Cousin Phillis (8 page)

'Yes!' said he. 'I am fidging fain to be at work again. Last week I
dreaded the thoughts of my employment: now I am full of desire to
begin. This week in the country has done wonders for me.'

'You have enjoyed yourself, then?'

'Oh! it has been perfect in its way. Such a thorough country life! and
yet removed from the dulness which I always used to fancy accompanied
country life, by the extraordinary intelligence of the minister. I have
fallen into calling him "the minister", like every one else.'

'You get on with him, then?' said I. 'I was a little afraid.'

'I was on the verge of displeasing him once or twice, I fear, with
random assertions and exaggerated expressions, such as one always uses
with other people, and thinks nothing of; but I tried to check myself
when I saw how it shocked the good man; and really it is very wholesome
exercise, this trying to make one's words represent one's thoughts,
instead of merely looking to their effect on others.'

'Then you are quite friends now?' I asked.

'Yes, thoroughly; at any rate as far as I go. I never met with a man
with such a desire for knowledge. In information, as far as it can be
gained from books, he far exceeds me on most subjects; but then I have
travelled and seen—Were not you surprised at the list of things I sent
for?'

'Yes; I thought it did not promise much rest.'

'Oh! some of the books were for the minister, and some for his
daughter. (I call her Phillis to myself, but I use XX in speaking about
her to others. I don't like to seem familiar, and yet Miss Holman is a
term I have never heard used.)'

'I thought the Italian books were for her.'

'Yes! Fancy her trying at Dante for her first book in Italian! I had a
capital novel by Manzoni, I Promessi Sposi, just the thing for a
beginner; and if she must still puzzle out Dante, my dictionary is far
better than hers.'

'Then she found out you had written those definitions on her list of
words?'

'Oh! yes'—with a smile of amusement and pleasure. He was going to tell
me what had taken place, but checked himself.

'But I don't think the minister will like your having given her a novel
to read?'

'Pooh! What can be more harmless? Why make a bugbear of a word? It is
as pretty and innocent a tale as can be met with. You don't suppose
they take Virgil for gospel?'

By this time we were at the farm. I think Phillis gave me a warmer
welcome than usual, and cousin Holman was kindness itself. Yet somehow
I felt as if I had lost my place, and that Holdsworth had taken it. He
knew all the ways of the house; he was full of little filial attentions
to cousin Holman; he treated Phillis with the affectionate
condescension of an elder brother; not a bit more; not in any way
different. He questioned me about the progress of affairs in Eltham
with eager interest.

'Ah!' said cousin Holman, 'you'll be spending a different kind of time
next week to what you have done this! I can see how busy you'll make
yourself! But if you don't take care you'll be ill again, and have to
come back to our quiet ways of going on.

'Do you suppose I shall need to be ill to wish to come back here?' he
answered, warmly. 'I am only afraid you have treated me so kindly that
I shall always be turning up on your hands.'

'That's right,' she replied. 'Only don't go and make yourself ill by
over-work. I hope you'll go on with a cup of new milk every morning,
for I am sure that is the best medicine; and put a teaspoonful of rum
in it, if you like; many a one speaks highly of that, only we had no
rum in the house.' I brought with me an atmosphere of active life which
I think he had begun to miss; and it was natural that he should seek my
company, after his week of retirement. Once I saw Phillis looking at us
as we talked together with a kind of wistful curiosity; but as soon as
she caught my eye, she turned away, blushing deeply.

That evening I had a little talk with the minister. I strolled along
the Hornby road to meet him; for Holdsworth was giving Phillis an
Italian lesson, and cousin Holman had fallen asleep over her work.
Somehow, and not unwillingly on my part, our talk fell on the friend
whom I had introduced to the Hope Farm.

'Yes! I like him!' said the minister, weighing his words a little as he
spoke. 'I like him. I hope I am justified in doing it, but he takes
hold of me, as it were; and I have almost been afraid lest he carries
me away, in spite of my judgment.'

'He is a good fellow; indeed he is,' said I. 'My father thinks well of
him; and I have seen a deal of him. I would not have had him come here
if I did not know that you would approve of him.'

'Yes,' (once more hesitating,) 'I like him, and I think he is an
upright man; there is a want of seriousness in his talk at times, but,
at the same time, it is wonderful to listen to him! He makes Horace and
Virgil living, instead of dead, by the stories he tells me of his
sojourn in the very countries where they lived, and where to this day,
he says—But it is like dram-drinking. I listen to him till I forget my
duties, and am carried off my feet. Last Sabbath evening he led us away
into talk on profane subjects ill befitting the day.' By this time we
were at the house, and our conversation stopped. But before the day was
out, I saw the unconscious hold that my friend had got over all the
family. And no wonder: he had seen so much and done so much as compared
to them, and he told about it all so easily and naturally, and yet as I
never heard any one else do; and his ready pencil was out in an instant
to draw on scraps of paper all sorts of illustrations—modes of drawing
up water in Northern Italy, wine-carts, buffaloes, stone-pines, I know
not what. After we had all looked at these drawings, Phillis gathered
them together, and took them. It is many years since I have seen thee,
Edward Holdsworth, but thou wast a delightful fellow! Ay, and a good
one too; though much sorrow was caused by thee!

