Weighed in the Balance.

Woodville Examiner, Volume XXII, Issue 3872, 11 May 1906, Page 4 (Supplement)

Weighed in the Balance.

“He’s near, is Richard.” “Only savin’, mother.” ““Sarin’, is it? When I wus a gel 1 wouldn’t Ira’ looked at a chap that wasna ready-handed wi’t’ brass. When _yo’r feyther and mo wus ooortin’ it wus over to Bartheldy for t’ wakes at Whitsun, a jaunt to Blackpool fer t’ August holidays, me an’ other lassies, ’im an’ ether lads. The young folk is a poor lot 'now. Them wus days.” “Yes,” said Jessie enviously; “the wage was better then.” “What’s t’ wage got to do wi’ ut? if a chap’s near he’s near. Richard’s earnin' thirty shillin’, if he’s earnin’ a bob.”

“Dick says,” began Jessie hesitatingly, “that he doesn’t want his wife to work.”

“ An’ why shouldn’t she wark? Walk never killed no one yet. Luk at me — fifty come Easter, all my lads out i’ th’ war Id, and mo at the wash-tub every Monday regT'ar. Earn and spend, I says—-earn and spend. Tho Lord will provide. 1 ' Mrs. Alderson brought her iron hand down on tho table with a sounding bang, and her daughter, who might not •come near tho firo because it was ironing night, shivered by tho window, where there was a crack in the woodwork. Tho provision in the Alderson household had 'always been of the scantiest. Jessie had known what it was to go ill-clad and tll-fod. She was a delicate looking girl, the youngest of seven. There bad never been any prosperous times at heme in her day, and she had -worked in the mill einco she was fourteen. She was twenty now, and each winter it grow harder to turn out in the dark of tho morning to face the keen wind from tho river—to start her loom with fingers n tun bed and chilled. But she was young, and other girls had been taken out to the theatre, and though th© Christmas holidays were over, Dick had never asked her to go once.

“I wouldn’t ha’ 1 minded so much,” she said now, with something like a hoS in her throat; “but Martha seys he tuk ’or last year.” “Ay, an’ will agen,” said her mother. •‘‘’Martha Cranficlcl’e unde can leave ’or a tidy bit.” It was the last .straw. Jessie threw down her sowing, and catching her shawl from its peg, she wound it about her head.

“I'm going cut,” she said. “Tho ■streets is better than this. There’s the shops there —something to look at; there ain’t nothing here.” Tho door closed behind her with a bang. Mrs. Alderson looked at it with mild astonishment.

“Lor bless me,” she said, “what tantrums! An’ all bccose I gev her a bit .of advice. Gels all knows better nor their mothers to-day. Men’s all alike — near or spendiu’. What you get’s just ■Jack. A near man ’nil bury you ’andi'ume, au’ grudge yo’ yo’r bit while yoT .alive.”

She ivas a hard-featured 'woman, accustomed to the give and take of tho world. She had no idea that she had sown the seed of discontent in a girl's heart. Jessie # was ala-ays paeky and fanciful, and she was that set on Dick Liversedge that there was no arguing with her. Dick was all right—a poor, mild sort, that hadn’t got a fling in him. The dead-and-gone Alderson, who had come" home drunk regularly every Saturday night, had been different to that. Everyone has their own standard. Miriam Alderson would have -chosen a son-in-law of another pattern. But Jessie had chosen for herself, and mow, walking up and down. Eishergato staring at the hats in tho shop windows, she told herself that she had chosen badly. Her mother was right. Dick was “near,” and Martha Cranfiold, his court ti, who had been after him for _years, would have a fortune. All Preston knew that. Three houses in Broad •Street, a bit o’ money in tho bank. Jessie stared at a hat with a rose in it, and failed to see its charms through her .tears. “Let him ’ave ’or,”she said to herself. -1 don’t want him if bo don’t want .me. ”

■She turned suddenly. Someone had .thrust his hand through her arm. Dick Liversedge was looking at tho hats, too. “Chocuin’ one fer the woddin’, lass? What’s your fancy, now?” “What’s year’s,” said Jessie. Her voice was hard. She did not look round at 'him; he seemed so mighty sure of Her.

‘■■What do you say to that?” he said, pointing to one of plain straw, with a .hew of ribbon on it. “Nice and neat .and natty.”

“And cheap,” said Jessie. “And cheap! That ain’t no fault. Y'oa and me couldn’t have it if it wasn’t.”

“Couldn’t we?” said Jessie. “Martha JCVanjjfjkl has one with two roses in it. I’m as pretty as her.” “ A sight prettier,” said Dick. “ Martha’s got to be fine, case folks should i'orget to look at hew When a lass has big blue eyes and yellow hair ” Jessie turned a discontented shoulder to him.

