Eli's Children: The Chronicles of an Unhappy Family

“Father, I have sinned against heaven and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son.”

“Yes, and I should forgive him,” he continued, after a pause. “I do try to practise as I preach. Poor Cyril! poor wilful boy. I pray heaven that my thoughts have been doing thee wrong.”

There was a gentle smile upon his lips then as he took the manuscript of his sermon and tore it up into very small pieces before consigning it to the waste-paper basket.

“No,” he said, “I must not preach a sermon such as that: it is too prophetic of my own position with my sons;” and as we know this prodigal did return penniless, having worked his way back in a merchant brig, to present himself one day at the rectory in tarry canvas trousers, with blackened horny hands and a reckless defiant look in his eyes that startled the quiet people of the place.

He made no reference as to his having wasted his substance; he talked not of sin, and he alluded in nowise to forgiveness, to being made as one of his father’s hired servants, but took his place coolly enough once more in the house, and if no fatted calf was killed, and no rejoicings held, he was heartily welcomed and forgiven once again.

He was his mother’s favourite, and truly, in spite of all, there was forgiveness ready in the father’s heart. As there was also for Frank, who after some years’ silence had suddenly walked in at the rectory gates, rough-looking and boisterous, but not in such a condition as his brother, who had quite scandalised the men-servants, neatly clad in the liveries, of which a new supply had come from London, greatly to the disgust of Smithson in the market-place, who literally scowled at every seam.

Part 1, Chapter XVI.
At the King’s Head

“What I say is this,” exclaimed Jabez Fullerton. “Justice is justice, and right is right.”

“Hear, hear!” murmured several voices, as Mr Fullerton glanced round the room, and drew himself up with the pride of a man who believed that he had said something original.

“I hope I’m too good a Christian to oppose the parson,” he continued, “and I wouldn’t if it had been Mr Paulby, but it’s time we stopped somewhere, gentlemen.”

“Hear, hear!” again; and several of the gentlemen addressed took their long pipes from their mouths to say it, and then, replacing them, continued to smoke.

“Ever since parson has been back he has been meddling and interfering. First he kills poor old Sammy Warmoth. Broke his heart, he did. Then he makes Joe Biggins saxon, a man most unfitted for the post, gentlemen. I say a man most unfitted for the post.”

“Hear, hear!”

“Chap as is always looking at you as if he wanted to measure you for a coffin,” said Smithson, the tailor.

“Natural enough,” said the Churchwarden, chuckling; “you always look at our clothes, Smithson, eh?”

“Ay, I do, Master Portlock, sir; but I don’t want you to die for it. I want you to live and grow stout, and want new suits, not a last one.”

“Stiff, hard suit o’ mourning, eh, Smithson, made o’ wood?”

“Yes, sir, well seasoned; ellum, eh?”

There was a general laugh at this lugubrious joking, and Fullerton tapped impatiently with his pipe-bowl upon the table.

“I say, gentlemen, a most unsuitable man,” he continued.

“Who would you have had then?” said Churchwarden Portlock.

“Why Thomas Morrison, the wheelwright,” said Fullerton, “if you must have a churchman.”

“Yes, a good man,” was murmured in assent.

“Then he must be pulling the church all to pieces, and quarrelling with the curate, and refusing to bury his dead. We wouldn’t have refused to bury our dead at chapel, gentlemen.”

“Not you,” chuckled Portlock. “You’d like to bury the lot of us, parson and all.”

“Gentlemen, this is begging the question,” said Fullerton, with plump dignity, and he settled his neck in his white cravat. “What I say is, that I have no enmity against the parson, nayther have you.”

“Nay, nay,” said Warton, the saddler, who had the rectory pair horse harness on his mind, the new double set, that he saw, by the name on the packing-case, came from Peak’s; “we only pity him. He has plenty of trouble wi’ those two boys of his. I hear the Bad Shilling’s come back now.”

“Ay, he’s back,” said Smithson. “I’ve got a pair of his trousers to mend. One never gets anything to make. Up at thy place last night, wasn’t he, Master Portlock?”

