The Measure of a Man

"Dear God," she said, in a voice that none but God could hear, "give me good, plain, household understanding—let me keep in mind that there is no foolishness like falling out—help me to hold my temper well in hand so that I may put things right as fast as they go wrong. I am jealous about John—it is hard to give him up. Thou gavest him to me, Thou knowest. Oh, let nothing that happens unmother me!"

In this way she sat in the dark and silence and asked and waited for the answer. And no doubt it came, for about two o'clock she rose up like one that had been strengthened and went calmly to her rest.

In the morning the first shock of the coming change was over, the everyday use and wont of an orderly house restored the feeling of stability, and Martha told herself things might turn out better than looked likely. John was just as loving and attentive as he had always been, and when he asked her to call on Jane Harlow as soon as she could and give her welcome into the Hatton family, she did not impute his attentions to any selfish motive.

Nevertheless, it was as the Lady of Hatton Manor, rather than as John's mother, she went to make this necessary call. She dressed with the greatest care, and though she was a good walker, chose to have her victoria with its pair of white ponies carry her to the village. Jane met her at the gate of their villa and the few words of necessary welcome were spoken with a kindness which there was no reason to doubt.

With Mrs. Harlow Martha had a queer motherly kind of friendship, and it was really by her advice the ladies had been led to think of a return to Harlow House. For she saw that the elder woman was unhappy for want of some interest in life, and she was sure that the domestic instinct, as well as the instinct for buying and selling, was well developed in her and only wanted exercise. Indeed, an hour's conversation on the possibilities of Harlow House, of the money to be made on game, poultry, eggs, milk, butter, honey, fruit, had roused such good hopes in Mrs. Harlow's heart that she could hardly wait until the house was put in order and the necessary servants hired.

She relied on Martha like a child, and anyone who did that was sure of her motherly kindness. On this day Martha was particularly glad to turn the conversation on the subject. She spoke of Jane's marriage and pointed out what a comfort it would be when she was alone to be making a bit of money at every turn. "Why!" she cried enthusiastically. "Instead of moping over the fire with some silly tale of impossible tragedy, you will have your dairy and poultry to look after. Even in winter they bring in money, and there's game to send to market every week. Hares come as fast as they go, and partridge are hardy and plentiful. Why, there's a little fortune lying loose in Harlow! If I were you, I would make haste to pick it up."

This was a safe and encouraging subject, and Mrs. Hatton pressed it for all it was worth. It was only Jane that saw any objections to their immediate removal to Harlow House. She said Lord Harlow, as her nearest relative and the head of their house, had been written to that morning, being informed of her intended marriage, and she thought no fresh step ought to be taken until they heard from him.

But this or that, Martha Hatton spent more than two hours with the Harlow ladies, and she left them full of hope and enthusiasm. And oh, how good, how charming, how strengthening is a new hope in life! The two ladies were ten or twelve degrees higher in moral atmosphere when Mrs. Hatton left them than they had been before her call. And she went away laughing and saying pleasant things and the last flirt of her white kerchief as her victoria turned up the hill was like the flutter of some glad bird's wing.

In four days there was a letter of great interest and kindness from Lord Harlow. He said that he was well acquainted with Mr. John Hatton from many favorable sources and that the marriage arranged between him and his niece Jane Harlow was satisfactory in all respects. Further she was informed that Lady Harlow requested her company during the present season in London. It would, she said, be her duty and her pleasure to assist in getting ready her niece's wedding outfit, but she left her to fix the day on which she would come to London.

This letter was a little thunderbolt in the Harlow villa, and Jane said she could not go away until her mother was settled at Harlow House. John was much troubled at this early break in his love dream, but Mrs. Harlow would not listen to any refusal of Lord and Lady Harlow's invitation. She said Jane had never seen anything of life, and it was only right she should do so before settling down at Hatton. Besides, her uncle and aunt's gifts would be very necessary for her wedding outfit. In the privacy of her own thoughts—yes, and several times to her daughter—she sighed deeply over this late kindness of Lord and Lady Harlow. She wished that Jane had been asked before she was engaged; nobody knew in that case what good fortune might have come. It was such a pity!

Mrs. Harlow's removal was not completed until Christmas was so close at hand that it was thought best to make it the time for their return home. It was really John and Mrs. Hatton who managed the whole business of the removal, and to their efforts the complete comfort—and even beauty—of the old residence was due. But the days spent in this work were days full of the sweet intimacies of love. John could never forget one hour of them, and it added to their charm to see and hear Martha Hatton everywhere, her hands making beauty and comfort, her voice sounding like a cheerful song in all the odd corners and queer places of the house.

Upon the whole it was a wonderful Christmas, but when it was over the realities of life were to face. Jane was going to London and John wondered how he was to bear the days without her. In the spring he would begin to build the house for himself he had long contemplated building. The plan of it had been fully explained to Jane, and had been approved by her, and John was resolved to break ground for the foundation as soon as it was possible to do so. And he calculated somewhat on the diversion he would find in building a home for the woman he so dearly loved.

Then the parting came, and John with tears and misgivings sent his darling into the unknown world of London. It was a great trial to him; fears and doubts and sad forebodings gave him tragic hours. It was a new kind of loneliness that he felt; nothing like it had ever come to him before.