Just after this I went home for a week's holiday. Everything was
prospering there; my father's new partnership gave evident satisfaction
to both parties. There was no display of increased wealth in our modest
household; but my mother had a few extra comforts provided for her by
her husband. I made acquaintance with Mr and Mrs Ellison, and first saw
pretty Margaret Ellison, who is now my wife. When I returned to Eltham,
I found that a step was decided upon, which had been in contemplation
for some time; that Holdsworth and I should remove our quarters to
Hornby; our daily presence, and as much of our time as possible, being
required for the completion of the line at that end.

Of course this led to greater facility of intercourse with the Hope
Farm people. We could easily walk out there after our day's work was
done, and spend a balmy evening hour or two, and yet return before the
summer's twilight had quite faded away. Many a time, indeed, we would
fain have stayed longer—the open air, the fresh and pleasant country,
made so agreeable a contrast to the close, hot town lodgings which I
shared with Mr Holdsworth; but early hours, both at eve and morn, were
an imperative necessity with the minister, and he made no scruple at
turning either or both of us out of the house directly after evening
prayer, or 'exercise', as he called it. The remembrance of many a happy
day, and of several little scenes, comes back upon me as I think of
that summer. They rise like pictures to my memory, and in this way I
can date their succession; for I know that corn harvest must have come
after hay-making, apple-gathering after corn-harvest.

The removal to Hornby took up some time, during which we had neither of
us any leisure to go out to the Hope Farm. Mr Holdsworth had been out
there once during my absence at home. One sultry evening, when work was
done, he proposed our walking out and paying the Holmans a visit. It so
happened that I had omitted to write my usual weekly letter home in our
press of business, and I wished to finish that before going out. Then
he said that he would go, and that I could follow him if I liked. This
I did in about an hour; the weather was so oppressive, I remember, that
I took off my coat as I walked, and hung it over my arm. All the doors
and windows at the farm were open when I arrived there, and every tiny
leaf on the trees was still. The silence of the place was profound; at
first I thought that it was entirely deserted; but just as I drew near
the door I heard a weak sweet voice begin to sing; it was cousin
Holman, all by herself in the house-place, piping up a hymn, as she
knitted away in the clouded light. She gave me a kindly welcome, and
poured out all the small domestic news of the fortnight past upon me,
and, in return, I told her about my own people and my visit at home.

'Where were the rest?' at length I asked.

Betty and the men were in the field helping with the last load of hay,
for the minister said there would be rain before the morning. Yes, and
the minister himself, and Phillis, and Mr Holdsworth, were all there
helping. She thought that she herself could have done something; but
perhaps she was the least fit for hay-making of any one; and somebody
must stay at home and take care of the house, there were so many tramps
about; if I had not had something to do with the railroad she would
have called them navvies. I asked her if she minded being left alone,
as I should like to go arid help; and having her full and glad
permission to leave her alone, I went off, following her directions:
through the farmyard, past the cattle-pond, into the ashfield, beyond
into the higher field with two holly-bushes in the middle. I arrived
there: there was Betty with all the farming men, and a cleared field,
and a heavily laden cart; one man at the top of the great pile ready to
catch the fragrant hay which the others threw up to him with their
pitchforks; a little heap of cast-off clothes in a corner of the field
(for the heat, even at seven o'clock, was insufferable), a few cans and
baskets, and Rover lying by them panting, and keeping watch. Plenty of
loud, hearty, cheerful talking; but no minister, no Phillis, no Mr
Holdsworth. Betty saw me first, and understanding who it was that I was
in search of, she came towards me.