The Churchwarden nodded.

“Nice boys!” said Smithson. “Dessay the father was like ’em, for the girls really are nice, like their mother.”

“Then he was twice as hard as he need be on Jock Morrison,” continued Fullerton, who would finish. “Fancy sending a man to gaol for three months just when his brother’s got a death in the house.”

“Fair play,” cried Portlock. “The bairn died afterwards.”

“Well, maybe it did,” said Fullerton, “but he needn’t have been so hard on the poor bairn’s uncle. Why not give him another chance? He’s no worse in his way than the parson’s boys are in theirs.”

“Boys will be boys,” said Smithson, who wondered whether that pair of trousers to mend might result in an order for a suit.

Fullerton was impatient, and cut in almost before the tailor had finished.

“Clergymen’s all very well in their way, gentlemen, but the dismissing of old schoolmasters and appointing of new ones don’t seem to me to be in their way, especially where there’s governors to a school.”

“Parson’s a governor too,” said Warton, the saddler.

“Ex officio?” said Tomlinson, the ironmonger, who kept the bank.

“Of course, of course,” acquiesced Fullerton, who had not the least idea of what ex officio meant; “but I said it before, and I said it to parson’s own face, just the same as I’m saying it here behind his back, and any man who likes can tell him what I said,” and he looked round defiantly as he spoke; “what I say is, that, whatever Humphrey Bone’s faults may be, he’s as good a land measurer as ever stepped.”

“Yes, he is that,” said a broad farmer-looking man. “Joseph Portlock, you said the very same thing to me yesternight.”

“He’s a first-class penman.”

“Capital,” said Tomlinson.

“And if you know a man with a clearer head for figures,” continued Fullerton, “I should be glad to see him.”

“Capital man at ciphering,” said Smithson, the tailor, whose yearly accounts Humphrey Bone always made up.

“Then, what do you want?” said Fullerton, angrily. “We’ve all got our faults, and if Humphrey Bone does take a little too much sometimes, hasn’t he been master of Lawford school these thirty years?”

The latter part of Jabez Fullerton’s argument was not very clear to his fellow-townsmen assembled at their weekly social meeting at the King’s Head; but they all granted that they had their faults, and Jabez Fullerton waved the spoon with which he had been stirring his brandy-and-water in a very statesmanlike way.

“Look here,” he said, “I never go to church, for chapel’s good enough for me; but all the same I don’t bear enmity against the church, and never would.”

“But you did oppose the church rates, Fullerton,” said Tomlinson, with a chuckle.

“On principle, neighbour, on principle; I couldn’t help that. But in this case what I say is, that though I’d be the last man in the world to oppose parson, it would be a disgrace to the town if we let poor Humphrey Bone be pitched out of the living, just because parson wants the place for Churchwarden Ross’s boy.”

“Well, I don’t know what to say about it,” said Tomlinson, smoking meditatively at his pipe. “Michael Ross is a very good neighbour of mine, and brings his money to our bank regular. I should be sorry to hurt his feelings, ’specially as his boy has been to London on purpose to be trained.”

“Let him get a school somewhere else. There’s always plenty on the way, I’ll be bound.”

“Don’t seem to me as the boys’ll take to a lad as was brought up, as you may say, among ’em,” said Smithson. “Bless my soul, gentlemen, I made that boy his fust suit with three rows o’ brass buttons, with marigolds stamped on ’em. Bottle-green the suit was, and the trousers buttoned over the jacket. You know, Fullerton; I had the cloth of you.”

“Oh, yes, I know,” said the draper suavely.

“Well,” continued Smithson —

“Excuse me, Smithson,” said Fullerton, “we’re just discussing the question of Mr Mallow carrying everything with a high hand, and turning out old Humphrey Bone without our consent.”

Smithson, the tailor, jumped up, scowled round at the assembled company, stuck his hat upon his head with a bang, and walked straight out of the room.

