Much in a Name

Chapter I

I'm out with all the world to-day, So all the world to me is grey ; Ah, me ! the bonny world. Dora Sigerson'. ' Well, lass, 'pon my word I'm fair bet wi' tha, I be that. What all thou's hankerin' after, I can't, for the life o' ma, make out. Tha's makin' easy, eighteen shillin' to a pound a week, an' yet thou's that miserable and onsettled — what dost a' want ? Now — come.' ' You know what I should like as well as I do, Aunt Martha. I want to leave the mill.' ' Eh ? So tha's said time an' again — but, for the land's sake, why ? Didn't I hev bother enough to get tha took on ? Coming to the place strange an' all.' ' You were very kind, aunt, I know, and took a deal of pains for me. I'm not ungrateful, whatever you may think.' ' Well, all I know is, it looks mighty like it — mighty like it. It do that.

Here be the two of us that cosy together, wi' plenty to eat and drink, and good clothes, let alone being able to put a bit o' money by ; an' tha wants to go an' upset the whole thing for now't but a silly whem. It's past bearin', lass, an' I'm raight down vexed wi' tha — I be that.' 'I am very sorry, but I cannot help it, Aunt Martha. The mill life is hateful to me, and I'm not going to say it isn't,' and hearing approaching footsteps Mattie hastily departed, feeling in no mood for further words. It was a tall, slender young man, with slightly stooping shoulders, who quietly passed through the kitchen to a small parlour which was only to be gained by this entrance. He did not speak, but glanced with an air of inquiry at the girlish figure hurrying up the narrow stairs. ' I s'pose I've vexed the lass an' had best get t' chap's tea ready mysen, now,' murmured Miss Hopton, as the parlour door closed. ' 'T seems to me young folk don't know which side their bread's buttered now-a-days,' and a frown of puzzled impatience settled on her usually smooth brow as she busied herself about the spotlessly clean though bare room.

Martha Hopton possessed a large kindly heart, con cealed beneath a plain and somewhat prim exterior; added to this, a certain amount of reserve and shyness often gave to her manner a brusqueness which effectually disguised the true woman. For years she had lived and worked alone, save for an occasional lodger, on whom she could at times expend some womanly cares. These were constantly changing, however, and for the most part her life had been essentially solitary. Hence her gratification had been great at the prospect of having an orphan niece as permanent companion, to love and care for. It was therefore with an amount of delight which sur prised herself that she had made all preparations, and finally fetched the lonely girl home. And now, after a very short trial — what made Mattie so miserable and un settled?

But a savoury odour is becoming apparent, and, after laying a clean cloth on the narrow deal table which occupied one side of the room beneath a small window gay and fragrant with flowering geraniums, she made the tea. Entering the little parlour, Martha com menced preparations by clearing away the books and papers always accumulating round her lodger. ' I'm fryin' tha a bit o' ham wi' thy tea,' she said, ' someway Mattie an' me didn't feel much like dinner to day, it were that hot, so I thought maybe thou'd fancy a bit wi' us.' The young man's head was bent in a short-sighted way over a book, and it was at once evident by what means his stooping shoulders had been caused ; but he looked up, and replied brightly — 'That is very kind of you, Miss Hopton. And I have brought in some fresh strawberries ; so we shall have a feast for the gods.' ' Eh laws, that sounds awful heathenish,' she replied, eyeing him soberly, ' you scholar chaps do say queer things whiles.' ' Do we ? but I am no scholar yet, I am sorry to say — only in the outer courts of the great temple of learning.' 'Tha art?

Then where be some o' us, I wonder, if thou's only outside after all thy readin' and sich like? Us mak shift, th' main o' us, to earn a decent living any how, thanks be.' Walter Hunt laughed, and his laugh was good to hear, though truth to tell, it did not fall as spontaneously or frequently from his usually grave lips as it should naturally have done with so young a man, but when it did, you felt that it gave the index of a high, pure, and healthily strong and sweet nature. ' It's a good thing for most of us,' he said, ' that bread and butter getting is not entirely dependent on learning, isn't it ? True knowledge, after all, is broad and varied enough to cover a great deal of ground. You, for in stance, may not be particularly learned in books, yet in many things you are probably wiser than I should be if I lived to a hundred.' ' Nay, it's not much as I know, I never were no scholard.

