'Harness for a Pair'; or, paying for one's opinion

Chapter I. Wedding Bells And Funeral Knells

; OR, KNOWING WHAT IS GOOD FOR ONE'S SELF, Is thy complexion sour ? Get a sharp wife. — Herbert. Nature all Wears to the lover's eye a look of love For the tender heart is animated peace, Thomson. Those who are one in faith fight double-handed against evil, And the soft smile of a loving face is better than the splendour that fadeth quickly. — Tufper. ("'RASH ! SMASH ! HISS ! and the light engine dashed into the advancing train. In the midnight darkness the two locomotives first locked themselves together in a furious embrace ; and then, like wild beasts pawing in fight, they crashed together, as if bent on destroying each other. The front carriages of the crowded train were immediately telescoped ; and wild cries of terror and pain arose above the noise of the struggling engines. Many of the passengers were asleep, and were killed while dreaming, perhaps, of their near homes ; while others awoke only to find themselves terribly injured. i B In the rear of the train the carriages did not leave the metals.

Few of their occupants were killed, but all were fear fully shaken. Those who were able to do so at once escaped through the carriage windows. Among these fortunate in dividuals was a young man, Arthur Tuff by name. He had been the only passenger in the last compartment of a third class carriage, near the guard's van. As he emerged into the cold drizzle, Arthur stood beside the train, as if dazed by the shock of the collision. A cry for help from a carriage near aroused him ; he ran forward and assisted a man through the window. As he did so the man spoke. Tuff exclaimed, — " Silas Methwin ! I thought that you were in Birming ham." " Think what you please," replied Methwin, " so that I get out of this nuisance. There is some one in the carriage, but my nerves are so terribly shaken that I must go and get a drink."

" Do stay and help," said Arthur ; but Methwin hurried away. Arthur leaned through the carriage window, and touched a female dress. The woman was evidently unconscious — perhaps dead. Planting his feet firmly upon the footboard, Arthur seized the woman, and dragged her into the open air. She gave a gentle sigh as the rain fell upon her face. " Alive ! " said Arthur, lifting her upon his shoulder. Poulton Station was not far distant ; thither Arthur attempted to carry his burden. A huge bonfire was flaming there, to light the rescuers, who were hurrying from the little village beyond the station. Arthur made his way into the waiting-room, and laid his charge upon the sofa. The light of the oil lamp fell upon her face. Arthur recognised her. " Madge Rummelow ! " he exclaimed. " How strange !

To have come all the way from Liverpool to Poulton in order to see her, and then to meet her thus. Why, Methwin must have been with her. For what reason, I wonder ? " The village doctor now bustled into the station. " Dear, dear me ! A dreadful affair, Arthur ! We've not had an accident in Poulton for many a long year. Sorry I am that there should be one now. This is number one, I suppose ; " and he knelt beside Madge. "Only a fainting fit, Arthur," he said. "Leave her to these ladies ; she will be quite well very shortly. Run, Arthur — run, boy ! they are crying for more help." Arthur rushed at once to the wreck ; some men were striving to release a man who was crushed beneath one of the shattered carriages. The poor fellow groaned and yelled ; it was a difficult task to lift the heavy timbers that held him down.

At last this was accomplished, and Arthur, with others, carried the sufferer into the station. Leaving him to the care of the doctor and his helpers, they returned to rescue others. It was nearly morning before Arthur was at liberty, and remembered Madge. When he went to look for her, she had vanished from the waiting-room. The nurses had been too much occupied with the sick to observe the movements of one who did not require their attention. " Surely she cannot have wandered off in terror, and have fallen into one of the dykes," said Arthur. " Dear, no, Cousin Arthur," replied a tall farmer, of about Arthur's own age ; " Madge is safe enough. I met her walking home in company with Silas Methwin." " I cannot understand, John Faithful," answered Arthur, " why this Methwin should be with Madge.

