Job Hildred, etc

Preface

. Whether or not the Doctor would approve of the publication of these extracts from his recollections is a matter of doubt. I fancy, if he could have witnessed the merciless way in which I have sacrificed whole pages of his neat manuscript, it would have been the cause of one of those violent outbursts of indignation so well known to all his friends. ' The whole or none,' he would have said, and I can well imagine him ruthlessly destroying the pages where, to my mind, so many touching aspects of human nature are shown forth, in the same spirit as I have seen him throw a whole drawer full of his poems on the fire — poems good enough, in my opinion, to have brought him passing fame and even money. But this would have been no consolation to the Doctor. He knew and could appreciate the highest, and never for himself or others could he learn the philosophy of second best. EDITOR'S

PREFACE.

VI Even after reading his preface, I cannot but believe that originally he had no thought of publishing his recollections. The thought only came when the work drew towards completion. He was then an old man, and had lost the crispness of his earlier style. Evidently in his long hours of solitude he would read and re read what he had written, often pausing to insert a long dissertation as to the supposed motives for such and such an action, analyzing and dissecting until his story became a con fused and tangled mass. It has been my task to unravel the original thread, and to present it to the reader as I believe it to have been at first written, before the Doctor's mind was clouded by the illness and consequent disease which eventually caused his death. It should be borne in mind that in writing these recollections the Doctor drew largely from his diary, which was written day by day during his life at Haxby, and in which it was his habit to record any conversation or event which interested him.

It only remains to say that these papers have been in my possession for some time, but until the spring of last year I was not at liberty to make any use of them. DR. RICHARDS'

PREFACE.

. It may, perhaps, seem strange to others, as indeed at times it does to me, that I should take so much trouble to tell the story of Job Hildred's failure. An obscure and unknown artist, who, save for a few years, lived and is like to die in a remote country district, is not perhaps a character likely to excite much general interest. I do not expect it, and if the truth must be told, it is a matter of indifference to me whether or not these notes that I have put together with so much care are destined to be buried in obscurity until the end of time. For a few years of my life I indulged delicious dreams of literary fame, though my aspirations soared far above mere story-telling ; but it is the chief pride of my life that my critical faculty was strong, and that I resisted the temptation to join the ranks of minor poets, and chose rather to devote my best energies to the useful science of medicine.

Of the desire for literary fame then I may be held innocent, especially as I have left directions that in any case these papers shall not be published until after Job Hildred's death, for fear that anything told here might wound my friend. Job is over twenty years my junior, and, by the time the world knows his story, I shall be at peace and care no more for the praise or blame of daily journals. Many times during the labour of shaping a connected story out of my recollections, out of notes made in my diary and letters written and received, I have asked myself why I should devote all my scant leisure to this task. And I can find no satisfactory answer. Sometimes I think it is because I feel that I am involved in Job's failure, that while he was still young and full of promise I might have done more for him.

Then I wonder if it is restless remorse that makes me write, for, being his friend, I failed him in his hour of need. And yet I know that this is a sentimental and exaggerated view of the case, for who can hope for success in the fight against a man's character and a youth's estimate of his own capacity ? Still, more sympathy might have — but this would be to forestall, and there is nothing more wearisome to the reader than the reiteration of vain regrets. The reader! Then I do anticipate that at least a few others will care to read these pages. Strange, for I had come to think I wrote either to still a pricking conscience, or to pass the weary solitude of a bachelor's old age, and here I am considering the reader. But if in the end I must confess to this weakness, I can but hope that the wish that those who judged Job hardly should hear the truth and know the man as I knew him bears at least a respectable propor tion among the subtle motives which direct my pen.' sari I.

Chapter I

It was early in the spring of 1856 that I first came to Haxby. I well remember the dreari ness of my arrival. A bitter black east wind blew for the first week without intermission, and it was in the teeth of this that I made my first excursions into the Marsh to visit outlying patients. It seemed to me impossible that I could ever become reconciled to that dreary flat country, or to the inexpressible dulness and stupidity of my few neighbours ; for, besides the two lawyers and one other doctor, who all lived in Haxby, there were but a few country squires and parsons, who were extremely exclu sive, and looked down from a great height on the professional men of a small country town. However, there was a good opening prosessionally, and I had need of money, not only for myself, but for my mother and sister, who were dependent on me for support.