But then I can cook a dinner, or make a gown, if needs be, and, thank goodness, can weave my piece with the best of 'em ? ' ' There, that just proves what I said. I should make a poor figure at either of those accomplishments.' ' Eh, that tha would, for sure ! ' Martha chuckled. 'It's on'y here an' there one among t' menfolk as is much good in a house.' ' The less prospect of friction. There must be division of labour, you know, to make things even.' ' Ay, happen thou's i' the right o't, but come to thy tea before the meat's spoiled — books'll keep.' Meanwhile, Mattie Hopton, having washed her face, and brushed the rebellious curly locks from off her white, well-shaped brow, was sitting on the deep window bench which usually served as dressing-table in her tiny room, and which was draped by her own fingers, with a piece of ancient white dimity, begged from her careful aunt's stores.

She sat gazing idly, with hands folded in her lap, into the narrow, sultry street below. What was she seeing? Not certainly anything which came palpably within her line of vision, for a frail, crippled lad stand on the pavement opposite tried in vain to attract her attention. ' Oh, dear,' she sighed at length, rising wearily, and proceeding to exchange her working dress for a cool pink print, ' I suppose I'll have to put up with things as they are for a bit longer, but I do wish I could make Aunt Martha see reason.' ' Come Mattie lass, tea's ready,' called her aunt. Smoothing her ruffled brow, and throwing off by a gesture any lingering feeling of irritation, the girl ran lightly downstairs, exclaiming as she seated herself at table— ' Why, aunt, you have been extravagant ! Strawberries as well as ham ! ' ' Nay, lass, them's none o' my buying.

Young Hunt brought 'em in. He's a good-natured chap is yon, for all he's so quiet.' ' It is very kind of Mr Hunt, I'm sure.1 There was a suggestion of reproof in the girl's tone, though truth to tell, it passed entirely unnoticed. One of the things which frequently annoyed this somewhat fastidious young woman was the familiar way, bordering on contempt it appeared to her, in which those she considered her superiors were spoken of, and addressed. ' Hi, he's a freehanded young man enough, though I've a fancy as it's not much he's got to give. Get on wi' thy tea though.' ' These strawberries are nice. I'd rather have fruit than meat any day.' 'Ay, they'm reet enough — I'm glad thou likes 'em, but give me a nice, tender, juicy chop, before all your sweet stuffs. There's somebody at 't door surely ?

Come in there, come in.' For answer the door was opened, and a tall fair-haired girl, still in working-dress and apron, entered. ' Why, Mattie, thou's been sharp, We enough,' she exclaimed, ' to be dressed up a'ready. I just thought I'd see if thou'd like to go wi' us this evening. We'm goin' to yon wood, for a bit of a stroll, a two three of us.' ' Who are " we," Jess.' ' Oh, Moll, and Carrie and me. Tom Dyke, and may hap a few more.' Mattie was about to refuse, she was too unused as yet to her new surroundings to understand or appreciate her companions' love of going in groups for a pleasant walk. If Jess had cared to go with her alone she would have enjoyed it. However, her aunt answered for her — ' Ay, lass, thou'll go, for sure. It'll do tha a power o' good,' she said. ' Thou hasn't seen they bonny woods yet, neither.' ' But I ought to help you clear away, aunt,' the girl objected. ' Nay, dinna fash yersel' about that.

