The Parson O' Dumford

“No!” said Joe, quietly.

“No,” said Mrs Glaire, clearing her throat and speaking rather excitedly. “You know I spoke to you once before, Joe Banks, about – about – ”

“There, don’t beat about, Missus,” said Joe, with a happy smile spreading over his countenance. “I know, about Master Dick and my Daisy.”

“Yes,” said Mrs Glaire, “and I spoke to my son about it.”

“Did you?” chuckled Joe. “Well, I never spoke a word to my gal.”

“I spoke to my son,” continued Mrs Glaire, “and pointed out the impossibility and impropriety of his proceedings.”

“Did you, though?” chuckled Joe. “Why, lor’ a mercy, Missus, what’s the good o’ being so proud? Flesh and blood’s flesh and blood all the world over.”

“I talked to him earnestly upon the point,” said Mrs Glaire, not heeding the interruption.

“Theer, theer,” said Joe, smiling. “What good was it? why did you do it?”

“And my son saw the force of my remarks, and gave me his promise that he would see Daisy no more.”

“Ah, he did, did he?” chuckled Joe. “He promised you that?”

“Yes,” said Mrs Glaire, angrily; “and he has broken his promise.”

“Of course he has,” said Joe, chuckling. “You might ha’ known it. When a young couple like them comes together, it’s no use for the old uns to try and stop it. They’ll manage it somehow. They’re sure to be too many for you.”

“Joe Banks, you put me out of patience,” cried Mrs Glaire, angrily. “Can you not see how important this matter is?”

“Important? Of course I do,” said Joe, quietly, “a very important step for both of ’em.”

“Listen!” cried Mrs Glaire; “things are coming to a crisis, and for your sake they must be stopped.”

“Strikes me,” said Joe, bluntly, “that you’re thinking a vast more of yourself, Missus Glaire, than of me.”

“I’m thinking of the future of my son and of your daughter, Mr Banks,” said Mrs Glaire.

“So am I,” said Joe, quietly; “but you’re so proud.”

“I tell you, man, that I met them this evening together in the wood,” cried Mrs Glaire. “My son, with Daisy, your child, in his arms.”

“Ah, you did, did you, Missus?” said Joe, chuckling. “He was kissing of her, I suppose.”

“Yes,” exclaimed Mrs Glaire, indignantly.

“Well, I thought as much,” said Joe, quietly. “The lass had got a rare red face when I met her as she come in.”

“Do you hear what I say?” cried Mrs Glaire angrily. “I say I saw them to-night in the wood, after he had promised me to give her up.”

“Oh, yes,” said Joe, in a calm, unruffled way, “I heard you say so, and if you’d been in the wood every day for the past month, I’d bet you’d ha’ sin ’em. They’re often theer.”

“Joe Banks!” cried Mrs Glaire, half rising from her chair.

“Theer, theer, Missus, what’s the good o’ making a fuss, and being so proud? I’ve give my Daisy a good eddication, and she’s quite a scholard. She can write as pretty a letter as any one need wish to see, and keeps accounts beautiful.”

“Joe Banks, you are blind,” cried Mrs Glaire, passionately. “I want to save your child from shame, and you – ”

“Howd hard theer – howd hard theer, Missus,” cried Joe, rising; and his rugged face flushed up. “I respect you, Missus Glaire, like a man, and I don’t wonder as it touches your pride a bit, but I won’t sit here and hear you talk like that theer. My Daisy’s as good and honest a girl as ever stepped, and I’d troost her anywheers; while, as to your son, he’s arbitrary, but you’ve browt him up as a gentleman, and do you think I’m going to believe he means harm by my darling? No, no, I know better.”

“But, you foolish man – ”

“Missus Glaire, I won’t call you a foolish woman; I’ve too much respect for you; but I think so, and I think as it isn’t me as is blind, but some one else. Theer, theer, what’s the good of kicking again it. They’ve made up their minds to come together, and you may just as well let ’em by the gainest coot, as send ’em a long ways round. But, theer, Missus, don’t think like that of your own flesh and blood. Why, Missus, am I to respect your son more than you do yoursen?”

“Dick has deceived me,” cried Mrs Glaire, with the tears running down her cheeks.

“Well, but it won’t anser,” said Joe, calming down. “He’s fond o’ the lass, and he was standing ’tween her and you,” he continued, smiling at his own imagery. “You was pulling one way and she was pulling the other, and young love pulled the strongest. Of course it did, as was very natural.”

“Will you send Daisy away, and try and stop it?” cried Mrs Glaire, angrily.

“No, I won’t do neither,” said Joe, stoutly. “Why should I? What call is there for me to go again my master and make my lass miserable, because you think she ain’t good enough for your boy?”

“Then I must act, Joe Banks,” said Mrs Glaire, “for see her he shall not.”

“Theer, theer, what can you do?” chuckled Joe. “Better let things go their own way.”

“I tell you, man, that for your daughter’s sake, you ought to put a stop to this.”

“I can’t stop it,” said Joe, smiling; “nor no one else. You tried, and found you couldn’t, so what could I do? Let ’em alone, and my Daisy shan’t disgrace you; and look here, if it’s money, I’ve got a thousand pounds saved up, and it’s all hers. Theer!”

“Man, man, what can I say to you?” said Mrs Glaire, checkmated by the obstinate faith of Banks in her son.

“Nowt,” said Joe, sturdily; “what’s the good o’ talking? Take my advice, Missus Glaire – let things bide.”

Mrs Glaire wrung her hands in despair as she gazed enviously in the frank, bluff workman’s face, and wished that she could feel the same calm trust in the boy who had been her sole thought for so many years, and as she gazed Joe Banks said sturdily:

“Look here, Missus, no offence meant; but they do say as marriages is made in heaven.”

“Yes, Joe, marriages,” exclaimed Mrs Glaire, passionately.

“Well, I weer a-talking about marriages,” said Joe, quietly; “so you take my advice and let things bide.”

“You will not take my advice, Banks,” exclaimed Mrs Glaire. “But, look here, I have warned you, I have begged of you to help me, and you refuse.”

“O’ course I do,” said Joe Banks, sturdily. “I’m not going to fight again my own flesh and blood on a question o’ position. Look here,” he continued, now speaking angrily, “I never was jealous of my old master’s rise in life, and I stuck to him and helped him, and he made me promise to stick by and help his son; and that I’m going to do, for I don’t believe if he’d been alive he’d ha’ been owt but pleased to see his boy make up to my gal. It ain’t my seeking: it’s Master Dick’s. He loves she, and she loves he, and before I’ll step ’twixt ’em, and say as one workman’s son’s too big for the other workman’s daughter, I’ll be – . No, I won’t, not before you, Missus; and now good night, and I wish the strike well ended.”

Joe Banks swung out of the room with all the sturdy independence of a man with a thousand pounds of his own, and then made his way home, while Mrs Glaire sat as it were stunned.

“What can I do? What can I do?” she muttered; and then sat thinking till Eve, looking very pale and ill, walked softly into the room, and knelt by her side, turning up her sad face and red eyes to those of the troubled mother.

“Aunt, dear,” she whispered, “Dick has just come in, and gone up to his room. Shall we ask him to come down to us?”