“He’s huffed,” said Fullerton, with a sidewise wag of the head, “but I can’t help his being offended. When a man becomes a public man, he’s got a public man’s dooty to do to his fellow townsfolk, and at times like this he’s bound to speak. So what I say, gentlemen, is this; will you all come to the meeting to-morrow, and back me up?”

No one spoke, and it was remarkable that every man present just then seemed to feel his mouth dry, and reached out his hand for his glass.

“I say again, gentlemen,” cried Fullerton, “will you all come and back me up?”

Every man present seemed to consider that it was the duty of the others to speak out and tackle Fullerton – so they mentally put it – and each looked at the other in turn without avail, till the regards of all present seemed to be concentrated upon Tomlinson, the ironmonger, who after a little hesitation said —

“I don’t think it was wise to upset Smithson. It’s like sending a man over to the enemy.”

“I hope he hasn’t got a long bill against you for clothes, Fullerton,” said Warton, the saddler, with a chuckle. “You’ll have it in before it comes due.”

“If I owed my tailor a bill I dare say I could pay it, Mr Warton,” said Fullerton, haughtily; “and I should be glad to know, gentlemen, whether you mean to discuss the question of the appointment of a new master, because if you don’t I shall throw the whole matter up.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” came in a murmur; “don’t do that, Fullerton,” and an appealing look was directed at Tomlinson, who drew a long breath, refreshed himself, and went on.

“You see I don’t think it would be wise to go and upset Mr Mallow if we could help it,” he said; “he’s a very good customer of mine, and very neighbourly. I don’t think he’s a bad sort of man.”

“Not a bad sort of man!” cried Fullerton, indignantly; “why, it’s a burning shame for him to have charge of this parish at all. What’s a parson for?”

“Well,” said Tomlinson, mildly, “I suppose to have the care of the parish.”

“Yes, and to rule and manage it,” said Warton.

“Yes,” cried Fullerton, “of course; and here’s a man who can’t manage his own household, which is the wastefullest in the place.”

“Might keep your family on what they waste, eh, Fullerton?” said Warton, the saddler, with a chuckle, for he was a great friend of Smithson; and it was a fact often commented upon by neighbours, that Fullerton’s domestic economy was of the most parsimonious character.

“I’m not the man to eat the parson’s leavings,” said Fullerton, angrily, “nor yet the man to go cringing and touching my hat to him in hopes of getting a harness-mending order.”

Mr Warton refilled his pipe.

“I say,” continued Fullerton, “that a man who can’t rule his own sons can’t properly rule a parish.”

“Nay, nay, nay,” cried Tomlinson; “don’t be too hard upon him, man. He’s a very good sort of fellow is Mallow, and I should be very sorry to go against him.”

“But you will go against him,” said Fullerton, triumphantly; and he looked very hard in the ironmonger’s face.

Mr Tomlinson’s pipe needed seeing to just then, and he let his eyes rest upon the glowing fire therein, as he recalled certain little speculative money transactions that had taken place between him and Fullerton, and felt how awkward it might be if he offended his fellow-townsman.

It would be very awkward to have to side against the Rector, but of two evils Tomlinson felt bound to choose the least.

“I’m afraid that in this instance I must go against Mr Mallow,” said Tomlinson, deliberately; and Fullerton gave a triumphant glance round the room.

“Hah!” he said to himself, “there’s a wonderful power in money, and one never knows what it will do.”

Part 1, Chapter XVII.
The Governors’ Meeting

Market morning again at Lawford, and the customary business going on. There were a few pigs in the pens; a larger amount of butter than usual at the cross, some of it holding a good two ounces of salt to the pound. A sale by auction of some old furniture was to take place, and gigs, cars, and carts were coming in.

The rectory carriage, with Julia and Cynthia Mallow looking sweet and attractive enough to tempt the tradespeople who quarrelled with the father to touch their hats, came in quite early, setting down the Rector, who had to visit the bookseller’s and order a new volume for the society library, and soon after he was on his way to the chief point of attraction that morning, to wit, the special meeting of the governors of Lawford School, with the Rector in the chair.