As soon as ever thou's ready to start, she'll join you, so be off sharp, Jess, lass. Stay though, wilt 'a hev a strawberry or two ? they'm prime ones, so Mattie says — I haven't tried mysen.' ' I don't mind if I do, Martha. We'll be at the Lane Ends by seven sharp. You'll meet us there, lass ? ' ' Very well, I'll be there.' The elder woman glanced at the girl's downbent face as she sat finishing her tea, and presently she said — ' Now what makes tha so short and stand-offish, I wonder ? Someway thou'rt not a bit thy faither's barn, though thy face is his'n. He'd no silly pride, not he.' ' Oh, aunt, I'm not proud, indeed I'm not ; what is there for me to be proud of, I wonder ? ' ' Then what ails tha ? ' ' I never did care for many strangers. I'd rather go for a quiet stroll with one or two if I go at all.

And — they are so queer and noisy.' ' Hoity-toity ; there's the fine lady again. Ay, my lass, thou's hev hard work makin' thy way i' th' world, if tha's bound t' keep sich notions ; mark me, tha'd best be hearty like the lave. This is all of a piece wi' thy spite agin' t' mill though.' 'You don't understand me one bit, Aunt Martha,' exclaimed Mattie, rising. It's not much like pride, I'm sure, when I say I'd rather go out as a kitchen maid than remain as I am now. I don't like the mill life, nor anything connected with it. And what's more I never shall,' she added with an outburst of sudden passion. ' Well, I can't for the life o' ma see what call thou's got to find so much fault wi' t' mill. It's been good enough for me to earn a honest livin' in for thirty year, and more. Things is a vast sight better there now than they used to be, too, I can tell tha.

So I think what's served my turn might answer for yours.' ' I suppose it must, for a while, whether I will or no. Have you quite finished ? ' ' Ay. But just you leave them things alone, and go put on thy hat, or thou's keep 'em all waiting. And do try to be a bit more content, my lass. I'd be main sorry to part wi' tha again now, an that's truth.' Mattie smiled — a smile which irradiated her whole face, and made it beautiful. ' You're too good to me, aunt, I know that,' she said — but the tears stood in her bright eyes nevertheless, as she went slowly upstairs. 'I wonder what 'ud make the lass better content to bide and work on wi' me ? ' ruminated the elder woman when Mattie had gone, while busily rinsing the tea things, and putting every article tidily in its place. ' I'd dare swear that, so far as money and comfort goes, sho's a far sight better off now than ever sho wor before, since her faither died, anyhow.

Yet, for all that, sho's for ever lastin' hankering after them old times. Worst of it is too, t' barn gets worse i'stead o' better. Go to service sho sha'n't, though — not if I can help it. There's no call for niece o' mine to be at any woman's beck, and that I'll let her know.' ' I wonder,' Walter Hunt's voice broke in on her medi tations, ' I wonder whether you or your niece would like to attend a concert to be given at the Braburn Town Hall next week ? I have had two tickets given me in return for some trifling service, and should be glad to pass one on if you will use it.' 1 Eh ! man, you made me fair jump. It's right kind o' tha to think o' it, but concerts and sich like baint much i' my line tha sees.' ' Perhaps your niece may like them though.' ' Hi, very like. You'd mabe best ask hersel.' ' Very well ; there's no time like the present — is she in the house ? ' ' No, sho's gone for a walk, but she'll not be long away.' ' I will leave the ticket here then, shall I ?

I should like it to be used, for the music is sure to be good.' ' I'll not stop her goin', you may be sure, if so be as sho'd like to go. But the lass fair beats me wi' her megrims an' fancies just now. There's no telling what she will like.' ' Indeed. You surprise me — she does not look bad tempered.' ' Bad-tempered ? No ; I never said she was. But sho's full o' notions for all that.' ' I am sorry you are worried,' he replied, gently, ' but young people are sometimes unsettled without exactly knowing why. Perhaps she will learn to see things with your eyes in time.'

Chapter II

As the leaves of the trees are said to absorb all noxious qualities of the air, and to breathe forth a purer atmosphere, so it seems to me as if they drew from us all sordid and angry passions, and breathed forth peace. — Edward Irving. It was past nine o'clock when Miss Hopton, sitting at her window knitting busily, more by feeling than sight, for it was almost dark, heard footsteps approaching, and recognising a masculine voice replying to some remark made by her niece, smiled to herself as she murmured, ' Eh, the lass '11 no be long wi'out a sweetheart, I'm thinking, them bonny eyes o' her'n were made to catch men's hearts, and if I know the barn at all, sho'll keep what sho wins.' ' Good-night, and thank you,' said Mattie, stopping at the door to dismiss her companion. ' Why didn't tha bring thy friend in wi' tha, my lass ? ' ' Oh, there was no need to do that.

