"My shoes are made of Spanish leather, My socks are made of silk; I wear a ring on every finger, I wash myself in milk."
They sounded so perfectly absorbed in the game as their voices cameout of the night, that they had the feel of wild creatures singing. It stirred the mother; and she understood when they came in at eighto'clock, ruddy, with brilliant eyes, and quick, passionate speech.
They all loved the Scargill Street house for its openness,for the great scallop of the world it had in view. On summer eveningsthe women would stand against the field fence, gossiping, facingthe west, watching the sunsets flare quickly out, till the Derbyshirehills ridged across the crimson far away, like the black crestof a newt.
In this summer season the pits never turned full time,particularly the soft coal. Mrs. Dakin, who lived next doorto Mrs. Morel, going to the field fence to shake her hearthrug,would spy men coming slowly up the hill. She saw at once theywere colliers. Then she waited, a tall, thin, shrew-faced woman,standing on the hill brow, almost like a menace to the poor collierswho were toiling up. It was only eleven o'clock. From the far-offwooded hills the haze that hangs like fine black crape at the backof a summer morning had not yet dissipated. The first man cameto the stile. "Chock-chock!" went the gate under his thrust.
"What, han' yer knocked off?" cried Mrs. Dakin.
"We han, missis."
"It's a pity as they letn yer goo," she said sarcastically.
"It is that," replied the man.
"Nay, you know you're flig to come up again," she said.
And the man went on. Mrs. Dakin, going up her yard,spied Mrs. Morel taking the ashes to the ash-pit.
"I reckon Minton's knocked off, missis," she cried.
"Isn't it sickenin!" exclaimed Mrs. Morel in wrath.
"Ha! But I'n just seed Jont Hutchby."
"They might as well have saved their shoe-leather,"said Mrs. Morel. And both women went indoors disgusted.
The colliers, their faces scarcely blackened, were troopinghome again. Morel hated to go back. He loved the sunny morning. But he had gone to pit to work, and to be sent home again spoilthis temper.
"Good gracious, at this time!" exclaimed his wife, as he entered.
"Can I help it, woman?" he shouted.
"And I've not done half enough dinner."
"Then I'll eat my bit o' snap as I took with me,"he bawled pathetically. He felt ignominious and sore.
And the children, coming home from school, would wonder to seetheir father eating with his dinner the two thick slices of ratherdry and dirty bread-and-butter that had been to pit and back.
"What's my dad eating his snap for now?" asked Arthur.
"I should ha'e it holled at me if I didna," snorted Morel.
"What a story!" exclaimed his wife.
"An' is it goin' to be wasted?" said Morel. "I'm not sucha extravagant mortal as you lot, with your waste. If I dropa bit of bread at pit, in all the dust an' dirt, I pick it up an'eat it."
"The mice would eat it," said Paul. "It wouldn't be wasted."
"Good bread-an'-butter's not for mice, either," said Morel. "Dirty or not dirty, I'd eat it rather than it should be wasted."
"You might leave it for the mice and pay for it out of yournext pint," said Mrs. Morel.
"Oh, might I?" he exclaimed.
They were very poor that autumn. William had just gone awayto London, and his mother missed his money. He sent ten shillings onceor twice, but he had many things to pay for at first. His letterscame regularly once a week. He wrote a good deal to his mother,telling her all his life, how he made friends, and was exchanginglessons with a Frenchman, how he enjoyed London. His mother feltagain he was remaining to her just as when he was at home. She wroteto him every week her direct, rather witty letters. All day long,as she cleaned the house, she thought of him. He was in London: he would do well. Almost, he was like her knight who wore HERfavour in the battle.
He was coming at Christmas for five days. There had neverbeen such preparations. Paul and Arthur scoured the landfor holly and evergreens. Annie made the pretty paper hoopsin the old-fashioned way. And there was unheard-of extravagancein the larder. Mrs. Morel made a big and magnificent cake. Then, feeling queenly, she showed Paul how to blanch almonds. He skinned the long nuts reverently, counting them all, to see notone was lost. It was said that eggs whisked better in a cold place. So the boy stood in the scullery, where the temperature was nearlyat freezing-point, and whisked and whisked, and flew in excitementto his mother as the white of egg grew stiffer and more snowy.
