. Suffocated and poisoned with the breath of a dozen persons, they open the window for fresh air, and in rushes typhoid from the stronghold its victims have built. Two children were buried from that house last year. They were both killed by the domestic arrangements as certainly as if they had been shot with a double-barreled pistol. The outside roses you admire so are as delusive as flattery; their sweetness covers a foul, unwholesome den."
"Marks's cottage! The show place of the village!" Zoe Vizard flushed with indignation at the bold hand of truth so rudely applied to a pleasant and cherished illusion.
Vizard, more candid and open to new truths, shrugged his shoulders, and said, "What can I do more than I have done?"
"Oh, it is not your fault," said the doctress, graciously. "It is theirs. Only, as you are their superior in intelligence and power, you might do something to put down indecency, immorality, and disease."
"May I ask what?"
"Well, you might build a granary for the poor people's potatoes. No room can keep them dry; but you build your granary upon four pillars: then that is like a room over a cellar."
"Well, I'll build it so--if I build it at all," said Vizard, dryly. "What next?"
"Then you could make them stack their potatoes in the granary, and use the spare room, and so divide their families, and give morality a chance. The muck-heap you should disperse at once with the strong hand of power."
At this last proposal, Squire Vizard--the truth must be told--delivered a long, plowman's whistle at the head of his own table.
"Pheugh!" said he; "for a lady that is more than half republican, you seem to be