It had early become evident to me that I must take a country practice, for, though my mother was a martyr to asthma, and could not leave London, it was only by doing so myself that I could quickly gain a position that would enable me to give her the comforts to which she had always been accustomed, and of which she would otherwise have been deprived by my father's death. So heartily did I detest the idea of leaving London that I desired no choice of other places, and took the first that offered with sufficient pecuniary inducement. During my first years at Haxby I felt my isolated posi tion keenly. I had been used to intellectual sympathy and to intelligent companions. To the parson, the two lawyers and the doctor I could not open my lips ; they were all my seniors by some thirty years, and any idea not absolutely covered with the dust of ages excited their wrath and suspicion.

They vegetated in a dead past. The county society may or may not have been more advanced ; but, as I was only called in professionally, I had little opportunity of judging. Manners, I should say, were not at a high level, but let that pass. In this isolation it has been my fate to live until I have grown old and churlish. I have been blamed for never marrying, but such a course would have been impossible for me until my mother ceased to require my help. Her death did not take place until long after I was confirmed in old bachelor habits, let alone the fact that there was no one whom I could marry in the restricted society of Haxby. I have had no time to look elsewhere for a wife ; one woman perhaps — but it is Job's story I would tell, not mine. I have written the foregoing pages about myself to serve as an explanation, if indeed any explanation be necessary, of my great affection for Job, a carpenter's son and himself excelling in the same trade.

Living as I did, it is not surprising that my friend should have been below me in station. In this remote country district I learned what it is to suffer from class prejudices, and perhaps a dogged determination to be superior to them myself made me seek Job out ; but this was later. The first reference to Job in my diary occurs in June, 1871, when I had been in Lincolnshire some fifteen years. It was a lovely day on which I first saw him. I was returning from my morning's rounds, when, just before I reached the outskirts of Haxby, I saw a large hay-waggon come out of a field and turn into the road. It was the last load, and a band of children were scampering round it, the bolder ones trying to catch hold of the cords which held the hay, and hoist themselves up on the waggon. On the top I recognised a man I knew (Sylvester by name), the foreman on one of Lady Elizabeth Hinton's largest farms.

He was leaning on his pitchfork, and I wondered how he managed to stand there so securely as the waggon jolted over the rough road. Sud denly there was a cry, and the carter ran to the shaft-horse, and succeeded with some difficulty in bringing the team to a standstill. Sylvester was looking behind him at the group of children, who had fallen back. ' What's the matter ?' I shouted to him as I pulled up. ' Matter ? Why, they've runned ower our Sally, an' that's what they've done,' he answered stolidly. And, without waiting to see further, he turned and shouted to the horses, ' Gee waay, theer ! Git on wi' yer !' This was a fair example of the Lindsay agri culturist's indifference to suffering, which had not then ceased to surprise me ; and, feeling angry with the man, I urged my horse on, and quickly reached the children.

Sally was lying on the ground sobbing violently — I think as much with fright as pain. Most of the children stood round, open-mouthed and staring, but one little fellow, who was white to the lips and looked a great deal worse than the actual sufferer, was vainly endeavouring to soothe her, and was trying to wipe the blood and tears from her face. ' Oh, Doctor !' he cried, jumping up when he saw me, 'do coom quick ; she'll bleed to death.' Indeed, the blood was flowing pretty freely from a cut on Sally's temple, and it was a minute or two before I could find time to look again at the lad's troubled face. I was sure, however, that I did not hear his voice among the many that reached my ears as I bent over the child to try and ascertain if there were any further injury. ' My, doan't she look a sight !

It'ull leave its mark on her faace if she live to a hundred, it will.' ' Lawse me, Job, yer've gotten a loovely sweetheart now.' ' Yer weer a stewpid, Sally! Whativer maade yer stick yer great head i' the wheel ?' ' Mrs. Salvester 'ull ha' summut to saay to yer when yer gits home, I reckon.' Upon this, Sally, who had begun to grow quieter, resumed her lamentations, and I turned round on the children, saying roughly : ' Get along with you all and go home. Can't you leave the child alone ?' As I turned round I caught a pitiful, questioning look from the little lad I had first noticed. He was standing watching me, still holding his blood-stained pocket-handkerchief, while great tears ran down his cheeks. 'She's all right,' I said; 'she's not much hurt. Tell me how it happened.' ' She got her head between the spokes o' the wheel, an' it took her right round, an' chucked her out again on her faace.' ' Good thing it didn't go over her.' The boy shuddered. ' I reckoned it must kill her,' he muttered. ' It was the hind-wheel ; if it had been the front-wheel the hind un would ha' gone ower her middle.' Are you her brother ?' Noa.' What do they call you ?' 'Job Hildred.

