"Name o" goodness where did your father get such a name? and where do you live?"
The girl bent her head over the coat she held in her hand, and her tears fell upon it.
"There, never mind? give me my coat. Thank you. Why, Lewis the tailor "ouldn"t "a mended it better. Why, girl, where did you learn tailoring?"
"Mother taught me to mend everything, sir."
"There then, take you that old hat and see if you can make as good a job of sewing on the brim as you done of the coat. Mother, come you here, I want to speak to you."
Mr Prothero left the room, and Mrs Prothero followed.
"Who"s that girl, mother? I never saw her before," were his first words in the pa.s.sage, whilst pulling to the coat that he had begun to put on in the work-room.
"Why, David, you see--it is--there now, don"t be angry."
"Angry! what for? Hasn"t she mended my coat capital, and isn"t she as modest looking a young "ooman as I ever saw?"
"She is very delicate, but she works night and day. Indeed, she does more in a day than most girls in a week Owen wanted some shirts, you see--she made that cap you admired so much, and that new gown of Netta"s; and has more than paid for--"
"But who the deuce is she?"
"There now, don"t be angry, David. "Tis that poor Irish girl that was so ill of the fever."
"I"ll never believe she"s Irish as long as I live--she"s too pretty and tidy and delicate and fair. She"s no more Irish than I am, mother, and you"ve been taken in."
"She is Welsh on the mother"s side. But are you very angry, David?"
"No, I don"t mind her doing a little work in an honest way like that.
I"m not such a fool. When she has done the work send her off, that"s all. Poor soul! she does look as if she had been dead and buried and come to life again. Mother, you"re a good "ooman, and G.o.d bless you!"
Mrs Prothero looked up into her husband"s face with an expression of such love and joy as must have delighted a much harder heart than that spouse possessed. Don"t laugh, gentle reader, at the conjugal embrace of that middle-aged pair, which seals the quarrel about the Irish girl; but believe me, there is more real sentiment in it than in most of the love-scenes you may have read about.
Mrs Prothero took advantage of her husband"s approval of Gladys"s exterior to send her out into the garden in the evening to breathe the air, and afterwards into the fields. The girl"s strength gradually returned, but with it there appeared to be no return of youth or hope. A settled melancholy was in her countenance and demeanour; and when Netta rallied her on being so sad and silent, her reply was, "Oh, miss, there is no more joy or happiness for me in this world! all I love have left it, and I am but a lonely wanderer and an outcast!"
When the shirts were finished, it was time to think of her departure, for she had exhausted all the sewing-work of the house. Mrs Prothero could not bear to turn the friendless, homeless girl adrift on the world. She ventured upon the subject one day at dinner.
"What will become of her, David? And she so beautiful! I declare I think I never saw a prettier girl."
"Well, mother, who will you call pretty next?" said Owen, who had seen her once or twice by chance. "Why, she has no more colour in her face than this tablecloth, and I don"t believe she has any eyes at all; at least, I never saw them; but I mean to try whether she has any some day, by making a frightful noise when she drops me that smart curtsey in pa.s.sing."
"I am sure we want hands badly enough in the wheat field, said Farmer Prothero. "If the girl could pick up her crumbs a little by harvesting, you could keep her a while longer, and then send her off in search of her relations."
"Thank you, David. I will ask her what she can do," said Mrs Prothero.
"Not much in that way, I am pretty sure," said Netta. "How should those wretched Irish, who live on nothing but potatoes, know any thing about the wheat harvest?"
"Treue for you there, my girl," said Mr Prothero, "but I daresay mother will make believe that she knows something.
"Mother" found the object of their conversation that very evening in the wheat field, sitting under a tree, at work. She had sent her out for a walk, and this was her exercise. Owen and Netta were with their mother, and as they approached, Gladys rose, curtseyed, and was going away, when Owen made an unnatural kind of whistle, as if to frighten away some cows in the distance. Gladys started, and with a terrified face glanced at him. He found that she had very beautiful, violet eyes, with lashes so long and black, that when she looked to the earth again they made a strange contrast to her pale face.
"What sad, uncomfortable eyes," thought Owen; "I must have another glance at them by-and-by. If she had a colour she might be pretty, as mother says, but it makes one ill to look at her."
"Do you think," said Mrs Prothero, addressing Gladys, "that you could manage to help in the harvest; My husband says he will employ you, if you can."
"Oh, thank you, my lady! I would do my best, and if I could only stay here longer under any circ.u.mstances--I should--oh, be so thankful!"
This was said with much hesitation.
"Very well, then; if you will try to-morrow we shall be able to judge what you can do."
"She don"t look strong enough to bind the sheaves," said Owen.
"I will try, sir, if you please," said Gladys.
"What is the name of the friends you are seeking?" asked Owen with a glance at his sister.
"Jones, sir," replied Gladys, again looking at Owen.
"Perhaps there is a David in the family?" asked Owen.
"I believe that my grandfather"s name was David," was the reply.
"Now, if you walk through Carmarthenshire, and just ask every one you meet if they know David Jones, I am sure you would find him. It is astonishing what a powerful name David Jones is. I know a Rev. David Jones very well? a clergyman too--"
"Oh! if you could only tell me where to find him. I would go anywhere for my poor mother"s sake!"
The girl clasped her hands and looked imploringly at Owen. He was silenced by the appeal of the eyes he did not believe in. Mrs Prothero glanced at him reproachfully, and said,--
"It is such a common Welsh name that I am afraid it would be no guide to you, unless you would remember the place where he lived."
"I daresay it began with Llan," broke in Owen.
"I am almost sure it did," said Gladys; "but mother never liked to talk of the place,"
"What do you say, mother, to writing to the Rev. David Jones, Llan., etc., Carmarthenshire?"
Netta laughed aloud; she could not help it; whilst Gladys again looked upon the ground.
"Owen," whispered Mrs Prothero, taking her son"s arm and leading him away, "what is a joke to you is death to her, remember that."
"There, don"t be angry, mother; I will help her to do her work to-morrow."
"He was as good as his word, and the following day resolutely kept near the poor, timid girl, aiding her to bind up the full-eared corn, and carrying it himself for her to the mows, into which they were hastily forming the sheaves for fear of rain. He could not resist occasionally alluding to Mr David Jones, but receiving no encouragement to carry out the jest, and finding her as silent and shy as a frightened child, he gave up the subject, and with it all attempt at conversation. He declared afterwards that she worked like a slave, and knew all about harvesting as well as anybody, only she was not strong, and that she was the dullest Irish woman he ever saw in his life, since even the beggars had a bit of fun in them. Indeed he didn"t believe her to be Irish, or credit a word of her story; but, as to beauty, he began to agree with his mother, for if she had only a colour she would be as pretty a girl, with as graceful a figure, as anybody need wish to see.
The farmer declared that she had well earned her supper; and that if mother thought she would do, she might keep her instead of Betty, after Hollantide; the said Betty having signified her intention of getting married at the matrimonial season of the year. Mrs Prothero said she would think it over, but she was afraid she was not strong enough for hard farm service. It was evident that Gladys had taken a step into the kind heart of the worthy farmer.