Johnny Ludlow, Second Series

r-that on our way to Timberdale Court we met with an adve

but over fields and hedges and ditches, straight as the crow flies, wishing to save time. Instead of saving time, we lost it, for though the road, had we taken it, was longer, the snow was beaten there; whereas it was lying deep across the country and had to be waded through. But you ca

its walls, ran a brook; and it brought us up. We had meant to take it at a flying leap; but the snow had melted there, and the brook was swollen. It was not agreeable to run the c

t last paper, as any one may see, that we had looked o

shed!" exclaimed Tom Coney. And he we

. She had a young face, with anxious eyes and feverish cheeks. She said she was dying, and so answered our questions; but we had to kneel down to hear her. She had walked across the country from

leave your home

that our ears were good ones, we should not have caught it. If we would bu

e. But for our passing, both she and the baby must very soon have died, for the shed was quite out of the reach of any roa

-two nights and days-without food

Oh, for a drop of water! If you could

king, but I thought it was joy. To a poor creature in a burning fever, lying without any sort of drink for days and nights, the fresh c

d take it to the Court for food and shelter; but she clutched it closer to her side as it lay on her arm, and faintly said it couldn't do without her. Shut

ite bows on a lot of caps, and wondering what had become of the master. To be burst in upon by us, all three

ing a trick upon m

Broom; it is true as gospel. They'll both

to stir about. "Lying in that cow-shed for two days without he

dn't let

ing that. A fortnight-old baby

, whether the baby stays in the shed or comes out of it," s

to have come home-that's another," she went on. For, what to do, she d

y home-blankets and a pillow, fresh water, milk-and-water for the baby, and a candle

versified by this news, which we told of. Not that they thought very much of it: the woman was

's dying?" asked Charl

ure it is," s

in a frightfully cross mood with the various mishaps and uncertainties of the evening. "Seems to be very sickly and humble, you say,

ey. "I'd punish 'em, Squire, if

and Mrs. James Ashton to the Court-where they were to stay all night-he started

d the breakfast could not be eaten, and we guests staring in each other's faces like so many helpless dummies. What news we had of it then, came from Charles Ashton: he had been to the shed again that morning. Whilst the carriages stood waiting at the gate, the post-boys' scarlet jack

moved to a shelter in Timberdale village, and was being cared for. Th

I hear, Charles?" said

ye

id you

have it called. Anything, she answered; it did not matter. Neither did it, for the little thing was dying then. Hot-water bottles and other

the woman

. Jael consented

r case of the old, sad stor

, poor thing, is not m

forgiveness, and that-to waste your compassion over these poor stray creatures, but I t

rved," he answered. "The worst of it in these cases is, that we rarely know there exist

en she and I were in the big dining-room together-I trying to blow up the fire, and she in full dread that Robert Ashton would have to be tried for hi

ate-not to grow up to trouble. Charles named it L

for wha

t suppose she has a corner to turn to fo

d to it. One might suppose Jane would no longer have remembered that other one's distress; what with the imprompt

going away. When the wedding-breakfast was over, and she-nevermore Jane Coney, but Jane Ashton

o ask you to do

, my

t poor young woman who

as taken by surprise.

t young wo

; fo

returned Mrs. Coney, in a vo

y; wondering which of us was the worst off, the more miserable. I th

ly interjecte

nt of mine. I suppose it is always thus-that other people's sorrows seem light when compared with our

on't care to

ul to me, and she is still as she was, that I-I should like to do wh

ep

from wan

don't know what she has been

k I do,

with neither home to go to,

had been hardly kept down

ied for his life, and condemned, I should have felt like an outca

d Mrs. Coney, losing patience. "I tell you she is an outcast, a

tude for the mercy shown to me is such that I feel as if I could take her to my bosom; it seems to my mind that I ought to do something for her, th