As a girl she could not abide him, and when he left Poulton she did not grieve. Poor Madge ! I loved her when we were children together. When her father died I sorely wished her to marry me. Father would have given me the little farm near the forty-foot ; but no, ' she must go out to see life,' she said. She corresponded regularly with me. Last fall we should have been married if the floods had not ruined father's hay and flax. When I went to your brother's, at Liverpool, three months since, she was quite agreeable to wait. But yester terday I received a letter from her breaking off our engage ment, but assigning no reason whatever. I started at once for home ; we had nearly reached Poulton when the accident occurred. To my utter astonishment, Methwin and Madge were in the next carriage to that which I occupied.

Now he has escorted her home ! " " Poor Arthur ! " replied Faithful. " Poor Arthur ! Methwin is to marry Madge this very day ; for I see the morning is breaking." "What! Marry Madge? Who? He— Methwin— to marry Madge ? Surely, John, you are mistaken. Why did you not inform me about it before ? " " I have been away at Gedney, looking after my sister's property," answered Faithful. " Don't waste your affection upon her, Arthur. Forget her. She is utterly unworthy of you." " But, John, I cannot forget. We were children together. Merrywood Hall is the next farm to ours, and as boy and girl we were sweethearts. You must be mistaken." " Would that I were ! but, Arthur, there is no mistake. They have been asked in church these three times now ; the wedding is to-day at eleven in Poulton Church." Arthur was silent ; great beads of perspiration stood upon his forehead.

Faithful placed his hand gently upon his cousin's arm. " Come," he said ; " come with me." " I must see her, however, without delay," Arthur burst out. " Madge will tell me the truth." " Will you come into my house ? " asked John. " Bertha will get you a cup of coffee at once." " No, thank you. I must go at once." The two cousins walked in silence through the little village. Faithful, finding that Arthur would not defer his visit to Madge, called at his own house for a moment, and then accompanied Arthur through the narrow lanes leading to Poulton End. In these days of board schools, every one, of course, is acquainted with Poulton. But if, by any mischance, your education should have been so lamentably neglected that you cannot identify Poulton by its dykes, please look for it in Bradshaw at once.

If you cannot find it mentioned there, ask the semi-Solomon of Coniston, who knows everything in earth, and under the earth, — -or thinks that he does, — and he will refer you to one of his wonderful books ! Faithful accompanied his cousin as far as Cawood Hall. He went in order to allay the anxiety of Arthur's parents. Arthur hurried through the tree-canopied lane to Merry wood Hall. It was a beautiful morning in early spring. The cattle were moving about the park surrounding the house, lazily treading down the wild flowers. The busy rooks were, of course, astir in the tall trees, near the ancient moat. As Arthur crossed the bridge, the geese were disporting in the water, noisily unconscious of the hovering kite, who was watching their proceedings from aloft, intending, if possible, to obtain a gosling for dinner.

Arthur, however, had no eye for the scene before him ; he kicked open the park gate, and strode up to the great door. The surly house-dog came skulking behind him, intending, in his cowardly fashion, to attack the stranger ; but Arthur heeded him not. Rat-tat-t'-tat, rat-tat- 1'- tat, drum, drum, d'r-drum, and the huge bullet-marked oak door shook and resounded under Arthur's vigorous blows. " I may be too late," he said, stamping with mingled im patience and anger. " There is no time to lose ; " and he applied his foot once more to the hall door. The dog growled and drew nearer, with his head down. Just then a feeble voice, almost a whine, called out, — " Who makes such a noise before breakfast ? As usual, no one to open the door. Always the way in this house." " It is I, Mrs. Rummelow," replied Arthur, recognising the voice as belonging to the mistress of the house.

" It is I — Arthur Tuff — come upon important business." " If it is business, do not worry me about it. I am dead to earthly things," replied the whine. " But come in ; I may have a word given me for you." The heavy door swung back, and Arthur entered Merry wood Hall. He followed Mrs. Rummelow across the polished floor of the hall into the keeping-room, which looked out into the park. " Sit down in the rocking-chair," whined Mrs. Rummelow. " I am a woman of a sorrowful spirit. I have been more in heaven than upon earth these last three days. Oh, what fighting there has been within me ! Do not trouble me about the things of this vain life." " But, Mrs. Rummelow, I must speak," replied Arthur. " You know that Madge and I were to have joined hands last harvest ; now she has returned my letters and presents."