The meeting, according to custom, had been called for the vestry-room, which would only comfortably hold six, and then adjourned to the King’s Head, where the townspeople and those interested in the important event were gathered in force.

Thirty years before, when Humphrey Bone obtained his appointment, only three people were present – to wit, the then rector of the parish and a couple of governors. But there was no opposition in those days. Dissent had not taken so strong a hold on the little town, and the disposition for making a party fight over every trifling matter had not grown into the ascendant.

On this particular day, however, though to a man every one present, whether Nonconformist or supporter of Church and State, would have stoutly denied that party feeling or local politics had anything to do with his presence, it was very evident that there were two opposing sides, and that the meeting was pretty evenly divided between the supporters of the Rector, who believed in the time being come for the appointment of a new master, and those who nailed their colours to the mast old style, and openly declared that any change made must be for the worse.

Humphrey Bone was there one of the first, making the boards echo with his thick boot, and it was noticed that the said boot had been thoroughly blacked, that Humphrey was well shaved, his hair had been cut, and that he had on a clean white shirt.

Fullerton was there, too, talking to him aside, and Tomlinson, Smithson, and Warton soon put in an appearance, one and all looking as important and solemn as if the constitution of the country were at stake, in place of so mild a question as that which was to be settled – whether Humphrey Bone was to be superseded, or not.

The room was growing pretty full. Michael Ross, the tanner, had entered, followed by his son, who looked very pale and determined, speaking in a quick, decided way to Portlock, the churchwarden, who came up and shook hands with both his father and him in turn.

Then the Rector entered, followed by Cyril, who sauntered into the room with a careless air, nodding at first one and then another, till his eyes met those of Luke Ross, when he started slightly, but returned the keen fixed gaze with one full of angry resentment before looking down.

Then there was a little bustle and settling down in seats as the Rector took the chair. The vestry clerk opened a big calf-skin covered book, stuck a new quill pen behind his ear, and drew the ink a little nearer to him, when there was a breathless pause, during which all who could looked from Luke Ross, the young, to Humphrey Bone, the old, as if they were the champions of the two causes assembled here, and as though they were expected to come forward in front of the Rector’s chair and do battle manfully for the post.

Then the Rector quietly announced that the meeting that day was for the purpose of confirming the appointment of the new master to the boys’ school, and also to accept the resignation of the late master, Mr Humphrey Bone.

“Never resigned,” shouted that individual; and he involuntarily wiped his mouth, as if to remove all traces of his having been seeking for support at the King’s Head bar.

Mr Mallow frowned slightly, and there was a low buzz of satisfaction on one side of the room.

“Didn’t resign, and don’t want to resign,” said Humphrey Bone more loudly, being encouraged by the looks of approbation he received.

“And to confirm the dismissal of Mr Humphrey Bone from the office of master of the school,” said the Rector, firmly. “I beg pardon, gentlemen, I was under the impression that Mr Bone had resigned. I may add, gentlemen, that the preliminaries have been settled at the former meeting, and all that is requisite now is for a majority of the governors to sign the minute that the clerk to the vestry will prepare. If any gentleman has a remark or two he would like to make, we shall be most happy to hear him.”

“Yes, that’s easy enough to say,” whispered Warton to Smithson. “He’s used to speaking in public. I always feel as if my heart’s getting into my mouth.”

“Mr Fullerton, I think, wishes to address you, gentlemen,” said the Rector, smiling and sitting down.

Mr Fullerton looked as if he would have liked to strangle the Rector for that smile. It was a perfectly innocent smile, in no wise directed at the would-be speaker, but it seemed to Fullerton that the Rector was ridiculing him, and it put him off his text for the moment, but he recovered himself, and in a very florid speech, full of wanderings from the point, opposed the appointment of a new master on the ground that Humphrey Bone having been duly nominated and appointed, unless he had in some special way become unfit for his post, the Rector had no right to dismiss him.

Mr Bone uttered a very loud “Hear, hear!”

Two more of the townsmen, followers of Fullerton, rose in turn to speak, but were silenced on the spot by the announcement of the Rector, that this was not an ordinary meeting of ratepayers, but of the governors of the school, who alone had a right to make any motion and speak to the proposition before the meeting.