Coney, relenting just a little. And then Jane began to cry hys

, and one side of her face was bandaged up. Mrs. Todhetley went to her. Of all pitiable tales that poor woman told the most: it would have melted a heart of stone. She came from near Droitwich, she said: her husband had worked under Sir John Pakington; that is, had been a labourer on part of his estate, Westwood Park. She lost her husband and grown-up son the past autumn with fever; she caught it herself, and was reduced to a skeleton, lost her cottage home through the things being seized for rent, and went to live with a married

on, offered her some light refreshment, broth or milk. She said she could not swallow either, "it went against her," but she'd be thankful for a drink of water. Molly, the greatest termagant to tramps and beggars in general, brought out a half-pint bottle of store cordial, made by her own hands, of sweetened blackberry juice and spice, for the woman to put in her pocket and sip, on her journey to Worcester. Mrs. Todhetley gave he

heard of her again. The note did not reach Mr. Carden; no such patient applied to the infirmary. She was a clever impostor; and we got to think that the cheek had only been rubbed up with a little

nt over to Timberdale. I was sliding in the Ravine-for there was ice still in that covered spot, though the frost had nearly di

hnny! Shall I be

ou, you will

re. But it is a long way round to walk by the roa

lowing you to T

fuss about it before leaving yesterday. If I told the master he would be i

emed to think a go

"She has not had the experience of this sort of people that

romance about

heads away: I wish they'd think of good plain sense instead. It was noth

Lucy not l

man than to do it, once he's your husba

I am married myself. But Lucy h

Johnny, don't hurry along like that! It's nothing but ice

y! It would be only

young fellows with your supple limbs; but to us fifty-year-old people

ame up the zigzag path easily to the smo

ne, and you might break it. I never dare trust my umbrellas to Tom: he

om appeared in the parlour with her sleeves turned up to the elbow, and

tle: "I've come to ask a word or two about that woman-

s nothing to the dropping of the housekeeper

he's but a poor young thing at best!-had chosen a

at?" cried

te for this house.

do you me

or two in Mrs. Coney's ear. Louder, I suppose, than

tain Bird!" repe

blackleg though he has turned out to be, married the young lady of this

ment, and gave me the silk umbrella. Fold

each time it is something worse than the last. If he took all the young wom

left me; you should have taken care of me.' And then, ma'am, she'll be quiet a bit, save for turning her head about; and begin

er of giving us pain," spoke Mrs. Coney. "As to p

s the parish knows, and may not have caught Bird's name. It will vex my master frightful

by appeared to be a sore subject with her. "I suppose th

r not, it's an odd thing that this house

f wish I had never come in. Broom, I am s

r's coming marriage, and one thing and another, I did not get 'em done before the

ke her boasting. Mrs. Todhetley o

keep a stick for cutting notches-as it is said some prisoners used to do, to mark their days-

lage. A regular mob of children seemed to be pressing round the ga

a little coffin. The grave was in the corner of the burial-ground, and Mr. Ashton went straight to it, and contin

a frightful temper. I took off my hat and waited: it would have looked so to run away when there was no one

r. Ashton had walked away, and he began to fling in the spadefuls of earth. "What must he needs go and baptize that th

Coney when I got up. I told h

satisfaction in all quarters; so I waited to take

ad child registered, Ch

y Bi

Bird!

me in one of her lucid intervals,

him; but I fancied he did not care to be further questioned. Mrs. Coney stood still

he name-as if it were the real Lucy Bird

e muttered to herself. "Let us get on, Johnny? I woul

ely: the farrier's shop opposite to look at, five hay-ricks, and a heap of children who stro

asking people to bring her baby. If she had any sense left in her, she might just go down on her knees in tha

only natura

stupid things, Johnny. It's a great mercy that it has

t make no end of noise and work;

upholding tramps and infants dying in sheds,

a fine afternoon in the middle of January, but getting dusk, and a lot of us

hat Mother Broom (with a white cockade in her cap) brought in upon

ed that the doctor had not allowed her to be questioned. We knew no more of who she was

and flushing a little. She was telling Jane not to go to Jael Batty's, and representing why she ough

would seem like a bad omen for me. You don't know how strongly I have grown to think tha

uld say? It is to him you owe

I shall ever yield it to you both. But Robert is quite

ish on your part; but now that we have discovered she is in some way connected with-with the Bir

nce-looked down in distress, thinking of the pain it would cause

mamma. He will still let me go, I th

Of course he was frightfully put out; but Jane was right-he said she should

hat it is, except that her going is connected with Gratitude and Duty, and-and Heaven's blessing. Why, do you

a thing up like this b

as Robert's answer. "I wish with all my heart Bird had been at the bottom of the sea before his ill

by the dusk of the evening, she went ha

ly," said Robert. But she was

eyes bright with eagerness, her cheeks glowing. "Mother dear-Robert-J

an

ter Clara-I have heard you say so, Robert-in the old days when he f

ambs, Mrs. Coney's mouth and eyes a

ld-there was s

hurry. "I did not like to ask her about that, she cries so.