“It’s easy talkin’,” she said. “Words hi cheap, too.” They walked tho length of Fishorgato in silence, and, turning up New Hall lame, passed the mill where most of their daylight hears were spent. The girl looked up at the grim building, with its darkened windows and its chimneys looming against the sky. “Hateful old place!” she said. “Them wheels grind the life out of you. I iiiu’t never bin young.” She turned to the lad who walked beside her; her eyes ■blazed all her rebellion at him. “ You wiu’t never bin young, neither,” she -/Bald. “We are old afore our time. I’m sick of it. I want to laugh like other girls. I want a bit o’ pleasure before I’m dead.”

Dick flushed uncomfortably at her obvious scorn.

“I line] a fancy for a house of mo own,” he said, “and, lass ” “Then you can have your fancy,” said Jessie. “And Martha, maybe, bill help j’on to it. This sort o’ walkin’ out ain't -.-good for me.” Jess, coom, now, lass!” But words are useless when a wilful woman has made up her mind to take her wilful way. Jessie piled up all his sins of omission upon his head. Dick Vieard her in silence, and when she naus--jed for breath ho ventured to speak.

“I thought you an’ me wus wun, ” ho said. “Well, we’re not, we’re two,” was the answer. “ And now you know it. An’ I’m goin’ wi’ Joe Briggs to Olympia tomorrow.”

Jessie Alderson went to Olympia with Joo Briggs. She sat in all the glory of a sixpenny seat, when the other girls ■were in the threepenny ones at the back. The entertainment was uproariously funny. Joe roiled in his seat with laughter, and Jessie wondered why she wasn’t enjoying it more. She was used to it now. She had been there three times in six months.

The summer passed. The mill was surely hotter and dustier than, it had ever been before. Autumn came, darker mornings followed. November was here. It was bleak winter.

Mrs. Aldenson, standing at her vaunted w'ashtuh, had caught a chill, and now lay ill upstairs, 'while Jessie, who wanted tho money badly, was prevented from going to the mill. The chill developed into pneumonia. The parish doctor come, and shook his head. Tho patient’s strength must ho kept up, and she must bo nursed night and day. Jessie did her best, but her resources were weak, and soon all the money was gone. Only tho respectable poor know how soon the spectre Want cun make his appearance at the door. The spectre stood inside the A'ldersons’ kitchen now, and Jessie put her head down on tho kitchen table and wept out all her despair. Tho woman upstairs had been hard and just—more read to deal out blame than praise; but she was her mother. They loved each other in their way. And she must die, if Jessie could not get her all she ought to have. And then the tangle was all smoothed out. There was ia knock at the door, and Dick Liversodge, with parcels in his arms, walked past her into tho kitchen, and stacked them on the table in a pile. Ho turned and looked at her. There was triumph in his mild eyes. “Joe Briggs can’t give nothin’,” ho said. “He ain’t got it.to give.” Ho unwrapped the brown paper from each parcel in its turn. Jessie saw all tho dainties of invalid food that she would not have been able to buy. “I met the doctor coming out,” said Dick. “Ho told mo as ’ow ”

Ho ceased to speak, and looked at her. He saw the thin, pale checks; the eyes that were heavy with want of sleep; the poor, thin frock that held no warmth in it.

“Oh, Dick,” burst out Jessie, “ what have you bought all these for? And you that savin' ——” “ Savin’!” ho said; and his anger blazed in his eyes, and ho laid his hand somewhat roughly ou her arm. “ It wus yo’ I wus savin’ for; t’ brass ain’t nothin’ to me. Why shouldn’t I give it where I want to. I ain’t got no one to save for now. I want to give it, and I can, an’ Joe can’t.” It was his great triumph, and it was all ho wanted. Dick marched to the door.

And Jessie must let him go! She had sent him away onco. She could not call him back now’.

There are people who tell us that love is no longer roving an the world—the love that asks only to give, seeking to return. They are wrong. Those poor, faint-hearted, disappointed souls, who will not meet God’s sunshine because of tho clouds in which they are enwrapped. Dick Liversedge was an everyday toiler in an everyday world, but he knew how to lovo a woman. It is not a lesson. which every man can leanr. He came back to the table.

“Lass,” lie said—“lass o’ mine, wasn’t I good enough to work for yon?” Jessie broke down then, sobbing all her own lack of love and trust. Ho didn’t even wait for the poor little selfaccusation. Ho just gathered her in his arms.

“Perhaps I wasn’t good enough. God give us a woman to love us. We got as near to deserving it as wc can. Thoer —theor, lass; dmmot cry t'lii pretty eyes away. If tha wants me, I’m here.” “1 do want you,” .said Jessie. “I’ve wanted you always—not just now, Dick ; don’t think that. Joe -and mo’s not been kind this long while. I didn’t like the things he liked, and so— —” “I was savin’,” ho said, “and-now I can get the house I wanted, and you and mo can be wed right away.” “I must go,” she .said. “Mother wants me, Dick, she’ll get well now.” Yes; Miriam Alderson was 'indebted to tho man she had once despised for the health that was given back to her. She gave him grudging thanks. Ho was good, wus Dick —good and dull. She supposed the Lord had made him that way. But Jessie Was older than she had boon a year ago, and she had known the lack of love ; she knew the worth of all she had won. They were married in the springtime.