Deerbrook. Harriet Martineau

more knowledge of human affairs than any other kind of man. But Hope is, though a very happy man, not this sort of privileged person. His friends are so attached to him that they confide to him all their own affairs; but they respect him too much to gossip at large to him of other people’s. I see you do not know how to credit this; but I assure you, though the inhabitants of Deerbrook are as accomplished in the arts of gossip as any villagers in England, Hope knows little more than you do at this moment about who are upon terms and who are not.”

      “My sister and I must learn his art of ignorance,” said Margaret. “If it be really true that the place is full of quarrels, we shall be afraid to stay, unless we can contrive to know nothing about them.”

      “Oh, do not suppose we are worse than others who live in villages. Since our present rector came, we have risen somewhat above the rural average of peace and quiet.”

      “And the country has always been identical with the idea of peace and quiet to us town-bred people!” said Margaret.

      “And very properly, in one sense. But if you leave behind the din of streets for the sake of stepping forth from your work-table upon a soft lawn, or of looking out upon the old church steeple among the trees, while you hear nothing but bleating and chirping, you must expect some set-off against such advantages: and that set-off is the being among a small number of people, who are always busy looking into one another’s small concerns.”

      “But this is not a necessary evil,” said Margaret. “From what you were saying just now, it appears that it may be avoided.”

      “From what I was saying about Hope. Yes; such an one as Hope may get all the good out of every situation, without its evils; but—”

      “But nobody else,” said Margaret, smiling. “Well, Hester and I must try whether we cannot have to do with lawns and sheep for a few months, without quarrelling or having to do with quarrels.”

      “And what if you are made the subject of quarrels?” asked Mr. Enderby. “How are you to help yourselves, in that case?”

      “How does Mr. Hope help himself in that case?”

      “It remains to be seen. As far as I know, the whole place is agreed about him at present. Every one will tell you that never was society so blessed in a medical man before;—from the rector and my mother, who never quarrel with anybody, down to the village scold. I am not going to prepossess you against even our village scold, by telling her name. You will know it in time, though your first acquaintance will probably be with her voice.”

      “So we are to hear something besides bleating and chirping?”

      A tremendous knock at the door occurred, as if in answer to this. All the conversation in the room suddenly stopped, and Mr. and Mrs. Rowland walked in.

      “This is my sister, Mrs. Rowland,” observed Mr. Enderby to Margaret.

      “This is my daughter Priscilla, Mrs. Rowland,” said Mrs. Enderby to Hester.

      Both sisters were annoyed at feeling timid and nervous on being introduced to the lady. There is something imposing in hearing a mere name very often, in the proof that the person it belongs to fills a large space in people’s minds: and when the person is thus frequently named with fear and dislike, an idea is originated of a command over powers of evil which makes the actual presence absolutely awful. This seemed now to be felt by all. Sophia had nothing to say: Mrs. Grey’s head twitched nervously, while she turned from one to another with slight remarks: Mrs. Enderby ran on about their having all happened to call at once, and its being quite a family party in Mrs. Grey’s parlour; and Mr. Philip’s flow of conversation had stopped. Margaret thought he was trying to help laughing.

      The call could not be an agreeable one. The partners’ ladies quoted their own children’s sayings about school and Miss Young, and Miss Young’s praise of the children; and each vied with the other in eulogium on Miss Young, evidently on the ground of her hopes of Fanny and Mary on the one hand, and of Matilda, George, and Anna, on the other. Mrs. Enderby interposed praises of all the children, while Mr. Rowland engaged Hester’s attention, calling off her observation and his own from the sparring of the rival mothers. Philip informed Margaret at length, that George was a fine little fellow, who would make a good sportsman. There was some pleasure in taking such a boy out fishing. But Mr. Philip had lighted on a dangerous topic, as he soon found. His sister heard what he was saying, and began an earnest protest against little boys fishing, on account of the danger, and against any idea that she would allow her George to run any such risks. Of course, this made Mrs. Grey fire up, as at an imputation upon her care of her son Sydney; and before the rest of the company could talk down the dispute, it bore too much of the appearance of a recrimination about the discharge of maternal duties. Margaret thought that, but for the relationship, Mrs. Rowland might fairly be concluded to be the village scold alluded to by Mr. Enderby. It was impossible that he could have been speaking of his sister; but Deerbrook was an unfortunate place if it contained a more unamiable person than she appeared at this moment. The faces of the two ladies were still flushed with excitement when Mr. Hope came in. The sisters thought he appeared like a good genius, so amiable did the party grow on his entrance. It seemed as if he was as great a favourite with the Rowlands as with the other family; so friendly was the gentleman, and so gracious the lady; while Mr. Hope was, to all appearance, unconscious of the existence of any unpleasant feelings among his neighbours. The talk flowed on about the concerns of personages of the village, about the aspect of public affairs, about the poets of the age, and what kind of poetry was most read in Deerbrook, and how the Book Society went on, till all had grown cordial, and some began to propose to be hospitable. Mrs. Rowland hoped for the honour of seeing the Miss Ibbotsons one day the next week, when Mr. Rowland should have returned from a little excursion of business. Mrs. Enderby wondered whether she could prevail on all her young friends to spend an evening with her before her son left Deerbrook; and Mrs. Grey gave notice that she should shortly issue her invitations to those with whom she wished her young cousins to become better acquainted.

      All went right for the rest of the morning. When the Enderbys and Rowlands went away, the Levitts came. When Dr. Levitt inquired about the schools of Birmingham, it could not but come out that Hester and Margaret were dissenters. Yet, as they were desired to observe, he did not seem in the least shocked, and his manner was just as kind to them after this disclosure as before. He was pronounced a very liberal man. Mr. Hope was asked to stay to dinner, and Mrs. Grey complacently related the events of the morning to her husband as he took his place at table. Deerbrook had done its duty to Hester and Margaret pretty well for the first day. Everybody of consequence had called but the Andersons, and they would no doubt come on Sunday.

      Chapter Four.

      The Meadows.

       Table of Contents

      The afternoon was the time when Miss Young’s pupils practised the mysteries of the needle. Little girls are not usually fond of sewing. Till they become clever enough to have devices of their own, to cut out a doll’s petticoat, or contrive a pin-cushion to surprise mamma, sewing is a mere galling of the fingers and strain upon the patience. Every wry stitch shows, and is pretty sure to be remarked upon: the seam or hem seems longer the oftener it is measured, till the little work-woman becomes capable of the enterprise of despatching a whole one at a sitting; after which the glory is found to ameliorate the toil, and there is a chance that the girl may become fond of sewing.

      Miss Young’s pupils had not arrived at this stage. It was a mystery to them that Miss Young could sit sewing, as fast as her needle could fly, for the whole afternoon, and during the intervals of their lessons in the morning. It was in vain that she told them that some of her pleasantest hours were those which she passed in this employment: and that she thought they would perhaps grow as fond of work as their sister Sophia before they were as old as she. With languid steps did the twins return to the house this afternoon for another pair of shirt-sleeves, and to show mamma the work they had finished. Hand in hand, as usual, and carrying up for judgment their last performance, they entered the house. In a