the guardianship of such a man as that, he let her go her own way, no doubt. This accou

ow in her sickness, down at J

hree-parts deaf, is a ki

Captain Bird come over and see to his sister. The poor thing took to

w money, but my aunt's husband would not lend him any; he told him he had much ado to keep his own family. I cried a good deal, and George said he would take me to London to his wife. I think he did it to spite them, because of their not lending the money, as much as to please me-he saw that I should be a loss there. We went up-and oh how nice I thought his wife! She was a kind, gentle lady, formerly Miss Lucy Ashton; but nearly always ailing, and afraid of George. George had gay acquaintances, men and women, and he let me go to theatres and balls with them. Lucy said it was wrong, that they were not nice friends for me; but I grew to like the gaiety, and she could do nothing. One night, upon going home from church, I found both George and Lucy gone from the lodgings. I had been spending the Sunday with some people they knew, the quietest of all their friends. Th

this to Robert, he said Bird des

ird. Perhaps Ashton of Timberdale d

. She waited until the roads should be clear, as if not wanting to be seen, and then wrapped the shawl close around her arms and went out with her black veil down. It was Lucy Bird. And she was so pretty still, in spite of the wan th

stood as if looking for something in the field. There's not much to stare at in a ploughed field at dusk, as Ashton of Timberdale knew, and he

Is it

tears, trembling and shaking. Robert passed round her his go

ave you come over

ter in a minute, Robert. I am a li

word, and I would have

xed him so much. Since Bird had turned out the villain that he had, Lucy acted, even to her own family, as though she had lost caste, identifying herself wit

cy. You must ha

m of the lane, as he was turning to t

some rest and ref

o to your h

and will," he answe

. Your wife may not

and tr

rs for nothing. I have been praying, all the way over, not to meet you. After what was done to you at our

eet-scented lavender sheets put on the bed, and get you over to us. For good, if you will stop; long enough to recruit your health if you wi

e, flitted over Lucy Bird'

to content me this many a day. Let me turn, Robert! For my own sake, I would rather no

great deal younger than he, and had been used to yield to him from the time she was a child. Well for he

y at your house,

we thought we'd have the first Sunday to ourselves. We went to church this morni

the warm dining-room. Jane was not there. Robert put her into the arm

you," she f

t take i

id. My hea

ood to strengthen it," he ur

cy, and make yourself at home, wh

merest shadow you ever saw. A wan, faded thing that one's heart

e can! And nurse

husband-as I should prefer to put it, Jane.

with his grand old white hair used to sit where she was sitting; her brothers had each his appointed place; and she was a lovely bright child amongst them, petted by all; the sentimental girl with her he

o Robert, standing behind. The bright hair fell down in a shower-the bonnet had caught it-and she put her feeble hand up as if to feel the extent of the disa

her grief have its way. Jane held her hand and stroked it lovingly. Robert felt inclined to dash his arms

when Robert said they would have tea in-and she glanced down at her

cashmere of scarlet and gold-colour, that

til I leave," said Lucy, as

out of this house

n guess who it was I ca

etting stronger; so there's no immediate haste ab

, for all the concern he gave himself. For one thing, the man was at his wits' end for money, and not too sure of his own liberty. B

upon my mind, since the time when we a

you aba

red her; but I did not feel sure of it, for Clara was thoughtless. And those unsuspicious country girls cannot take care of the

ech towards Bird when talking with Lucy: giving him in general a handle to his name. It might have sound

fficulties: and we never have a settled home, o

s it; and then we shall see about the future. Something wil

to help the girl to an honest living. But, as he frankly told his wif

theme to talk of just now," he resumed. "Wil

ot flush to her cheeks. She looked depr

You know

Bird is, Lucy? And what

?" she faintly asked

r your own sake. Leave him befo

fore, R

t w

e?" she answered, breakin

a fear and a misery, yet she would go back to him; go back on the morrow; it was her duty. In the moment's

Clara in the way you are doing-and mean to do?" she asked

I could best pay it in this way," was Mrs.

gratitude

aven."