“And how are you all? How do you get on?”
Mr. Hall, be it remarked, though an accomplished scholar, not only spoke with a strong northern accent, but, on occasion, used freely north-country expressions.
“We get on poorly,” said William; “we’re all out of work. I’ve selled most o’ t’ household stuff, as ye may see; and what we’re to do next, God knows.”
“Has Mr. Moore turned you off?”
“He has turned us off; and I’ve sich an opinion of him now that I think if he’d tak me on again tomorrow I wouldn’t work for him.”
“It is not like you to say so, William.”
“I know it isn’t; but I’m getting different to mysel’; I feel I am changing. I wadn’t heed if t’ bairns and t’ wife had enough to live on; but they’re pinched – they’re pined”
“Well, my lad, and so are you; I see you are. These are grievous times; I see suffering wherever I turn. William, sit down. Grace, sit down. Let us talk it over.”
And in order the better to talk it over, Mr. Hall lifted the least of the children on to his knee, and placed his hand on the head of the next least; but when the small things began to chatter to him he bade them “Whisht!” and fixing his eyes on the grate, he regarded the handful of embers which burned there very gravely.
“Sad times,” he said, “and they last long. It is the will of God. His will be done. But He tries us to the utmost.”
Again he reflected.
“You’ve no money, William, and you’ve nothing you could sell to raise a small sum?”
“No. I’ve selled t’ chest o’ drawers, and t’ clock, and t’ bit of a mahogany stand, and t’ wife’s bonny tea-tray and set o’ cheeney ’at she brought for a portion when we were wed.”
“And if somebody lent you a pound or two, could you make any good use of it? Could you get into a new way of doing something?”
Farren did not answer, but his wife said quickly, “Ay, I’m sure he could, sir. He’s a very contriving chap is our William. If he’d two or three pounds he could begin selling stuff.”
“Could you, William?”
“Please God,” returned William deliberately, “I could buy groceries, and bits o’ tapes, and thread, and what I thought would sell, and I could begin hawking at first.”
“And you know, sir,” interposed Grace, “you’re sure William would neither drink, nor idle, nor waste, in any way. He’s my husband, and I shouldn’t praise him; but I will say there’s not a soberer, honester man i’ England nor he is.”