It was kind of him to walk home with me, but I would just as soon have come alone.' •That's rubbish. Chaps about here don't trouble theirsen to see lasses home, unless they've a took to 'em, you bet. So whoever 't was tha's pleased 't lad likely.' Mattie's lip began to curl, but thinking better of it she broke into a merry laugh. 1 1 did not think you were so romantic, Aunt Martha. He is nothing to me, nor likely to be.' ' Ay, so you may think. Well, where hast 'a been ? What's tha got there ? Flowers ? Here, bide while I strike a light or tha'll be knocking something over, sure's fate.' ' My word, but that's a right nice posy,' she exclaimed, as the lamp's rays flashed on Mattie's armful of treasures. ' What'll tha hev to put 'em in ? ' ' Oh, I'll manage that, auntie,' answered the girl brightly, ' aren't they just lovely ?

You sit down and see how soon I'll find places for them. I dearly love flowers, don't you ? ' While Mactie's clever fingers arranged her nosegay in anything she could press into the service — plates, basins or glasses — her aunt watched the animated face and active movements with delighted content. Her walk had evidently done the girl's spirits good at any rate, and had also brought a sweet, delicate bloom to the cheeks which were beginning to look paler than usual, with the unwonted confinement of mill hours. ' Where did'st tha go ? ' ' I hardly know. Through some fields first, where I picked these grasses, and then into the sweetest little wood. These ferns grew by a pond there — arn't they lovely? That's called the hart's tongue, and they're real fine ones too. And I've got one bit of oak fern.

Here it is, see ! It's not very common, so I brought the root, and shall try if it will grow. It ought to in the best room window ; there's not too much sun there for it.' ' Ay, you may manage it, mayhap. I never could grow ferns ; they don't seem to like me somehow. But then I like plants as flowers best. What they call it oak fern for I don't know. It's not like the oak tree, as I see. I wonder thou went nigh that pond, this time o' day. Folk say as how it's haunted.' ' So the girls said, and they made me come away before I'd got half what I wanted. Such silly nonsense.' 'Well I don't know so much about that, after all,' said Miss Hopton, shaking her head slowly, ' I'm not what you may call stuperstitious like, but I'd not care to venture too near there by nightfall mysen. There's been queer noises heard there whiles, and queer things seen too, if all I've heard's true.' ' They began to tell me some sort of ghost story, but I wouldn't listen.

Mother never liked that kind of talk. " Perhaps," she usedito say, " a message did now and then come out of the darkness, but if it was sent to help or warn us, why need we be so terribly frightened? But most of the stories told were all lies, and did nothing but harm." There now, isn't that pretty ? ' 'It is that for sure. Why thou'd get a prize at a flower show, tha would that.' The bouquet in question was arranged lightly in pyramid form, by means of a tall tumbler and a soup plate. The light feathery grasses trembling above, and appearing to enfold in their embrace the delicate blue harebell, sprays of lovely purple vetch, spiry tufts of red campion, and beautiful starry marguerites. There was no necessity for Mattie to tell anyone who watched her with them that she loved flowers, the very way she handled them bore evidence of that.

A large bowl, one of her aunt's few treasured bits of old china, held a lovely burden of crimsoning guelder rose berries, and their dark glossy foliage. While, in a tall jar, a few late foxgloves made a glow of colour among yellowing fern fronds. ' Is Mr Hunt in his room, auntie ? ' ' No, he went out a while sin'.' ' Then I'll put these flowers on his table. Mrs Heseltine used to put flowers and plants in her fireplaces in summer, so perhaps he'd like that jar there.' ' Well I never ! That caps all ! But please thysen.' 'There now, just come and look, aunt. I'm sure it has made the room quite pretty.' ' Ay, maybe thou's right, but flowers is messy when all's said and done.' ' We'll keep these berries here, they'll last best in the kitchen. Oh ! I am fond of flowers, never mind the trouble they give.' ' It's but few thou'd get the handlin' of, couped up i' Manchester, I should say.' ' Perhaps I love them all the more dearly for that.

