His wife at last suggested that he had better tell his mother, and leave it to her to break the matter to Mr. Rushmere, entreating him, at the same time, to spare her in the relation as much as he possibly could.

Since the day of their arrival at Heath Farm, Mrs. Rushmere had rapidly declined, and was now entirely confined to her own room, which Dorothy never left, without it was to arrange with Polly the cooking and the necessary work of the day.

Gilbert generally went up to spend an hour with his mother during the absence of her kind nurse, and in one of these interviews, he informed her of his humiliating position, and implored her advice and a.s.sistance in his present emergency.

Mrs. Rushmere was greatly distressed by his communication. Simple and natural as a child herself, she possessed a great insight into character, and though she seldom saw either of the women with whom her son had unfortunately connected himself, she had read their characters, and foresaw, in case of her death, the miserable life that her dear old partner would lead with either of them as mistress of the house.

Dorothy, of course, would have to leave, directly she had followed her to the grave. She reproached herself for keeping the poor girl in her present disagreeable position, but Dorothy had promised her to put up with every insult and slight patiently for her sake, and Mrs. Rushmere rightly conjectured that the time of her emanc.i.p.ation was not far distant.

"Well, my poor son, I will speak to your father about this sad business.

You must not be impatient, if he feels angry and resentful. I know how he rejoiced in the idea of your being a rich man. This will be a cruel disappointment to him."

"Oh, mother dear, it was his fault. Had he been only a little less avaricious, I might at this moment have been a happy man." He laid his head beside her on the pillow, and wept like a child.

That night, Mr. Rushmere was duly informed of the communication Gilbert had made to his mother. He had, however, carefully concealed the duplicity of his wife, with regard to the fortune, by saying that she had fully believed that she was to be heir to her uncle's property, and was as much disappointed as himself. Old Rushmere sat for some time beside his wife's bed astonished and almost stupefied.

"Oh, dang it, wife," he broke out at last, "this is a confounded bad business, and ruination to us all. To think that the boy should be sich a simple fool, to go an' marry a woman older nor himself without being sure o' the money. Sold his commission too, and to pay her debts--worse and worse--an' nothing but the pension for his wound to depend on to keep his wife an' mother from starving. Well, well, that ever Lawrence Rushmere should be father to such a simpleton."

"Lawrence," and Mrs. Rushmere took the large brown hand of her husband between her thin pale hands, "you must forgive him for my sake."

"Dang it, wife. How am I going to keep all this posse o' people. It's unreasonable, that it be; a' won't do it."

"He be your only son, Lawrence, all that will soon be left to you o'

me."

"Oh, Mary, you are not going to leave me, not yet, not yet. A few more years and then we must both go. But oh, not yet, not yet, my dear, good wife. Get hearty and well, and old Larry will do all you require o'

him." The stout old yeoman bent over the pillow, and kissed the pale meek face of his wife, and the tears from her gentle blue eyes.

"Well, Larry, dear, you must do this for me whiles I be living. Give your son an' his family a home, until such time as poor Gilly's arm's healed, an' he be able to help himself. You are not a poor man, husband, an' can spare this much for an only son. An' remember he might have done better if ye would only ha' let him."

"Aye, I'm sorry for that now. Doll would have made him a better wife than his b.u.t.terfly o' a woman. If so be, I have to keep her, Gilly must set her to work, an' the old mother likewise. I'm not going to keep a house full o' sarvants to wait upon them."

"Neighbour Sly wants a girl, an' will take Polly off your hands, Lawrence, an' this Martha Wood can fill her place. But leave me Dorothy, my darling Dorothy, till I be gone. It won't be long."

On the whole, Rushmere behaved better than could be expected. At dinner, he told Gilbert that his mother had informed him of his troubles, and he was willing to take him as partner in the farm; he was to manage the concern and dispose of all the produce, sharing the returns equally with him.

Dorothy looked earnestly at the old man, when he made this proposal. She knew enough of human nature to feel convinced that it would never work well. That old Rushmere would never consent to act under the direction of his son, and that his labourers, who were very fond of him, would never serve two masters. But her influence for good in that house was over. Advice or remonstrance with a man of Rushmere's obstinate character was alike vain.

Gilbert was profuse in his expressions of grat.i.tude, which were echoed by the ladies.

"And now, my dear," said the old man, turning to Mrs. Gilbert, "I can't afford to keep idle folk. What can you do for a living; can you cook?"

"I never was brought up to kitchen work, father," returned Mrs. Gilbert, in a very bland voice, "but I can try."

"Dolly can teach you."

"I shan't trouble her," muttered the newly installed mistress of the house. "A woman of sense surely may acquire a knowledge of such trifling matters without any particular instructions."

