120

THE SAILOWS RETURN.

the merest trifles, no doubt, and hardly thought worthy
of notice by an indifferent person, but the mother valued
them at their true worth, for she knew they meant that
“her boy ” did not forget her, when he was far away, but
had her safe in a cherished corner of his heart.

So Willie came and went, and the pleasure of his
returns almost made up for the pain of his departures ;
and whenever he came home his mother always con-
trived to throw him in the way of Jane Barker, the miller’s
buxom daughter, who lived close by. ‘For,’ as she re-
marked to her husband, “she would make the boy a good
wife, and there would be nothing like a good wife to keep
him at home, and may be, he would go into the millering
business along with the girl’s father, who was getting
more and more rheumatic, and would be glad of a partner.
May be, he would take to that, for wasn’t the mill built
of wood, just like a ship; and hadn’t she sails, just like a
ship too?”

However, nothing came of it; and the old lady’s next
great trouble was that Willie, instead of making up to
Jane, whom she had picked out for him, must needs go
and set his affections on Mary Cole, the daughter of the
widow in reduced circumstances who lived in the little
red-brick cottage at the top of the hill. He had picked
her out for himself, and, like some other young men, had
a notion that, as the young woman was to be his wife,
and not his mother’s, he was to be the person whose
tastes and inclinations ought to be chiefly consulted in the
matter.

The Coles were not much liked in the village: they had
seen better days and stood on their dignity; there was a
kind of stiff sadness about both mother and daughter,
which not only showed that they felt themselves above
their neighbours, but made their neighbours feel that
they felt it; though old Mrs. Peekin at the post-office
aid, “ Why, Lor’ a mussy me, that’s impossible; how can
people that had been better off, and now is wuss off. be
better nor people as has been wuss off, and now is better off 2
It don’t stand to reason, nohow, and there ain’t no
betterness about it.”

The neighbours take their revenge upon the Coles for
their pride, as they called it, though indeed it was but
little more than depression of spirits, which had once
breathed a freer atmosphere, and swept a larger horizon,
than that in which they now lived, and with which they
had not come into harmony.

Little was known of their former history, but that they

sorrows had been aggravated by a scapegrace son of the |
widow’s, whose wild, reckless conduct had brought ruin
on his family, and whose name was never mentioned by
mother or sister.

Great then was the popular indignation, when it was
known that William Runeckles was engaged to the pale-
faced Mary, and old Mrs. Runeckles had plenty of sym-
pathizers in her regrets that her boy did not do like her
girls, and marry some one more like themselves. As for
old Runeckles, he did not put himself out on the question,
“No.” he said, “the boy was no boy now, he was old
enough to choose for himself: if he could keep a wife
without her bringing any money with her, why shouldn't
he, if he liked it. The girl was a good girl enough, not |
running about, and cackling, and gossiping like half the |
girls; but very quiet, steady, and stay-at-home.
Besides, my dear,” he would say to his wife, “if I had

had been better off, and it was quite unknown how their |

gone looking about for a money-bag instead of a wife,
perhaps you and I should not have come together, and
perhaps neither of us would have done so well as we have
done.”

Anyhow the young man got his way, and his wife ;
and took a little house for her at the seaport-town about
twenty miles off, where he was part owner in a fishing-
smack, though he still went to sea on longer voyages.

So all went well with them for a time, and Mary lived
a happier life than she had done for a long while, grew
quite cheerful and hearty with it, though chequered by
the absences and anxieties which are the lot of a sailor’s
wife. In process of time a daughter was born to them,
“our Polly,” so ridiculously like her father, even in her
first babyhood, that old Mrs. Runeckles positively cried,
because it was not a boy, and so could not be called
William.

All went well for a time, till on one occasion, when
William had returned only a few days from one of his
voyages, had found his wife more cheerful, and his home
more comfortable than ever, he began to talk about his
good fortune to an old acquaintance, one Robert Girdle
(Rasping Gridiron was his nickname), over a pot of beer
one evening,

“ Did any body have ever such a managing wife as mine ?
Why, hang me,” said he, “it ain’t over much she have to
do with, and see if she hay’nt half new furnished the
house, that I hardly know’d it.”

“Well,” answered Girdle, “if she’v done that, she’s a
wonder.”

“ Tf she’ve done that,” replied William, “why I see’d it
with my own eyes.”

“See’d what ?” said Girdle.

“The furniture,” said William.

“ Ay,” said Girdle, “but you don’t see the money

| what bought it, do you? and there’s them as says you

never did, and that it was not fairly come by.”

“What do you mean ?” eried William.

“YT mean,” replied Girdle in his rasping voice, “ that
she’s young, and pretty, and lovely; and there’s been a
foreign-looking gentleman about here of late, been skulk-
ing about after her, and it’s since he’s been in these parts
that she’ve got all these things in the house. I dessay
she never told you nothing about him—now, did she 2”

William turned ashy pale, and gasped out, “ No.”

“Well,” continued Girdle, “ that’s my opinion, and,

what's more, it’s my opinion she’s gone to meet him now. |

She think you're all safe in here, and I seed her go down

the street towards the bridge, where she often go towards |

the edge of the evening.”

eae
Winttam said not another word, but got up, leit the
house, and walked slowly in the direction indicated, like
aman in a dream.
He passed across the market-place with eyes wide open
but sightless, a boy in a butcher's cart nearly drove over
him, but he neither heard his shout of warning, nor

_ observed that the wheel all but grazed his shoulder; he

went down the High Street, but returned no greetings:
men looked at him twice, thought it was he, thought they

_had been mistaken. He looked up mechanically at the

tall grey tower of the church with its buttresses and

eee eee