We could see plenty done up in bunches in the streets and market, of course. But more than half the pleasure comes from gathering them yourself. When father was living we used to go away out on the tram sometimes of a Saturday, and didn't mother and me enjoy filling our baskets, that's all.' But what's this card, aunt ? ' 'Eh, I'd nigh forgot. It's a ticket for a concert. Young Hunt brought it in. If thou'd like to go he'll give it to tha, he says.' ' How very kind. Why it's for " Elijah." Oh, yes, I'd like to go — only it's at Braburn, I see.' ' Well, what's that to do with hinderin' ? ' ' I was thinking about getting back, that's all.' ' There'll be a train, I s'pose ? ' ' Yes, of course — but — ' 1 Lass, thou puts me past all patience wi' thy nonsense, and " buts," a body would think to hear tha as how thou'd been brought up a right fine lady, as mustn't stir out o' doors wi'out a servant at 'er heels.' 'I wasn't thinking at all like that, aunt.

I can take care of myself as well as anyone I hope, only — ' As she spoke Mr Hunt entered, and, seeing the card in the girl's hand, paused, saying, ' Would you like to go?' 'Yes, sir ; thank you very much.' ' You are heartily welcome. I have promised to assist in the chorus, but shall be glad to accompany you back if you will accept my escort.' ' It is very kind of you, sir.' ' Not at all.' ' There, now thou'll be happy, and have done wi' thy " buts," I hope,' said her aunt as he passed into his room. ' I wasn't exactly afraid before, but it is pleasanter to have company by night, and I don't quite know my way about yet, either.' ' Thou's got a tongue i' thy head, and can use it 'pon need, I suppose ? Eh, what's coming to my memory, I wonder ? I never asked what he'd hev for his supper. Go you in an see.' 'Nothing but a glass of milk and a little bread and cheese,' was the young man's reply to her question.

His lamp was lit when she reappeared with the tray, and he had already gathered a pile of books around him, but he raised his head to say : — ' How pretty the room looks — is it your doing ? ' Mattie's face flushed with pleasure. 'I brought the flowers in just now, sir. That is all the difference. If you like them I am glad.' Walter Hunt looked at the girl as she deftly arranged his table, removing the flowers carefully beyond range of the lamp's rays, and presently he looked again, feeling vaguely conscious of a wish that she would remain longer. Her mere presence seemed somehow to brighten the dingy little room. The lamp-light lit up the outlines of her somewhat thin face, showing it to be a pure delicate oval, and golden gleams flashed from the coils of her silky brown hair. But, though all her features were fairly regular, Mattie's eyes constituted her greatest charm.

He had caught one gleam from their clear depths, and now, though ignorant of his own desire, was eager to wake another. The soft flush still lingered on her smooth cheek, and round her temples little rebellious curls strayed, which the evening breeze had coaxed into fascinating disorder. Yes, Mattie's was an interesting personality, and, if one but possessed the open sesame to the quiet retiring maiden's inner self, it would surely be found to reward the daring explorer. ' You are fond of flowers, I see,' he said ; ' does music also appeal to you ? ' 'Yes, indeed, I love it. When I hear some kinds it makes me almost ill, the pleasure is so keen.' ' Rather a doubtful enjoyment in which to indulge frequently then, I should say,' he laughed, ' however, I think you are sure to enjoy next Wednesday's concert.