'They're out yonder—agait wi' them things o' Measter Holdsworth's.' So
'out yonder' I went; out on to a broad upland common, full of red
sand-banks, and sweeps and hollows; bordered by dark firs, purple in
the coming shadows, but near at hand all ablaze with flowering gorse,
or, as we call it in the south, furze-bushes, which, seen against the
belt of distant trees, appeared brilliantly golden. On this heath, a
little way from the field-gate, I saw the three. I counted their heads,
joined together in an eager group over Holdsworth's theodolite. He was
teaching the minister the practical art of surveying and taking a
level. I was wanted to assist, and was quickly set to work to hold the
chain. Phillis was as intent as her father; she had hardly time to
greet me, so desirous was she to hear some answer to her father's
question. So we went on, the dark clouds still gathering, for perhaps
five minutes after my arrival. Then came the blinding lightning and the
rumble and quick-following rattling peal of thunder right over our
heads. It came sooner than I expected, sooner than they had looked for:
the rain delayed not; it came pouring down; and what were we to do for
shelter? Phillis had nothing on but her indoor things—no bonnet, no
shawl. Quick as the darting lightning around us, Holdsworth took off
his coat and wrapped it round her neck and shoulders, and, almost
without a word, hurried us all into such poor shelter as one of the
overhanging sand-banks could give. There we were, cowered down, close
together, Phillis innermost, almost too tightly packed to free her arms
enough to divest herself of the coat, which she, in her turn, tried to
put lightly over Holdsworth's shoulders. In doing so she touched his
shirt.

'Oh, how wet you are!' she cried, in pitying dismay; 'and you've hardly
got over your fever! Oh, Mr Holdsworth, I am so sorry!' He turned his
head a little, smiling at her.

'If I do catch cold, it is all my fault for having deluded you into
staying out here!' but she only murmured again, 'I am so sorry.' The
minister spoke now. 'It is a regular downpour. Please God that the hay
is saved! But there is no likelihood of its ceasing, and I had better
go home at once, and send you all some wraps; umbrellas will not be
safe with yonder thunder and lightning.'

Both Holdsworth and I offered to go instead of him; but he was
resolved, although perhaps it would have been wiser if Holdsworth, wet
as he already was, had kept himself in exercise. As he moved off,
Phillis crept out, and could see on to the storm-swept heath. Part of
Holdsworth's apparatus still remained exposed to all the rain. Before
we could have any warning, she had rushed out of the shelter and
collected the various things, and brought them back in triumph to where
we crouched. Holdsworth had stood up, uncertain whether to go to her
assistance or not. She came running back, her long lovely hair floating
and dripping, her eyes glad and bright, and her colour freshened to a
glow of health by the exercise and the rain.

'Now, Miss Holman, that's what I call wilful,' said Holdsworth, as she
gave them to him. 'No, I won't thank you' (his looks were thanking her
all the time). 'My little bit of dampness annoyed you, because you
thought I had got wet in your service; so you were determined to make
me as uncomfortable as you were yourself. It was an unchristian piece
of revenge!'

His tone of badinage (as the French call it) would have been palpable
enough to any one accustomed to the world; but Phillis was not, and it
distressed or rather bewildered her. 'Unchristian' had to her a very
serious meaning; it was not a word to be used lightly; and though she
did not exactly understand what wrong it was that she was accused of
doing, she was evidently desirous to throw off the imputation. At first
her earnestness to disclaim unkind motives amused Holdsworth; while his
light continuance of the joke perplexed her still more; but at last he
said something gravely, and in too low a tone for me to hear, which
made her all at once become silent, and called out her blushes. After a
while, the minister came back, a moving mass of shawls, cloaks, and
umbrellas. Phillis kept very close to her father's side on our return
to the farm. She appeared to me to be shrinking away from Holdsworth,
while he had not the slightest variation in his manner from what it
usually was in his graver moods; kind, protecting, and thoughtful
towards her. Of course, there was a great commotion about our wet
clothes; but I name the little events of that evening now because I
wondered at the time what he had said in that low voice to silence
Phillis so effectually, and because, in thinking of their intercourse
by the light of future events, that evening stands out with some
prominence. I have said that after our removal to Hornby our
communications with the farm became almost of daily occurrence. Cousin
Holman and I were the two who had least to do with this intimacy. After
Mr Holdsworth regained his health, he too often talked above her head
in intellectual matters, and too often in his light bantering tone for
her to feel quite at her ease with him. I really believe that he
adopted this latter tone in speaking to her because he did not know
what to talk about to a purely motherly woman, whose intellect had
never been cultivated, and whose loving heart was entirely occupied
with her husband, her child, her household affairs and, perhaps, a
little with the concerns of the members of her husband's congregation,
because they, in a way, belonged to her husband. I had noticed before
that she had fleeting shadows of jealousy even of Phillis, when her
daughter and her husband appeared to have strong interests and
sympathies in things which were quite beyond her comprehension. I had
noticed it in my first acquaintance with them, I say, and had admired
the delicate tact which made the minister, on such occasions, bring the
conversation back to such subjects as those on which his wife, with her
practical experience of every-day life, was an authority; while
Phillis, devoted to her father, unconsciously followed his lead,
totally unaware, in her filial reverence, of his motive for doing so.