John Halifax [63]
very kind, sir. No, it be about that poor Miss March."
I could see John's fingers twitch over the chair he was leaning on. "I hope--" he began, and stopped.
"Her father is dreadful bad to-night, and it's a good seven-mile walk to the doctor's at S----; and Miss March says--that is, she don't, for I bean't going to tell her a word about it--but I think, Mr. Halifax, if I might make so bold, it would be a great kindness in a young gentleman like you to lend Tod your mare to ride over and fetch the doctor."
"I will, gladly. At once?"
"Tod bean't come in yet."
"He shall have the mare with pleasure. Tell Miss March so--I mean, do not tell her, of course. It was very right of you to come to us in this way, Mrs. Tod. Really, it would be almost a treat to be ill in your house--you are so kind."
"Thank'ee, Mr. Halifax," said the honest landlady, greatly delighted. "But a body couldn't help doing anything for Miss March. You would think so yourself, if you only knew her."
"No doubt," returned John, more politely than warmly, I fancied, as he closed the door after the retreating figure of Mrs. Tod. But when he came and sat down again I saw he was rather thoughtful. He turned the books restlessly, one after the other, and could not settle to anything. To all my speculations about our sick neighbour, and our pearl of kind-hearted landladies, he only replied in monosyllables; at last he started up and said,--
"Phineas, I think I'll go myself."
"Where?"
"To fetch Doctor Brown. If Tod is not come in it would be but a common charity. And I know the way."
"But the dark night?"
"Oh, no matter; the mare will be safer under me than a stranger. And though I have taken good care that the three horses in the tan-yard shall have the journey, turn and turn about; still it's a good pull from here to Norton Bury, and the mare's my favourite. I would rather take her myself."
I smiled at his numerous good reasons for doing such a very simple thing; and agreed that it was right and best he should do it.
"Then shall I call Mrs. Tod and inquire? Or perhaps it might make less fuss just to go and speak to her in the kitchen. Will you, Phineas, or shall I?"
Scarcely waiting my answer, we walked from our parlour into what I called the Debateable Land.
No one was there. We remained several minutes all alone, listening to the groaning overhead.
"That must be Mr. March, John."
"I hear. Good heavens! how hard for her. And she such a young thing, and alone," muttered he, as he stood gazing into the dull wood embers of the kitchen fire. I saw he was moved; but the expression on his face was one of pure and holy compassion. That at this moment no less unselfish feeling mingled with it I am sure.
Mrs. Tod appeared at the door leading to the other half of the cottage; she was apparently speaking to Miss March on the staircase. We heard again those clear, quick, decided tones, but subdued to a half-whisper.
"No, Mrs. Tod, I am not sorry you did it--on my father's account, 'tis best. Tell Mr.--the young gentleman--I forget his name--that I am very much obliged to him."
"I will, Miss March--stay, he is just here.--Bless us! she has shut the door already.--Won't you take a seat, Mr. Halifax? I'll stir up the fire in a minute, Mr. Fletcher. You are always welcome in my kitchen, young gentlemen." And Mrs. Tod bustled about, well aware what a cosy and cheerful old-fashioned kitchen it was, especially of evenings.
But when John explained the reason of our intrusion there was no end to her pleasure and gratitude. He was the kindest young gentleman that ever lived.--She would tell Miss March so; as, indeed, she had done many a time.
"'Miss,' said I to her the very first day I set eyes on you, when I had told her how you came hunting for lodgings--(she often has a chat with me quite freely, being so lonesome-like, and knowing I to be too proud to forget that she's a born lady)--'Miss,' said I, 'who Mr. Halifax may be I don't know, but depend upon it he's a real gentleman.'"
I was the
I could see John's fingers twitch over the chair he was leaning on. "I hope--" he began, and stopped.
"Her father is dreadful bad to-night, and it's a good seven-mile walk to the doctor's at S----; and Miss March says--that is, she don't, for I bean't going to tell her a word about it--but I think, Mr. Halifax, if I might make so bold, it would be a great kindness in a young gentleman like you to lend Tod your mare to ride over and fetch the doctor."
"I will, gladly. At once?"
"Tod bean't come in yet."
"He shall have the mare with pleasure. Tell Miss March so--I mean, do not tell her, of course. It was very right of you to come to us in this way, Mrs. Tod. Really, it would be almost a treat to be ill in your house--you are so kind."
"Thank'ee, Mr. Halifax," said the honest landlady, greatly delighted. "But a body couldn't help doing anything for Miss March. You would think so yourself, if you only knew her."
"No doubt," returned John, more politely than warmly, I fancied, as he closed the door after the retreating figure of Mrs. Tod. But when he came and sat down again I saw he was rather thoughtful. He turned the books restlessly, one after the other, and could not settle to anything. To all my speculations about our sick neighbour, and our pearl of kind-hearted landladies, he only replied in monosyllables; at last he started up and said,--
"Phineas, I think I'll go myself."
"Where?"
"To fetch Doctor Brown. If Tod is not come in it would be but a common charity. And I know the way."
"But the dark night?"
"Oh, no matter; the mare will be safer under me than a stranger. And though I have taken good care that the three horses in the tan-yard shall have the journey, turn and turn about; still it's a good pull from here to Norton Bury, and the mare's my favourite. I would rather take her myself."
I smiled at his numerous good reasons for doing such a very simple thing; and agreed that it was right and best he should do it.
"Then shall I call Mrs. Tod and inquire? Or perhaps it might make less fuss just to go and speak to her in the kitchen. Will you, Phineas, or shall I?"
Scarcely waiting my answer, we walked from our parlour into what I called the Debateable Land.
No one was there. We remained several minutes all alone, listening to the groaning overhead.
"That must be Mr. March, John."
"I hear. Good heavens! how hard for her. And she such a young thing, and alone," muttered he, as he stood gazing into the dull wood embers of the kitchen fire. I saw he was moved; but the expression on his face was one of pure and holy compassion. That at this moment no less unselfish feeling mingled with it I am sure.
Mrs. Tod appeared at the door leading to the other half of the cottage; she was apparently speaking to Miss March on the staircase. We heard again those clear, quick, decided tones, but subdued to a half-whisper.
"No, Mrs. Tod, I am not sorry you did it--on my father's account, 'tis best. Tell Mr.--the young gentleman--I forget his name--that I am very much obliged to him."
"I will, Miss March--stay, he is just here.--Bless us! she has shut the door already.--Won't you take a seat, Mr. Halifax? I'll stir up the fire in a minute, Mr. Fletcher. You are always welcome in my kitchen, young gentlemen." And Mrs. Tod bustled about, well aware what a cosy and cheerful old-fashioned kitchen it was, especially of evenings.
But when John explained the reason of our intrusion there was no end to her pleasure and gratitude. He was the kindest young gentleman that ever lived.--She would tell Miss March so; as, indeed, she had done many a time.
"'Miss,' said I to her the very first day I set eyes on you, when I had told her how you came hunting for lodgings--(she often has a chat with me quite freely, being so lonesome-like, and knowing I to be too proud to forget that she's a born lady)--'Miss,' said I, 'who Mr. Halifax may be I don't know, but depend upon it he's a real gentleman.'"
I was the