Only you must not let it make you ill, or your aunt may possibly blame me.' ' There is no fear of that, sir; I don't mean that I get really ill, of course. But it takes right hold of me some how.' ' I quite understand ; good music has a similar effect on many people. You have not lived here always, I think ? ' ' No sir, only for a few weeks.' ' And do not care for the change, I judge. Is that so ? ' ' It's not the change I mind so much, though of course it's all very different, but aunt's as kind as can be, and I should be ungrateful if I couldn't get over that.' ' Do you mind telling me what it is you dislike then ? ' His eyes were kind, as they glanced at her from behind those shielding glasses, and his voice was gentle and tender in tone; but something in the girl's attitude, and a slightly annoyed gleam which he caught flitting across her face, made him hasten to add • ' I beg your pardon, I did not intend to be inquisitive.

It was only that I thought I might possibly help you somewhat.' A deep flush spread itself over the girl's fair face, and she paused in the act of leaving the room to say — ' It's I should ask pardon, sir. I hardly know why I did not reply at once. It's the mill life I don't like; but there, it's nothing to anybody but me, and I must just put up with it, I suppose. Is there anything else I can get you, sir ? ' ' No, thank you. I am sorry — you do not take pleasure in your employment,' he was going to continue, but with a sudden, almost pettish movement the girl was gone. Smiling to himself, Walter Hunt drew the lamp nearer, and was soon immersed anew in the volume at his side, taking now and then a mouthful of food or a drink of milk. His hostess had learnt very soon after his advent that it was no use waiting to clear away the young man's supper tray, before retiring to her needed rest.

So, making the outer door secure, she left him each night now, the only wakeful person in the silent house. It was at a late hour that he stole up the narrow steep stairs to his little bedroom. But late as it was, he came to an involuntary pause when passing Mattie's closed door, for was not that a stifled sob breaking on the silence of the midnight air ? ' I wonder what ails the girl ? ' he thought, ' surely it cannot be merely aversion to her work, as work. She looks too sensible to be a prey to any nonsense of that kind.' B

Chapter III

I used to go up the stair When the day was wearing late, And come on her unaware As she sat and dreamed by the grate. Sometimes I but held her hand And never a word said we — We could always understand With never a word, you see. Mrs L. C. Moulton. It was but a few days before our story opens, that, in response to a card which hung in the kitchen window, this young man, with the quiet manner and student face, had expressed a desire to engage the vacant parlour and bedroom. He merely looked them over with a cursory glance, inquired terms, and the same evening entered into possession. His personal belongings were very few and meagre, but a large box of books seemed to be of much greater value than anything else. And these were speedily disposed wherever room could be made for them within easy reach.

A day or two passed before he saw anyone besides his middle-aged hostess, and if he thought about it at all, it was to conclude that he and she were the only occupants of the cottage, an arrangement which fully contented him. After an early breakfast which was always served promptly at the same hour, he departed to the city, and wherever he partook of his noonday meal it was not at home. His wants were few, and so far, he had de manded little attention. Coming downstairs earlier one morning, however, he encountered Mattie, busily dusting his room, and thus discovered that the house contained a third inmate; but he had scarcely noticed her. But now, as he prepared for bed, Mattie occupied his thoughts more than she had hitherto done. As he recalled, in connection with her evident trouble, the passionate exclamation, ' It's the mill I hate.' Why ? he wondered.

How came k that the girl's occupation should be so much more objectionable to her than to other young women ? Most of the mill-workers with whom he had come in contact, they were not numerous it is true, appeared to be highly satisfied with themselves, and with life as they knew it. But had Walter Hunt known something of Mattie's past life he would no longer have greatly wondered at her discomfort. The child of a kindly, hardworking, intensely affectionate, though somewhat unemotional draper's assistant, the father whom she had loved with more than a child's devotion, Mattie had inherited from her mother — a bonny Irish girl, who, at the time of her marriage, had been also employed by the same firm — ambitions and longings unvoiced perhaps, but none the less deep-rooted and intense. Had not the little girl, sitting with her sewing at that mother's knee, listened on many a wintry night to glowing stories, told in thrilling tones, half true, half painted by a vivid imagination, of an ideal life which transported both speaker and hearer to a fairy shore of their own creation, whence they would both return with a start and laugh, at ' father's ' arrival, to the needs of daily life ?