The little woman covered half of her face with one hand, and shook her head until the large gilt wasps upon her cap danced and fluttered furiously. " I know nothing about it, Arthur," she whined. " What does Madge want to get married at all for, I should like to know? We had two pigs die last week, and the butter fetched next to nothing ; but the fowls are doing pretty well now. She might have been as comfortable as comfortable, if she had pleased; but no, she must have a chignon, and a muff", and go to be a governess. I don't like these high learnt people; but there, I'm a woman of a sorrowful spirit ;" and Mrs. Rummelow thrust her apron into her eyes, while the gilt wasps executed a war-dance sympathetically. " But, Mrs. Rummelow, this Silas Methwin was the man who robbed my father of that strip of land.

I have heard that he kept a low drinking-shop on the quays of Liver pool." " I am more in heaven than I am upon earth," whined the woman of sorrowful spirit. " Arthur, I used to worrit when things went wrong, but I don't now. When the rats got into the barn, or the butter wouldn't come ; when a sheep died, I used to talk and talk ; but I'm dead to such things now. I've seen two calves and a pig die in a week, but it didn'taffect me. No, I'mawoman of a sorrowful spirit." " Mrs. Rummelow, I must speak to Madge." " You may if you wish it, but she's like her father — as wilful as wilful. There's no ruling of her any more than there is of playing with a wild bull ! Ah, what a blessing that these things don't affect me now ! " At this instant Madge herself entered the room, tall, angular — certainly not beautiful.

But plain as she was Arthur loved her ; even now the glory of a great affection transformed her before him into angelic beauty. " Madge dear," he said, " I have come all the way from Liverpool to see you. What does this misunderstanding mean ? " " There is no misunderstanding, Mr. Tuff," replied Madge. " I am tired of working for myself, and so I am going to get some one to work for me." " Oh, Mad e ! " "Now, Arthur, let us have no scenes— no hysterics, please. Look at the thing calmly. What prospect have you of obtaining a home for me ? None whatever. Wait, wait, wait. I have waited nearly three years, and I will not wait longer." " But Madge " " Don't ' Madge' me, sir. I will not be answered back. What pleasure is there in such a den as this Poulton— a country as flat as a pancake, and quite as unwholesome : no conversation except about hogs and floods, and ague ?

The place stifles me ; it is like a grave ! " " You used to like Poulton, Madge." " I once loved dolls and peppermint-drops, but that is no reason why I should nurse a doll now, or suck pepper mints for ever. No, sir; I have grown — yes, grown. I want to see life — real life. I feel that in Poulton I cannot be what I might be ; so I am getting married." " Oh, Madge, it is wicked of you to say so," whined her mother. " I'm sure that when I kept geese there was a bed for everybody, and feathers to spare. Ah, what a sight it used to be when your father came in ! But, there, I'm a woman of a sorrowful spirit ! " Madge regarded her mother scornfully. " Mr. Tuff, there must be an end to all this. Henceforth we are perfect strangers. This morning I marry Silas Methwin. Don't interrupt me. I don't care what he is ; I don't care what you say about him ; I have made up my mind to have Silas Methwin, and have him I will.

I have a right to my own opinion ; and my own opinion I will have. Good morning ; " and Madge held the door open. Arthur took up his hat and walked home. Poor Arthur ! it seemed as if his life had ended in a yawning gulf. An abyss separated him from the past ; the future was dark and hopeless. It seemed as if his life purposes were broken off, and henceforth life could not be other than unhappiness and woe. A few hours afterwards the bells of Poulton Church were ringing merrily. The church spire leaned over the road, as" if it had a great mind to become an arch or a gable. Opposite to the church was the sexton's cottage, and at the open door of the cottage stood the sexton himself with his cuffs on. Within doors Maggie Fowler washed up the tiny glass plates that were part of her best breakfast set, and looked with admiration upon her better half.

