Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles. Henry Wood

we shall be helped to struggle on!"

      "Who will buy us new clothes?" cried Frank, dropping upon another phase of the difficulty. Jane sighed: it was all terribly indistinct.

      "In all the tribulation that will probably come upon us, the humiliations, the necessities, we must strive for patience to bear them. You do not yet understand the meaning of the term, to bear; but you will learn it all too soon. You must bear not only for your own sakes, because it is your lot, and you cannot go from it; not only for mine, but chiefly because it is the will of God. This affliction could not have come upon us unless God had permitted it, and I am quite sure, therefore, that it is in some way sent for our good. We shall not be utterly miserable if we can keep together in our house. You will aid me in it, will you not?"

      "In what way, mamma?" they eagerly asked, as if wishing to begin something then. "What can we do?"

      "You can aid me by being dutiful and obedient; by giving me no unnecessary anxiety or trouble; by cheerfully making the best of our privations; and you can strive to retain what you have already learnt by going diligently over your lessons together. All this will aid and comfort me."

      William's tears burst forth, and he laid his head on his mother's lap. "Oh, mamma dear, I will try and do for you all I can," he sobbed. "I will indeed."

      "Take comfort, my boy," she whispered, leaning tenderly over him. "Remember that your last act to your father was a loving sacrifice, in giving to him the orange that you would have enjoyed. I marked it, William. My darling children, let us all strive to bear on steadfastly to that far-off light, ever looking unto God."

      CHAPTER XVI.

      TROUBLE

      A week elapsed, after the burial of Mr. Halliburton. By that time Jane had looked fully into the best and worst of her condition, and had, so to say, organised her plans. By the disposal of the watch, with what little silver they possessed, and ornaments of her own, she had been enabled to discharge the expenses of the funeral and other small debts, and to retain a trifle in hand for present wants.

      On the last day of the week, Saturday, she received an application for the rent. A stylish-looking stripling of some nineteen years, with light eyes and fair hair, called from Mr. Dare to demand it. Jane told him she could not pay him then, but would write and explain to Mr. Dare. Upon which the gentleman, whose manners were haughtily condescending, turned on his heel and left the house, not deigning to say good morning. As he was swinging out at the gate, Patience, coming home from market with a basket in her hand, met him. "How dost thee?" said she in salutation. But there was no response from the other, except that his head went a shade higher.

      "Do you know who that is?" inquired Jane, afterwards.

      "Of a surety. It is young Anthony Dare."

      "He has not pleasing manners."

      "Not to us. There is not a more arrogant youth in the town. But his private character is not well spoken of."

      Jane sat down to write to Mr. Dare. Her brother Francis, to whom she had explained her situation, had promised her the rent for the half-year due, sixteen pounds, by the middle of February. He could not let her have it before that period, he said, but she might positively count upon it then. She begged Mr. Dare to accord her the favour of waiting until then. Sealing her note, she sent it to him.

      On the Monday following, all was in readiness to let; and Jane was full of hope, looking for the advent of lodgers. The best parlour and the two best bedrooms had been vacated, and were in order. Jane slept now with her little girl, and the boys had mattresses laid down for them on the floor at the top of the house. They were to make the study their sitting-room from henceforth; and a card in the window displayed the announcement "Lodgings." The more modern word "apartments" had not then come into fashion at Helstonleigh.

      Patience came in after breakfast with a piece of grey merino in her hand.

      "Would thee like to make a frock for Anna?" asked she of Mrs. Halliburton. "Sarah Locke does them for her mostly, for it is work that I am not clever at; but Sarah sends me word she is too full of work this week to undertake it. I heard thee say thee made Janey's frocks. If thee can do this, and earn half-a-crown, thee art welcome. It is what I should pay Sarah."

      Jane took the merino in thankfulness. It was as a ray of hope, come to light up her heart. Only the instant before Patience entered she was wishing that something could arrive for her to do, never supposing that it would arrive. And now it had come!—and would bring her in two-and-sixpence! "Two-and-sixpence!" we may feel inclined to echo, in undisguised contempt for the trifle. Ay! but we may never have known the yearning want of two-and-sixpence, or of ten-and-sixpence either!

      Jane cut out the skirt by a pattern frock, and sat down to make it, her mind ruminating on the future. The children were at their lessons, round the table. "I have just two pounds seventeen and sixpence left," deliberated Jane. "This half-crown will make it three pounds. I wonder how long we can live upon that? We have good clothes, and for the present the boys' boots are good. If I can let the rooms we shall have the rent, so that food is the chief thing to look to. We must spin the money out; must live upon bread and potatoes and a little milk, until something comes in. I wonder if five shillings a week would pay for bare food, and for coals? I fear–"

      Jane's dreams were interrupted. The front gate was swung open, and two people, men or gentlemen, approached the house door and knocked. Their movements were so quick that Jane caught only a glimpse of them. "See who it is, will you, William?"

      She heard them walk in and ask if she was at home. Putting down her work, she shook the threads from her black dress and went out to them, William returning to his lessons.

      The visitors were standing in the passage—one well-dressed man and one shabby one. The former made a civil demand for the half-year's rent due. Jane replied that she had written to Mr. Dare on the previous Saturday, explaining things to him, and asking him to wait a short time.

      "Mr. Dare cannot wait," was the rejoinder of the applicant, still speaking civilly. "You must allow me to remark, ma'am, that you are strangers to the town, that you have paid no rent since you entered the house–"

      "We believed it was the custom to pay half-yearly, as Mr. Dare did not apply for it at the Michaelmas quarter," interrupted Jane. "We should have paid then, had he asked for it."

      "At any rate, it is not paid," was the reply. "And—I am sorry, ma'am, to be under the necessity of leaving this man in possession until you do pay!"

      They walked deliberately into the best parlour; and Jane, amidst a rushing feeling of despair that turned her heart to sickness, knew that a seizure had been put into the house.

      As she stood in her bewilderment, Patience entered by the back door, the way she always did enter, and caught a glimpse of the shabby man. She drew Jane into the kitchen.

      "What does that man do here?" she inquired.

      For answer Jane sank into a chair and burst into sobs so violent as to surprise the calm Quakeress. She turned and shut the door.

      "Hush thee! Now hush thee! Thy children will hear and be terrified. Art thee behind with thy taxes?"

      For some minutes Jane could not reply. "Not for taxes," she said; "they are paid. Mr. Dare has put him in for the rent."

      Patience revolved the news in considerable astonishment. "Nay, but I think thee must be in error. Thomas Ashley would not do such a thing."

      "He has done it," sobbed Jane.

      "It is not in accordance with his character. He is a humane and considerate man. Verily I grieve for thee! That man is not an agreeable inmate of a house. We had him in ours last year!"

      "You!" uttered Jane, surprise penetrating even to her own grief. "You!"

      "They force us to pay church-rates," explained Patience. "We have a scruple to do so, believing the call unjust. For years Samuel Lynn had paid the claim to avert consequences; but last year he and many more Friends stood out against it. The result was, that that man, now in thy parlour, was put into our house. The amount claimed was one pound nine shillings; and they took out of our house, and sold, goods which had cost us eleven pounds,