"Just look, mother! Isn't it lovely?"
And he balanced a bit on his nose, then blew it in the air.
"Now, don't waste it," said the mother.
Everybody was mad with excitement. William was coming onChristmas Eve. Mrs. Morel surveyed her pantry. There was a bigplum cake, and a rice cake, jam tarts, lemon tarts, and mince-pies--two enormous dishes. She was finishing cooking--Spanish tartsand cheese-cakes. Everywhere was decorated. The kissing bunchof berried holly hung with bright and glittering things, spun slowlyover Mrs. Morel's head as she trimmed her little tarts in the kitchen. A great fire roared. There was a scent of cooked pastry. He was dueat seven o'clock, but he would be late. The three children had goneto meet him. She was alone. But at a quarter to seven Morel camein again. Neither wife nor husband spoke. He sat in his armchair,quite awkward with excitement, and she quietly went on with her baking. Only by the careful way in which she did things could it be toldhow much moved she was. The clock ticked on.
"What time dost say he's coming?" Morel asked for the fifth time.
"The train gets in at half-past six," she replied emphatically.
"Then he'll be here at ten past seven."
"Eh, bless you, it'll be hours late on the Midland,"she said indifferently. But she hoped, by expecting him late,to bring him early. Morel went down the entry to look for him. Then he came back.
"Goodness, man!" she said. "You're like an ill-sitting hen."
"Hadna you better be gettin' him summat t' eat ready?"asked the father.
"There's plenty of time," she answered.
"There's not so much as I can see on," he answered,turning crossly in his chair. She began to clear her table. The kettle was singing. They waited and waited.
Meantime the three children were on the platform at Sethley Bridge,on the Midland main line, two miles from home. They waited one hour. A train came--he was not there. Down the line the red and greenlights shone. It was very dark and very cold.
"Ask him if the London train's come," said Paul to Annie,when they saw a man in a tip cap.
"I'm not," said Annie. "You be quiet--he might send us off."
But Paul was dying for the man to know they were expectingsomeone by the London train: it sounded so grand. Yet he was muchtoo much scared of broaching any man, let alone one in a peaked cap,to dare to ask. The three children could scarcely go into thewaiting-room for fear of being sent away, and for fearsomething should happen whilst they were off the platform. Still they waited in the dark and cold.
"It's an hour an' a half late," said Arthur pathetically.
"Well," said Annie, "it's Christmas Eve."
They all grew silent. He wasn't coming. They lookeddown the darkness of the railway. There was London! It seemedthe utter-most of distance. They thought anything might happenif one came from London. They were all too troubled to talk. Cold, and unhappy, and silent, they huddled together on the platform.
At last, after more than two hours, they saw the lights of anengine peering round, away down the darkness. A porter ran out. The children drew back with beating hearts. A great train,bound for Manchester, drew up. Two doors opened, and from oneof them, William. They flew to him. He handed parcels to themcheerily, and immediately began to explain that this great train hadstopped for HIS sake at such a small station as Sethley Bridge: it was not booked to stop.
Meanwhile the parents were getting anxious. The table was set,the chop was cooked, everything was ready. Mrs. Morel put onher black apron. She was wearing her best dress. Then she sat,pretending to read. The minutes were a torture to her.
"H'm!" said Morel. "It's an hour an' a ha'ef."
"And those children waiting!" she said.
"Th' train canna ha' come in yet," he said.
"I tell you, on Christmas Eve they're HOURS wrong."
They were both a bit cross with each other, so gnawedwith anxiety. The ash tree moaned outside in a cold, raw wind. And all that space of night from London home! Mrs. Morel suffered. The slight click of the works inside the clock irritated her. It was getting so late; it was getting unbearable.
At last there was a sound of voices, and a footstep in the entry.
"Ha's here!" cried Morel, jumping up.
Then he stood back. The mother ran a few steps towardsthe door and waited. There was a rush and a patter of feet,the door burst open. William was there. He dropped his Gladstonebag and took his mother in his arms.
"Mater!" he said.
"My boy!" she cried.