How can we git her home? Yonder's Mrs. Salvester's cottage, top o' yon laane.' He pointed back towards the farm buildings. ' There's no difficulty about that,' I answered. ' I'll drive her home.' I raised the child in my arms, and lifted her into my dogcart. She looked dazed and stupid, probably from the loss of blood. Job followed, and stood looking up at me. I saw he had something to say, and presently he whispered, ' Yer'll tell her moother as it warn't her fault, or mebbe she'll gi' her the stick.' ' The stick !' I cried angrily ; ' what on earth do you mean ? She won't beat the child for getting hurt.' 'Theer's no saayin' what she'll do if she's vexed.' Sally struggled in my arms, and peered over the splash-board down to Job. ' Job, Job,' she said hoarsely, ' I tell yer it was that theer great howery Ted Turner as pulled me down, for I'd hode o' the rope an' should ha' been up to father, if he hadn't clapped his hand o' me skirt.' ' Yis, I'll gi' him what for.' ' Yer'd best let him be ; he's as big again as you are.' ' Don't go fighting, Job,' I said ; and we drove on. 'r Although Sally was not much hurt, she did not get well as fast as I could wish.

I think it was probably because her mother worried her. She was one of those women who never cease scolding. Directly I turned my horse into the muddy lane leading to Sylvester's cottage I could hear her high-pitched voice. ' Good-marnin', doctor,' she would say. ' Noa, Sally aint no better ; complains o' the pain i' her head fit to craaze yer. But Sally's niver been but a poor wanklin. A great gurl like her oughter be a bit o' help wi' the oother bairns by this, but she's alwaays been mower bother than enuff. Why, she'll be ten coom next sheap-sheering, an's nobbut a great idle thing. Why, I was out at sarvice afore I was nine, an' ten shillings an' a pair o' boots I got i' my first year. A fine sight o' work I did, minded a baaby an' all, an' it's as much as Sally can do to bile a kettle.

If she'd coom straight home as I bade her, she'd not have gotten hurt.' And so on ; while Sally would sit by in stony indifference. Her expression was generally a marked contrast to Job's. He was often with them when I called, and his silent indignation at the woman's hardness often surprised me. But one day my visit to Sally was of a very different character. On my approach, I was struck by the unusual stillness, and as I came up the path a burst of childish laughter reached me from the kitchen. I paused in the open doorway, and looked in. Job was seated at the table busy with a paint-box, while Sally was alternately looking over his shoulder and turn ing the leaves of an old Graphic, in which the pictures had already been painted. Both children were too absorbed to notice me, and I watched them for some minutes unobserved. ' Oh, Job, this 'ere's a funny one !

My ! what a fine dress yer've given the laady !' ' I wish I'd got a bit mower yeller,' said Job, leaning back to look at the picture he was doing ; ' a bit o' yeller's just what 'ud maake it look nice't, an' I've put ivery spot I had on that theer basket o' oranges i' the book you've gotten.' ' Yer'll ha' to buy a caake o' yeller i' Haxby, Job.' ' I ain't gotten a haapenny,' the boy sighed, ' an' father he weant gi' me no mower mooney not to buy paints wi', since I messed the blew ower the picture o' Hisaak i' the big Bible. I reckoned I could maake it a deal prettier, but father he was vexed. I want a light red an' vermilion an' Prussian blew an' two yallers.' ' When I gits a haapenny I gits bull's-eyes from the goody shop,' said Sally. ' What do you want the yellow for ?' I asked ; and both children started up.

I sat down and looked through the Graphic, making remarks on Job's choice of colours, which was decidedly gaudy. 'Job's coom for to mind me while moother's marketin',' Sally volunteered presently. ' Her moother 'ull not be home while evenin',' Job added. ' Noa, it 'ull mebbe be seven afore she 2 — cooms,' said Sally — and I detected satisfaction in her voice — ' an' Job an' me 'ull git father his tea. Bob an' Jaane an' baaby's gone wi' moother.' ' And who will get your dinner ?' I asked ' Moother's left us a piese o' bread an' baacon ; we ain't no puddin', but Job saaved a slice o' cake from his Sunday's tea. Job's moother, she does maake sich bewtiful caakes, she does.' I thought the child most decidedly better, and told her she might go to school again. This seemed to please her, and she and Job whispered together and laughed.