Little Timothy Dudd, the learned tailor, detected the cuffs, and slipped at once from his board. Now the little tailor was a great admirer of dignity. " Dignity, my dear sir," he would say, as he stroked his long black beard — " I believe in dignity ! Mr. Fowler, sir, you've your cuffs on ! " he now remarked. " The parson has his bands, and likewise his books ; the beadle has his coat, likewise his stick ; accordingly, I have my cuffs to keep the parson in countenance," replied Fowler, adjusting the aforesaid cuffs. Now the sexton's coat had once covered the squire's portly form ; Fowler being altogether a smaller man, the cuffs hung beyond the tips of his fingers. But the manner in which Fowler displayed them Sunday after Sunday was the pride of Poulton ; it was almost equal to the wonderful manner in which he said " Amen !

" These cuffs did duty as a pair of gloves. They also served to beat time during the psalms. They only appeared on such grand occasions as feast-days, visitations, and weddings. " Ah, neighbour," observed Dudd, who could argue almost as well as a parson, " sad doings — sad doings ! But dignity, my dear sir — dignity I " and he stroked his beard. " That's just what I say," replied Fowler, looking stead fastly down the village street, along wliich two geese and a donkey were slowly making their way. " Dignity is the thing ; but it's time for me to open the church." " Quite a crowd of people— well-nigh ten folks," observed his wife through the window ; " and not one of them ever had a tail-coat in his life— that I'll warrant. Mind your cuffs, Hennie ! " " All right," replied Fowler, striding across the road The vicar happened to be attentive that morning.

He did not lose his place once after Fowler had found it for him ; and so the marriage service proceeded. But it was observed that, whether by design or accident, the ringers, instead of a merry peal, rang a knell. " Oh, I do so love weddings." No doubt, gentle reader. The very word calls up sweet visions of dashing silver greys, foaming with delight in their employment ; of smiling coach men, radiant as their favours ; of such a love of a dress, my dear; of bride-cake, and such presents! But be it hinted most gently that orange-blossoms and lace are not all that is wanted. Two lives have been blended in the sight ot God and man into a higher, if complex unity, and blended for their salvation or perdition. The saddest and sweetest sight in life is a wedding ; a parable of the holiest gain or an anticipation of the lowest loss.

"I don't much like this matter, Master Fowler," said Methody Sam, an old man whose battered hat was brushed religiously the wrong way, as being more suitable for a Christian than a smooth hat would have been, as agreeing with the vanity of dress. "She oughtn't to ha' gone an' done it. It ain't right, and can't work nohow, more than you can mow with a scythe t'other way about." " Nonsense, Sam ! " replied Fowler, dangling the keys. " Madge Rummelow, as was this morning, can play the pianner and sich. May they be happy, say I. Why for shouldn't they ? " " I'll tell you why," replied Methody Sam, brushing a part of his hat which had accidentally been smoothed. " Her father were a Methody, and she were brought up to class and what not. So to-morrow's a week I ups and says to her what was on my mind.

But, there, she can't be ruled more'n the moon. ' I know what's best for myself,' she says ; ' and I won't have any of you troubling in my concerns.' Ah, her father were a man ! Never such a man at toppin' an' tailin' turnips ! Ah, he know'd ! But folks as won't be ruled must know the miss of friends, so I says " " Come, come, no more of that," said Fowler. " I am waiting to lock up." And Sam walked slowly home, chewing a straw, and medi tating upon the wickedness of girls in general and of Madge in particular. "It passes me," he muttered, "how girls can make such stupids of themselves. I mind me, when Madge was a bonnie maiden, how she would come to me to hear Bible stories. Poor little lassie ! she would say, ' Now tell me about King Jollifat.' I had bright hopes of her then. 'Twas about the time that my little Robin died that she began to get these high thoughts into her head.