And for two seconds, no longer, she clasped him and kissed him. Then she withdrew and said, trying to be quite normal:
"But how late you are!"
"Aren't I!" he cried, turning to his father. "Well, dad!"
The two men shook hands.
"Well, my lad!"
Morel's eyes were wet.
"We thought tha'd niver be commin'," he said.
"Oh, I'd come!" exclaimed William.
Then the son turned round to his mother.
"But you look well," she said proudly, laughing.
"Well!" he exclaimed. "I should think so--coming home!"
He was a fine fellow, big, straight, and fearless-looking. Helooked round at the evergreens and the kissing bunch, and the littletarts that lay in their tins on the hearth.
"By jove! mother, it's not different!" he said, as if in relief.
Everybody was still for a second. Then he suddenly sprang forward,picked a tart from the hearth, and pushed it whole into his mouth.
"Well, did iver you see such a parish oven!" the father exclaimed.
He had brought them endless presents. Every penny he had he hadspent on them. There was a sense of luxury overflowing in the house. For his mother there was an umbrella with gold on the pale handle. She kept it to her dying day, and would have lost anything ratherthan that. Everybody had something gorgeous, and besides, there werepounds of unknown sweets: Turkish delight, crystallised pineapple,and such-like things which, the children thought, only the splendourof London could provide. And Paul boasted of these sweets amonghis friends.
"Real pineapple, cut off in slices, and then turned intocrystal--fair grand!"
Everybody was mad with happiness in the family. Home was home,and they loved it with a passion of love, whatever the sufferinghad been. There were parties, there were rejoicings. People camein to see William, to see what difference London had made to him. And they all found him "such a gentleman, and SUCH a fine fellow,my word"!
When he went away again the children retired to various placesto weep alone. Morel went to bed in misery, and Mrs. Morel felt asif she were numbed by some drug, as if her feelings were paralysed. She loved him passionately.
He was in the office of a lawyer connected with a largeshipping firm, and at the midsummer his chief offered him a tripin the Mediterranean on one of the boats, for quite a small cost. Mrs. Morel wrote: "Go, go, my boy. You may never have a chance again,and I should love to think of you cruising there in the Mediterraneanalmost better than to have you at home." But William came home forhis fortnight's holiday. Not even the Mediterranean, which pulledat all his young man's desire to travel, and at his poor man's wonderat the glamorous south, could take him away when he might come home. That compensated his mother for much.
CHAPTER V
PAUL LAUNCHES INTO LIFE （I）
MOREL was rather a heedless man, careless of danger. So he hadendless accidents. Now, when Mrs. Morel heard the rattle of an emptycoal-cart cease at her entry-end, she ran into the parlour to look,expecting almost to see her husband seated in the waggon, his facegrey under his dirt, his body limp and sick with some hurt or other. If it were he, she would run out to help.
About a year after William went to London, and just after Paulhad left school, before he got work, Mrs. Morel was upstairs and herson was painting in the kitchen--he was very clever with his brush--whenthere came a knock at the door. Crossly he put down his brush to go. At the same moment his mother opened a window upstairs and looked down.
A pit-lad in his dirt stood on the threshold.
"Is this Walter Morel's?" he asked.
"Yes," said Mrs. Morel. "What is it?"
But she had guessed already.
"Your mester's got hurt," he said.
"Eh, dear me!" she exclaimed. "It's a wonder if he hadn't, lad. And what's he done this time?"
"I don't know for sure, but it's 'is leg somewhere. They ta'ein''im ter th' 'ospital."
"Good gracious me!" she exclaimed. "Eh, dear, what a one he is! There's not five minutes of peace, I'll be hanged if there is! His thumb's nearly better, and now--- Did you see him?"
"I seed him at th' bottom. An' I seed 'em bring 'im up ina tub, an' 'e wor in a dead faint. But he shouted like anythinkwhen Doctor Fraser examined him i' th' lamp cabin--an' cossed an'swore, an' said as 'e wor goin' to be ta'en whoam--'e worn't goin'ter th' 'ospital."
The boy faltered to an end.
"He WOULD want to come home, so that I can have all the bother. Thank you, my lad. Eh, dear, if I'm not sick--sick and surfeited,I am!"