"Ah, my dear, but it requires experience," said Rushmere. "It don't want a person to be able to read an' write, to brew good ale an' make sweet b.u.t.ter, an' bake light bread; but it do want practical knowledge o' such work, as Dorothy here can tell you. She be a first rate housekeeper."

"You need not refer me to Dorothy Chance, Mr. Rushmere, while my own mother is present. She always was considered a capital manager."

"I dessay, I dessay," quoth Rushmere, nodding pleasantly towards the lady in question. "Mrs. Rowly looks like a woman well acquainted with work, an' it would be strange if you could not manage the house an'

dairy between you."

"I think, Mr. Rushmere, there will be no occasion to employ so many hands in the kitchen," said Mrs. Rowly, glancing significantly at Dorothy. "Surely my daughter and Martha, with the a.s.sistance I can give them, ought to be sufficient."

"Certainly, certainly," cried old Rushmere, "those be exactly my sentiments, ma'am. Too many cooks spoil the broth. Polly goes, when her month expires, to Mrs. Sly's; an' Dorothy, when my dear old wife----"

The farmer stopped short. He could not finish the sentence.

"Cannot I nurse Mrs. Rushmere?" said Mrs. Rowly. "I have had a great deal of experience in that way."

"No doubt you could," said Rushmere. "Howsomever she won't suffer any one to help her but Dorothy."

"I shall leave you, father, the moment my services are no longer required," said Dorothy. "I have a good home and kind friends to go to.

It is only on dear mother's account that I have remained so long. I shall gladly resign to Mrs. Gilbert my place in the house."

The next morning, on going into the kitchen, Dorothy found Mrs. Gilbert and her mother up to their eyes in business, examining the contents of cupboards and pantries, and making a great litter and confusion everywhere.

She was told when she offered her a.s.sistance in restoring the place to order, that her services were not required by Mrs. Gilbert, whom she must now consider as mistress of the house, that she must not presume to interfere with Martha Wood and her work, but confine herself entirely to Mrs. Rushmere's chamber.

And Mrs. Gilbert commenced her reign over Heath Farm, by treating Dorothy and Polly as creatures beneath her notice, and decidedly in the way, while she encouraged Martha in her mischievous tattling, until she set Polly and her by the ears together.

Old Rushmere grumbled over the badly cooked dinners, the heavy bread and sour b.u.t.ter, and blamed Dorothy for what certainly she could not help.

One morning Dorothy went down into the kitchen to prepare a little broth for the poor invalid. The fire was out, and everything in the greatest confusion. A greasy unwashed floor and dirty towels, and dusters scattered around on tables and chairs. It was impossible to get the least thing done without worry and difficulty.

"Polly," she said very gently, "while you remain here you should do your duty to your employers. Why is your kitchen so dirty, and your fire always out, when I want to cook broth or gruel for your poor sick mistress? Things should not be in this disgraceful condition, and you have Martha to help you."

"Martha help me. Lauk, Miss Dorothy, she be no help to a body, she make all the dirt and muddle she can. She do take my nice white dish keeler to wash her missus' dirty dawg. I can't prevent her. I says to her only yesterday, if a' do that agen, I'll tell Miss Dorothy. 'Go to the devil,' says she, 'with yer. Miss Dorothy she be no missus o' mine. Mrs.

Gilbert's missus here now. I'd like to hear Doll Chance dare to set me to work.' My heart's a breakin' wi' her dirty ways and her saucy impertinence. I'm right glad I'm going to-morrow; the old house a'nt like it wor."

"But this don't excuse you, Polly, for letting the fire out."

"Mrs. Gilbert told me hersel to let the fire go down directly the breakfus wor over. 'Miss Dorothy wull want it,' says I, 'to make the old missus her broth.' 'Let her want,' says she, 'or make it hersel. I don't mean to attend to her wants, I can tell you.'"

"Alas, alas!" sighed Dorothy, "what a house of misrule. Poor old father, how will it be with him by and bye, when they begin to abuse their power so early?"

Like the sailors, she saw breakers ahead, but had no power to steer the vessel off the rocks.

"Missus Gilbert," continued Polly, glad of getting some one to whom she could tell her griefs, "is allers jawing me, for not doing the work. But while her fat lazy girl sits doing naught, but towzleing the dawg, I'm not a' goin to kill mysel wi' work."

"Bear it patiently for a few hours, Polly. You will soon be free now.

Run, there's a good girl to the woodstack, and bring some sticks to rekindle the fire."

In a few minutes, Polly rushed back to the kitchen, and flung an arm full of sticks down with a bang upon the hearth that could be heard all over the house, and holding up her hands cried out at the top of her voice. "A's been an' gone an' done it. I knew a' wud, directly a' got a chance."

"Done what?" demanded Dorothy, her cheeks blanching with terror.