I've no faith in all this wanting to know. I know that I'm a guilty sinner before God, and that Christ has died to save me ; and what more should a sinner desire to know ? It would be a mighty good thing if all the books in the world were burned. There's my Fanny — a decent sort o' gal as was ; she must needs want curls and a bow upon her bonnet, instead of being content with hair — such as God A'mighty gave her, For my part, I'd as soon think of tying my hair up with little ribbons, like they do the horses' tails, as to brush it the contrary way that God meant it to grow I call it a plain affronting of Providence to brush one's hair up, like the parson does, sticking up on his crown like a cock's comb. I likes my hair flat down, like a nice thatched rick, not too smooth so as to be unnatural.

But a Christian person ought to be above such vanities. Why, even my poor old wife, as has been dead nigh ten years agone, she wanted, saint as she was, flounces to her gown ; and if it hadn't been for a merciful affliction of rheumatiz, as laid her up for nigh six weeks, she might have gone and dressed like a mere worldling. Ah, she were a saint — that she were ! She never wore a gown but what was quite plain. Just fancy her in these horrid fandangles, such as every milkmaid puts on her back now-a-days ! I do hope that I shall keep my godly simplicity unto the end." And, taking off his hat, Methody Sam carefully brushed it the wrong way. Later in the day the newly-married pair drove to the railway-station. Madge slipped her hand into her husband's palm, in the trustfulness of a love not yet soiled by mis understanding, nor discovery of unworthiness in the beloved.

To Madge, Silas was the one perfect, complete ideal man. Alas ! with so many these pictures disappear like the golden fancies that we see in the ashes. No misgiving, however, troubled Madge. She listened with unconcealed pleasure as Silas described their future abode. " It is a home worthy of you," he said. " Not a side of bacon to be seen — ah, ah ! and no bothering calves to feed, Madge. I hope you will soon forget your farmhouse ideas." " Anything to please you," replied Madge. " You are so good. I am quite sure that I shall never regret marrying you. No; I won't regret." So she felt and resolved ; but, alas ! our knowledge of the future is like the maps of Africa in our father's days ; across a great space, which will be to-day at some period, is written, in unerring love and wisdom — Unknown.

The bride and bridegroom had nearly reached the rail way-station ; the road turned sharply near some poplar trees. A man rushed from the hedge, and raising a heavy stick aimed a violent blow at the bridegroom. Silas fell back with a groan ; and Madge recognised their assailant. It was Arthur Tuff. Arthur appeared to be mad. He climbed into the trap and repeated his blow. "You thief and robber!" he yelled. "Restore my father's money ! I will kill you ! " He seemed determined to fulfil his threat, " Murder ! murder ! " Madge shrieked ; but no help came. At last vengeance had overtaken her.

Chapter II. Brave, Fond, And Happy

J THE MAN WHO WOULD NOT LIVE NEXT DOOR TO ANYBODY. Love dwells there, The soft regards, the tenderness of life, The htart-shed tear, the ineffable delight Of sweet humanity. — Thomson. 'Tis hard to manage men, we hear ; Believe me, nothing's easier, dear. — Pat more. Love ! What a volume in a word, an ocean in a tear, The lightning in a touch, a millennium in a moment, The heart's own country music thrilling all its chords, The story wilhout an end that angels throng to hear. The word, the king of words. — Tapper. " (TPEAK him gently, John Faithful; speak him gently. '*"' When you've a bit o' grit in th' eye, why, you've no call for to go and rub it into the eyeball. Oh dear no ! You won't hurt the grit if you take a harrow or a sledge hammer in order to remove it ; but you may hurt yourself.

No, John, always speak softly to grit ; and when you've got it right, whisk it out of the eye. 'Tain't in reason or natur' either not to feel angry with Silas, but don't'ee revile him, I say. A toad can't help being a toad, but don't'ee grumble because it's slimy. No, it's born so. If you please, Silas Methwin, will you go away now?" This speech was delivered about eighteen months before the events recorded in the last chapter. After having thus given utterance to his sentiments, BRAVE, FOND, AND HAPPV. 15 Simon Cleasby opened his huge lips with a self-satisfied grin, and, shaking his bullet-shaped head solemnly, he thrust his hands into the great pockets of his vest, and played with the corn samples stored there. "Yes, you'd better speak me fair, or I'll bring an action for slander against you both ; and what will you do then ?

