“Very good; thank you,” said Moore; “and good morning, gentlemen,” he added, and so politely conducted them to the door, and saw them clear of his premises.
He was a taciturn, serious man the rest of the day. He did not even bandy a repartee with Joe Scott, who, for his part, said to his master only just what was absolutely necessary to the progress of business, but looked at him a good deal out of the corners of his eyes, frequently came to poke the counting house fire for him, and once, as he was locking up for the day (the mill was then working short time, owing to the slackness of trade), observed that it was a grand evening, and he “could wish Mr. Moore to take a bit of a walk up th’ Hollow. It would do him good.”
At this recommendation Mr. Moore burst into a short laugh, and after demanding of Joe what all this solicitude meant, and whether he took him for a woman or a child, seized the keys from his hand, and shoved him by the shoulders out of his presence. He called him back, however, ere he had reached the yard-gate.
“Joe, do you know those Farrens? They are not well off, I suppose?”
“They cannot be well off, sir, when they’ve not had work as a three month. Ye’d see yoursel’ ’at William’s sorely changed – fair paired. They’ve selled most o’ t’ stuff out o’ th’ house.”
“He was not a bad workman?”
“Ye never had a better, sir, sin’ ye began trade.”
“And decent people – the whole family?”
“Niver dacenter. Th’ wife’s a raight cant body, and as clean – ye mught eat your porridge off th’ house floor. They’re sorely comed down. I wish William could get a job as gardener or summat i’ that way; he understands gardening weel. He once lived wi’ a Scotchman that tached him the mysteries o’ that craft, as they say.”
“Now, then, you can go, Joe. You need not stand there staring at me.”
“Ye’ve no orders to give, sir?”
“None, but for you to take yourself off.”
Which Joe did accordingly.
Spring evenings are often cold and raw, and though this had been a fine day, warm even in the morning and meridian sunshine, the air chilled at sunset, the ground crisped, and ere dusk a hoar frost was insidiously stealing over growing grass and unfolding bud. It whitened the pavement in front of Briarmains (Mr. Yorke’s residence), and made silent havoc among the tender plants in his garden, and on the mossy level of his lawn. As to that great tree, strong-trunked and broad-armed, which guarded the gable nearest the road, it seemed to defy a spring-night frost to harm its still bare boughs; and so did the leafless grove of walnut-trees rising tall behind the house.