Then they both trotted after me into the lane and watched me get into my cart. Before I turned into the road I looked back. They were running towards the cottage again hand in hand.

Chapter II

For some time after this the references to Job in my diary are too short to be worth relating. I used often to see the little fellow coming to and from school, and once I caught him and Sally playing truant together. I will tell this incident at length, not that it is important in itself, but because it led to Job's first introduc tion to the lady who played so large a part in his subsequent history. It was when the blackberries were ripe and the woods offered an overmastering temptation. I think the risks the children ran added, if any thing, to their delight, and certainly they paid dearly for their afternoon. They knew that if the schoolmaster complained of their absence they would get a beating at home, for this was by no means the first time they had played truant together. But besides this ordinary danger, they had made up their minds to face a far more awful one, and risk encountering the wrath of Lady Elizabeth Hinton and her game keepers.

For the finest blackberries grew in Hinton Vale. Lady Elizabeth kept the gates strictly locked, and a keeper's lodge stood at each end, for the mile of wooded vale was crowded with game. The vale was in reality a long drive up to the hall, and though the most beautiful country in the district, Lady Elizabeth kept its glories for herself and her numerous London friends. The story ran that the last two Earls — her father and grandfather — high handed old gentlemen, had jealously guarded their rights in this particular, and that this lady, the last of her line, maintained with un relaxed severity the old tradition. The place was haunted by tales of poaching frays, and Job has often told me of his boyish fascination for the old stone cross which marks the spot where Big John, the famous poacher, shot the late Earl's keeper.

I have sat over the fire with old Jacob — Job's father — and heard him tell the story of Big John's desperate fight for liberty after the murder, and it needed but little penetration to see to which side the old man's sympathies leaned. It may have been some knowledge of his father's opinions which encouraged Job in his frequent raids into the vale. At any rate, I saw plainly, when he told me at length the history of his capture, that he believed he was quite within his rights, and that Lady Elizabeth acted as a cruel tyrant. It was vain for me to represent to him the sacred rights of property. He could not or would not understand. The woods, and the glorious mysterious solitude in which the boy delighted, God had made, and meant all men to enjoy. Sally had as much right to the blackberries as Lady Elizabeth ; they were for poor as well as rich.

I knew that I caught the echo of old Jacob's teaching, and I could not help smiling to think how often Job had revelled undisturbed in that solitary place. For he knew every path and every tree, and but for Sally would have escaped the wariest of keepers. It was she who at the end of their long day's ramble had grown so tired that he must needs take her home the nearest way. It was she who, out of perversity and because Job would not stop to chase a rabbit, had insisted on talking in the most dangerous place ; and it was she whose strength had failed when there was nothing left but to run for it. The blackberries in her handkerchief were scattered all around her as she fell. A pitiful little picture she must have made, with her tear-stained face, and the purple dye on her lips and hands. Job saw her fall, and turned and came straight back to her in the face of the pursuing keeper.

There was no chance for them now, and he sat down doggedly by Sally, collecting the scattered blackberries and trying to comfort her. It must have been some half-hour later in the day that I saw them marched slowly to wards the hall, one on either side of the keeper. He had a hand on the boy's collar, while he held the girl by the arm. Lady Elizabeth's gardener was ill, and I was just saying good bye to him on the doorstep of his cottage when I saw and recognised the children. I could see how Job chafed under the restraining hand, and how hard he struggled to keep his head high, and to look about him as usual. Sally lagged behind crying pitifully, and letting the keeper drag her along. I knew the man, having attended him when a ferret had bitten his hand, and I called to him to stop. ' What is it ?' I asked ; ' what have they been up to ?' ' They've been gettin' brambles i' the vale, sir.' ' What are you going to do with them ?' ' My laady's orders are to taake all children we catch trespassin' to her.

Theer've been a many boys to year, an' we've gotten blaamt for not lightin' on 'em sooner.' ' Can't you let them go this time ?' I asked. ' Job, you'll promise not to go there again, won't you ?' Job did not answer, and I could not catch his eye. Sally whined : 'Oh, promise, Job! I'm sewer I'll niver goa again. Oh, do let me goa. Moother 'ull miss me if I'm not back by tea.' Job raised his head and looked at me. ' Please sir, can't yer maake him let Sally goa? If he taakes one on us I reckon that 'ull do. Laady Elizabeth can't hurt a gal.' The tone was so scornful and defiant that I was not surprised at the man giving Job a gentle shake. 'Coom, hode yer noise,' he said, 'an' taake my advice an' doan't gi' my laady none o' your sauce. Look yonder ; here she cooms !' He pulled the two culprits to the side of the road as a carriage drawn by two ponies appeared.