" replied Silas Methwin, his bare face wearing a scowl. " I can answer for all that I have done since I have been here. I have been industrious and careful, while you have been lazy, and therefore you charge me with robbing you." " I charge you with robbery ! Oh, Silas, I never did such a thing ! Oh no ; I am a gentleman born, and wouldn't do such a thing. My father shot over twenty acres of wood besides his own land," replied Cleasby. " But all my family are rather weak in the head ; it's a characteristic of our family — we're all weak in the intellect. So if you thought that I said anything about robbery, it's all a mistake, Silas, all a mistake. I'm a gentleman born." " Silas Methwin " began John Faithful, but Cleasby interrupted him. " Don't'ee speak to him, John ; don't'ee speak. 1 shall die if you answer him back.

I can't abide strife ; it's worse than bunions and weeds and the crows altogether, and all of twenty-horse power. Don't'ee quarrel ; it's worse than lying in bed until seven o'clock in the morning. Get up at sower, says I, and smell the nice, sweet earth — smell it just to get an appetite for your breakfast." John Faithful opened the front door and said quietly : " Silas Methwin, you have been steward for Mr. Cleasby for nearly three years. During that period you have con trived to rob him, as I suspect. At any rate, a large sum of money has disappeared. You have persuaded Mr. Cleasby to encumber his property with mortgages. The money thus obtained has not been accounted for. This property is entailed ; it is mine after Mr. Cleasby 's death. Had the mat ter been left entirely to my judgment I should have punished you, for I am quite satisfied that you are a thoroughly bad man.

But out of consideration for your father, the village doctor, and out of consideration for you also, I yield to Mr. Cleasby's wishes and allow you to go free with your booty. Now, walk out of this house at once ! " " That's it ! That's the right way to say it ! " and Simon nodded his head vigorously. " That's the kind o' talk I likes. No malice and no chiding, I say. Please, Silas, go away." Silas thrust his hands into his pockets, and with his head on one side strolled off, whistling a merry tune. As he walked through the garden he stopped to gather some flowers. He arranged them carefully, and then turned to shout his farewell. " I'm glad that he's gone," said Cleasby. " Now, John, never you leave me. Come and live here. Go and marry Bertha, if you like, and manage things. Only let Methody Sam stay on.

He can't work much, but he's always stand ing under my window by five o'clock in the morning. Go ye down to Cawood Hall and speak to Bertha." Faithful made no reply ; but he seized his spud, for the double purpose of supporting his steps and also for any casual weeding needful in the fields through which he passed. He walked through Poulton End, and stopped at Merrywood Hall, in order to answer John Rummelow, who, like himself, was going to Cawood Hall. " I'm nearly worried out o' my life, Mr. Faithful," said John. " Those bothering weeds grow and grow ; there's no keeping pace with them. Who'd be a farmer, I say, to trample over the muddy land all day long, and can't sleep a' nights for the weeds ? There's my brother Harry now ; he oughtn't to be a farmer — he has just the kind of head for a Lord Chancellor.

Bless you ! I shouldn't wonder if he were Prime Minister some day. Wasn't Lord Beacons field a Jew ? and isn't our Harry better than twenty Jews tied together ? In course he is ; but perhaps you think that I'm putting too fine a point upon it. You should just see Harry a' mornings, when mother is preaching to the girls. He gets his toy-box, and takes the things all out of it. In he jumps, and preaches away like I don't know what. He's just the shaped head for a Lord Chancellor. And when he likes his food he smacks his lips, and says, ' Gude, glide, gude ! ' Why, only this morning he laid his head upon the breakfast-table and said, ' Harry not well ; Harry not well!' ' What's the matter with you?' asked I. 'Harry wants to go to see the pigs ! ' said he. Ah, just the head for a Lord Chancellor !