John Halifax [42]
from which the field of view must have been satisfactory enough to the young astronomer. Other fragments of skilful handiwork, chiefly meant for machinery on a Lilliputian scale, were strewn about the floor; and on a chair, just as he had left it that morning, stood a loom, very small in size, but perfect in its neat workmanship, with a few threads already woven, making some fabric not so very unlike cloth.
I had gone over all these things without noticing that my father was awake, and that his sharp eye had observed them likewise.
"The lad works hard," said he, half to himself. "He has useful hands and a clear head." I smiled, but took no notice whatever.
Evening began to close in--less peacefully than usual--over Norton Bury; for, whenever I ventured to open the window, we heard unusual and ominous sounds abroad in the town. I trembled inwardly. But John was prudent, as well as brave: besides, "everybody knew him." Surely he was safe.
Faithfully, at supper-time, Jem entered. But he could tell us no news; he had kept watch all the time on the staircase by desire of "Mr. Halifax"--so he informed me. My father asked no questions--not even about his mill. From his look, sometimes, I fancied he yet beheld in fancy these starving men fighting over the precious food, destroyed so wilfully--nay, wickedly. Heaven forgive me, his son, if I too harshly use the word; for I think, till the day of his death, that cruel sight never wholly vanished from the eyes of my poor father.
Jem seemed talkatively inclined. He observed that "master was looking sprack agin; and warn't this a tidy room, like?"
I praised it; and supposed his mother was better off now?
"Ay, she be. Mr. Halifax pays her a good rent; and she sees 'un made comfortable. Not that he wants much, being out pretty much all day."
"What is he busy about of nights?"
"Larning," said Jem, with an awed look. "He's terrible wise. But for all that, sometimes he'll teach Charley and me a bit o' the Readamadeasy." (Reading-made-easy, I suppose, John's hopeful pupil meant.) "He's very kind to we, and to mother too. Her says, that her do, Mr. Halifax--"
"Send the fellow away, Phineas," muttered my father, turning his face to the wall.
I obeyed. But first I asked, in a whisper, if Jem had any idea when "Mr. Halifax" would be back?
"He said, maybe not till morning. Them's bad folk about. He was going to stop all night, either at your house or at the tan-yard, for fear of a BLAZE."
The word made my father start; for in these times well we knew what poor folk meant by "a blaze."
"My house--my tan-yard--I must get up this instant--help me. He ought to come back--that lad Halifax. There's a score of my men at hand--Wilkes, and Johnson, and Jacob Baines--I say, Phineas--but thee know'st nothing."
He tried to dress, and to drag on his heavy shoes; but fell back, sick with exhaustion and pain. I made him lie down again on the bed.
"Phineas, lad," said he, brokenly, "thy old father is getting as helpless as thee."
So we kept watch together, all the night through; sometimes dozing, sometimes waking up at some slight noise below, or at the flicker of the long-wicked candle, which fear converted into the glare of some incendiary fire--doubtless our own home. Now and then I heard my father mutter something about "the lad being safe." I said nothing. I only prayed.
Thus the night wore away.
CHAPTER VIII
After Midnight--I know not how long, for I lost count of the hours by the Abbey chimes, and our light had gone out--after midnight I heard by my father's breathing that he was asleep. I was thankful to see it for his sake, and also for another reason.
I could not sleep--all my faculties were preternaturally alive; my weak body and timid mind became strong and active, able to compass anything. For that one night, at least, I felt myself a man.
My father was a very sound sleeper. I knew nothing would disturb him till daylight; therefore my divided duty was at an end. I left him, and crept down-stairs into
I had gone over all these things without noticing that my father was awake, and that his sharp eye had observed them likewise.
"The lad works hard," said he, half to himself. "He has useful hands and a clear head." I smiled, but took no notice whatever.
Evening began to close in--less peacefully than usual--over Norton Bury; for, whenever I ventured to open the window, we heard unusual and ominous sounds abroad in the town. I trembled inwardly. But John was prudent, as well as brave: besides, "everybody knew him." Surely he was safe.
Faithfully, at supper-time, Jem entered. But he could tell us no news; he had kept watch all the time on the staircase by desire of "Mr. Halifax"--so he informed me. My father asked no questions--not even about his mill. From his look, sometimes, I fancied he yet beheld in fancy these starving men fighting over the precious food, destroyed so wilfully--nay, wickedly. Heaven forgive me, his son, if I too harshly use the word; for I think, till the day of his death, that cruel sight never wholly vanished from the eyes of my poor father.
Jem seemed talkatively inclined. He observed that "master was looking sprack agin; and warn't this a tidy room, like?"
I praised it; and supposed his mother was better off now?
"Ay, she be. Mr. Halifax pays her a good rent; and she sees 'un made comfortable. Not that he wants much, being out pretty much all day."
"What is he busy about of nights?"
"Larning," said Jem, with an awed look. "He's terrible wise. But for all that, sometimes he'll teach Charley and me a bit o' the Readamadeasy." (Reading-made-easy, I suppose, John's hopeful pupil meant.) "He's very kind to we, and to mother too. Her says, that her do, Mr. Halifax--"
"Send the fellow away, Phineas," muttered my father, turning his face to the wall.
I obeyed. But first I asked, in a whisper, if Jem had any idea when "Mr. Halifax" would be back?
"He said, maybe not till morning. Them's bad folk about. He was going to stop all night, either at your house or at the tan-yard, for fear of a BLAZE."
The word made my father start; for in these times well we knew what poor folk meant by "a blaze."
"My house--my tan-yard--I must get up this instant--help me. He ought to come back--that lad Halifax. There's a score of my men at hand--Wilkes, and Johnson, and Jacob Baines--I say, Phineas--but thee know'st nothing."
He tried to dress, and to drag on his heavy shoes; but fell back, sick with exhaustion and pain. I made him lie down again on the bed.
"Phineas, lad," said he, brokenly, "thy old father is getting as helpless as thee."
So we kept watch together, all the night through; sometimes dozing, sometimes waking up at some slight noise below, or at the flicker of the long-wicked candle, which fear converted into the glare of some incendiary fire--doubtless our own home. Now and then I heard my father mutter something about "the lad being safe." I said nothing. I only prayed.
Thus the night wore away.
CHAPTER VIII
After Midnight--I know not how long, for I lost count of the hours by the Abbey chimes, and our light had gone out--after midnight I heard by my father's breathing that he was asleep. I was thankful to see it for his sake, and also for another reason.
I could not sleep--all my faculties were preternaturally alive; my weak body and timid mind became strong and active, able to compass anything. For that one night, at least, I felt myself a man.
My father was a very sound sleeper. I knew nothing would disturb him till daylight; therefore my divided duty was at an end. I left him, and crept down-stairs into