I took off my hat to the lady who was driving, and when she saw me she pulled up and asked affably after the gardener. When I had satisfied her as to his quick recovery, her eyes wandered from me to the children, and a flush of displeasure overspread her handsome face. ' So you've caught some of them at last ?' she said to the keeper. ' I knew you could if you liked. What's the boy's name ?' ' He wean't tell me, my laady.' ' No wonder he's ashamed to give his name,' says she, ' but we can easily find that out.' I felt Job's eyes fixed on me, and I knew he was imploring me not to betray him. But the lady continued : ' Do you know I could hand you over to the police ? A pretty example you set your little sister, teaching her to trespass and steal blackberries !' ' I'm not ' began Sally. But Job kicked her, saying : ' Shut up ! hode yer noise !' Lady Elizabeth did not observe the passage between them, for she had turned for further information to the keeper.

I was surprised at Job's roughness to the girl, but as I watched he whispered to her more gently, and I could see from the boy's white face and flashing eyes how every nerve was strung to the tightest. Lady Elizabeth turned towards the children again, but though she spoke to them I had a curious feeling that in reality she was seeking to justify her conduct to me. ' I must put a stop to this invasion of the vale once for all. The fences and hedges are continually broken, and the game disturbed. There's evidence to show that a gang of you boys are making a regular habit of breaking in, and I'm determined to stop it. I've already spoken to the police, and I've given out that the first boy I caught should have a flogging — that is, unless his father prefers him to go to the lock-up. Personally, I think home punishment is better for such lads as you ; you look too respectable a boy for such scrapes.

Come, tell me your name.' Job still hesitated. 'Well, you must choose,' she continued. ' John can take you to the police-office at Haxby, or you can tell me. If your father's a proper minded man, I can leave your punishment to him — eh, Doctor?' I was surprised at this unexpected appeal to me. I think it nettled her to have me stand ing by listening. ' Your ladyship and I view the matter from such different standpoints,' I answered. ' Perhaps,' said she dryly ; ' but even if you have no sympathy with the rights of property, you would hardly advocate children playing truant all day and going scot-free.' 'As you so wisely said, Lady Elizabeth, the punishment for that can be left to the parents.' ' But I don't know the parents,' she burst forth impatiently. ' Good heavens ! I wish one could have the boy flogged out of hand.' I looked at Job, and he came towards me, saying, with some excitement : ' I'll tell my naame if she'll let Sally go home at once.

Father 'ull be wild if they taake me to the lock-up ; he'd reckon it such a disgrace" But she must let Sally off; she can't goa for to beat a gal. An' Sally's tired out wi' cryin'.' ' Must I make a bargain with him ?' exclaimed the lady. ' You're an insolent monkey ! I don't dream of blaming your sister. No doubt but for you she would have been safe at home. Well, for the last time, your name ?' 'Job Hildred.' ' Where does your father live ?' ' Lady Elizabeth,' said I, interrupting, ' I know this boy and his father well. He is Hildred the carpenter. He often does work for you at the Hall, and you have bought old china from his shop in Haxby — I dare say you may remember. If you will trust this matter to me, I will take Job home, and tell his father the story, though, knowing Jacob Hildred as I do, I would gladly take a recommendation to mercy from your ladyship.' ' You know him ?

I wonder, then, why we need have wasted so much time.' ' I thought it better the lad should tell you himself,' I answered. ' I wish, too, that he would ask for your forgiveness, and that I could tell his father he had gained it. I fancy with Job that mercy would reach farther into the future than justice.' Her eyes were looking curiously into mine, and I thought she wished to relent. It seemed unnatural in so sweet-looking a lady to hand this slender lad over to the rough treatment I knew he would get. But, angry as I was at the time, I have since thought how little she could realize this, and how much she was blinded by the unavoidable prejudices of her class. However, she turned slowly from me to the boy, a slight flush I was at a loss to account for spreading over her fine face. ' Is this the first time you've been in the vale ?' ' Oh no,' the boy answered, ' I often go.' The lady fairly gasped, and I looked at Job to see if this were bravado or mere heedless ness.