This being so, Tomlinson was forced into action by his neighbour, and in smooth tones regretted that he was compelled to go in opposition to “our worthy Rector,” but, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, he must object to the appointment of so young a man as Mr Luke Ross to so important a post, and after a long speech, in which he went round and round the subject a dozen times, he ended by declaring that he should vote against the appointment.

To his annoyance, the Rector, as the meeting went on, found himself undoubtedly in the minority, and he felt bitterly the position in which Luke Ross had been placed.

Just then, however, a couple of the governors, upon whom he knew that he could depend, entered the room, and the tables, he felt, were turned.

Luke had been sitting, chafing at every word that had been said against his appointment, and every now and then, as he met Cyril Mallow’s eye, it seemed to him to be full of triumph at his discomfiture.

Then, too, he kept glancing at Portlock, and as he did so the bluff, wealthy farmer’s words came back, mingled with the contempt he seemed to feel for the pittance that was to be the young master’s for the first few years.

Five hundred a year – five hundred a year – seemed to keep repeating itself to Luke Ross, as his eyes once more met those of Cyril Mallow, whose countenance wore a decided sneer.

“Then now, gentlemen, I think,” said the Rector, “we will proceed to vote.”

“Stop!” cried Luke Ross.

It was on the impulse of the moment. He had had no such thought when he entered the room.

“We will hear you, Mr Ross, after the voting is over,” said the Rector, quietly.

“No, sir,” replied Luke, “I must ask you to hear me first. I have decided not to accept the post.”

There was a dead silence in the room for a few moments after Luke Ross’s decisive words, a silence broken by Humphrey Bone, who relieved the excitement under which he laboured by starting from his seat, and bringing his thick-soled boot down with a tremendous clump upon the floor.

“Do I understand you to say, Mr Ross, that you decline the post?” exclaimed the Rector.

“Yes, sir, definitely,” replied Luke. “I could not, under the circumstances, think of accepting the appointment.”

There was another pause here, and then, led by Fullerton, the opposition party broke into a loud cheer.

“Silence if you please, gentlemen,” exclaimed the Rector, with a greater show of indignation than any one present remembered him to have displayed. “This is no time for showing party feeling. Of course, as Mr Ross declines to accept the appointment – ”

“But he don’t,” cried old Michael Ross, “he wants time to think it over.”

“Hush, father,” exclaimed the young man, firmly, “I know my own mind. Mr Mallow, I am sorry to have given all this trouble, and, as it were, placed you in a false position; but until a few minutes back I did not see this matter in the light I do now, and I definitely decline the post.”

“Your action does you great credit, young man,” said Fullerton, pompously; “and I am glad to congratulate my fellow-townsman, Michael Ross, on the possession of such a son.”

“Your compliment is misplaced, sir,” said Luke, coldly, “for my action in this matter is in nowise creditable to me. But that is my affair, and it need not be discussed.”

Mr Fullerton scowled on receiving this snub, and he was about to make some angry retort, but the Rector said at once —

“Then, gentlemen, we need say no more, unless you wish to discuss the question of Mr Bone’s dismissal.”

“I claim,” said Fullerton, “that he cannot be dismissed.”

“A majority of the school governors have the power to dismiss him, Mr Fullerton,” replied the Rector, with dignity; and after a few more words he left the chair, the meeting being declared adjourned until application had been made to one of the institutions for another master.

“I am sorry to find that you have come to such a decision, Mr Ross,” said the Rector, as he encountered Luke outside the inn.

“I was sorry to come to such a decision, sir,” replied Luke; “but, believe me that I have been in no way influenced by those who seem to be in opposition to you, and I hope that you will persist in Humphrey Bone’s dismissal, and the appointment of another man.”

The Rector bowed and walked on with his son, who raised his hat slightly to Luke, that salute being returned as the young men’s eyes met once more, each reading in those of the other a growing dislike which must some day ripen into enmity.

Then they passed on their several ways, both having the same object in view.