"My food has lost all flavor," he said to his mother, "and I cannot get any good sleep. I am very unhappy."

"Well, my dear," she answered, "if you don't turn your suffering into some sort of gain, you'll be a great loser. But if you turn it into patience or good hope or good temper you will make gain out of it. You will buy it with a price. You will pay yourself down for it. It will be yours forever. To be plain with you, John, you have been peevish all day long. I wouldn't if I were you. Nothing makes life taste so bitter in your mouth as a peevish temper."

"Why, mother! What do you mean?"

"Just what I say, John, and it is not like you. You have no real trouble. Jane Harlow is having what any girl would call a happy time. There is nothing wrong in it. She does not forget you, and you must not make troubles out of nothing, or else real troubles are sure to come. Surely you know who to go to in your trouble?"

"Yes! Yes! In anxiety and fear we learn how necessary it was that God should come to us as man. 'It is our flesh that we seek and that we find in the Godhead. It is a face like my face that receives me, a Man like to me that I love and am loved by forever.' I have learned how necessary the revelation of Christ was in these lonely weeks. I did not know I was cross. I will mend that."

"Do, my dear. It isn't like John Hatton to be cross. No, it isn't!"

Slowly the winter passed. John went several times to London during it and was kindly and honorably entertained by Lord Harlow during his visits. Then he saw his Jane in environments that made him a little anxious about the future. Surrounded by luxury, a belle and favorite in society, a constant participator in all kinds of amusement and the recipient of much attention, how would she like to settle down to the exact monotony of life at Hatton?

It was well for John that he had none of the Hellenic spirit in him. He was not tempted to sit down and contemplate his worries. No, the Hebrew spirit was the nobler one, and he persistently chose it—"get thee forth into their midst, and whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might." John instinctively followed this advice, so that even his employees noticed his diligence and watchfulness about everything going on.

In the earliest days of April when spring was making the world fresh and lovely and filling the balmy air with song, John thought of the home for himself that he would build and he determined to see the man who was to dig the foundation that night. He had just received a letter from Jane, and she said she was weary of London, and longing to be with her dear mother at Harlow House, or indeed anywhere that would allow her to see him every day. A very little kindness went a long way with John and such words lying near his heart made him wonderfully happy. And because he was happy he was exceedingly busy. Even Greenwood did not trouble him with observations; and official conversation was reduced to monosyllables. People came in and left papers and went out without a word; and there was a pressure on John to "do whatsoever his hand found to do with all his might."

Suddenly the door was flung open with unrestricted force and noise and John raised his head to reprove the offender. Instead of this, he rose from his chair and with open arms took his brother to his heart. "Why, Harry!" he cried. "Mother will be glad to see you. I was thinking of you while I dressed myself this morning. When did you reach England?"

"I got to London three days ago."

"Never! I wouldn't tell mother that! She will think you ought to have been at Hatton three days ago."

"I had to look after Lucy, first thing. I found her, John, in Bradford in a sad state."

"I don't understand you, Harry."

"Her father had left her with a very strict aunt, and she was made to do things she never had done—work about the house, you know—and she looked ill and sorrowful and my heart ached for her. Her father was away from her, and she thought I had forgotten her. The dear little woman! I married her the next day."

"Henry Hatton! What are you saying?"

"I married there and then, as it were. It was my duty to do so."

"It was your will. There was no duty in it."

"Call it what you like, John. She is now my wife and I expect you and mother will remember this."

"You are asking too much of mother."

"You said you would stand by me in this matter."

"I thought you would behave with some consideration for others. Is it right for you to expect mother to take an entire stranger into her home, a girl for whom she had no liking? Why should mother do this?"

"Because I love the girl."

"You are shamelessly selfish, and a girl who could make a mother's love for you a pretext for entering Hatton Hall as her right is not a nice girl."

"Lucy has done nothing of the kind. She is satisfied in the hotel. Do you want me to stay at the hotel?"

"I should feel very much hurt if you did."

"But I shall stay where my wife stays."

"You had better go and see mother. What she does I will second."

"John, can you settle the matter of the mill now? I want no more to do with it and you know you promised to buy my share in that case."

"I want to build my home. I cannot build and buy at the same time."

"Why need you build? There is Hatton Hall for you, and mother will not object to the nobly born Jane Harlow."

"We will not talk of Miss Harlow. Harry, my dear, dear brother, you have come home to turn everything upside down. Let me have a little time to think. Go and see mother. I will talk to you immediately afterwards. Where did you leave the yacht?"

"At London. I disliked Captain Cook. I felt as if I was with a tutor of some sort all the time. He said he would take the yacht to her wharf at Whitby and then write to you. You ought to have a letter today. I don't think you are very glad to see me, John."

"Oh, Harry, you have married that girl, quite regardless of how your marriage would affect your family! You ought to have given us some time to prepare ourselves for such a change."

"Lucy was in trouble, and I could not bear to see her in trouble."

"Well, go and see mother. Perhaps you can bear mother's trouble more easily."

"I hope mother will be kinder to me than you have been. John, I have no money. Let me have a thousand pounds till we settle about the mill."