Kitabı oku: «Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles», sayfa 21

CHAPTER XII.
A LESSON FOR PHILIP GLENN

Frank was as eager to accept the invitation as Philip had been to offer it. When the afternoon arrived, and school was over, Frank tore home, donned his best clothes, and then tore back again to Mr. Glenn's house. Philip received him in the small room, where he and his brother prepared their lessons.

"How is it that you and my boys write English so differently?" inquired Mr. Glenn, when he had made Frank's acquaintance.

Frank broke into a broad smile, suggested by the remembrance of Philip's English. "We study it at home, sir."

"But some one teaches you?"

"Mamma. She was afraid that we should grow up ignorant of everything except Latin and Greek; so she thought she would remedy the evil."

"And she takes you in an evening?"

"Yes, sir; every evening except Saturday, when she is sure to be busy. She comes to the table as soon as our lessons for school are prepared, and we commence English. The easier portions of our Latin and Greek we do in the day, I and Gar: we crib the time from play-hours; and my brother William helps us at night with the more difficult parts."

"Where is your brother at school?" asked Mr. Glenn.

"He is not at school, sir. He is at Mr. Ashley's, with Cyril Dare. William has not been to school since papa died. But he was well up in everything, for papa had taken great pains with him, and he has gone on by himself since."

"Can he do much good by himself?"

"Good!" echoed Frank, speaking bluntly in his eagerness; "I don't think you could find so good a scholar for his age. There's not one could come near him in the college school. At first he found it hard work. He had no one to explain difficult points for him, and was obliged to puzzle them out with his own brains. And it's that that has got him on."

Mr. Glenn nodded. "Where a good foundation has been laid, a hard-working boy may get on better without a master than with one, provided–"

"That is just what William says," interrupted Frank, his dark eyes sparkling with animation. "He would have given anything at one time to be at the college school with us; but he does not care about it now."

"Provided his heart is in his work, I was about to add," said Mr. Glenn, smiling at Frank's eagerness.

"Oh, of course, sir. And that's what William's is. He has such capital books, too—all the best that are published. They were papa's. I hardly know how I and Gar should get on, without William's help."

"Does he help you?"

"He has helped us ever since papa died; before we went to college, and since. We do algebra and Euclid with him."

"In—deed!" exclaimed Mr. Glenn, looking hard at Frank. "When do you contrive to do all this?"

"In the evening. Tea is over by half-past five, and we three—William, I, and Gar—turn at once to our lessons. In about two hours mamma joins us, and we work with her about two hours more. Of course we have different nights for different studies, Latin every night, Greek nearly every night, Euclid twice a week, algebra twice a week, and so on. And the lessons we do with mamma are portioned out; some one night, some another."

"You must be very persevering boys," cried Mr. Glenn. "Do you never catch yourselves looking off to play; to talk and laugh?"

"No, sir, never. We have got into the habit of sticking to our lessons; mamma brought us into it. And then, we are anxious to get on: half the battle lies in that."

"I think it does. Philip, my boy, here's a lesson for you, and for all other lazy scapegraces."

Philip shrugged his shoulders, with a laugh. "Papa, I don't see any good in working so hard."

"Your friend Frank does."

"We are obliged to work, sir," said Frank, candidly. "We have no money, and it is only by education that we can hope to get on. Mamma thinks it may turn out all for the best. She says that boys who expect money very often rely upon it and not upon themselves. She would rather turn us out into the world with our talents cultivated and a will to use them, than with a fortune apiece. There's not a parable in the Bible mamma is fonder of reading to us than that of the ten talents."

"No fortune!" repeated Mr. Glenn in a dreamy tone.

"Not a penny; mamma has to work to keep us," returned Frank, making the avowal as freely as though he had proclaimed that his mother was lady-in-waiting to the Queen, and he one of her pages. Jane had contrived to convince them that in poverty itself there lay no shame or stigma; but a great deal in paltry attempts to conceal it.

"Frank," said Mr. Glenn, "I was thinking that you must possess a fortune in your mother."

"And so we do!" said Frank. "When Philip's note came to me last night, and we were—were–"

"Laughing over it!" suggested Mr. Glenn, helping out Frank's hesitation, and laughing himself.

"Yes, that's it; only I did not like to say it," acknowledged Frank. "But I dare say you know, sir, how most of the college boys write. Mamma said then, how glad we ought to be that she can make time to teach us better, and that we have the resolution to persevere."

"I wish your mother would admit my sons to her class," said Mr. Glenn, half-seriously, half-jokingly. "I would give her any recompense."

"Shall I ask her?" cried Frank.

"Perhaps she would feel hurt?"

"Oh no, she wouldn't," answered Frank impulsively. "I will ask her."

"I should not like such a strict mother," avowed Philip Glenn.

"Strict!" echoed Frank. "Mamma's not strict."

"She must be. She says you shan't come fishing with us to-morrow."

"No, she did not. She said she wished me not to go, and thought I had better not, and then she left it to me."

Philip Glenn stared. "You told me at school this morning that it was decided you were not to come. And now you say Mrs. Halliburton left it to you."

"So she did," answered Frank. "She generally leaves these things to us. She shows us what we ought to do, and why it is right that we should do it, and then she leaves it to what she calls our own good sense. It is like putting us upon our honour."

"And you do as you know she wishes you would do?" interposed Mr. Glenn.

"Yes, sir, always."

"Suppose you were to take your own will for once against hers?" cried Philip in a cross tone. "What then?"

"Then I dare say she would decide herself the next time, and tell us we were not to be trusted. But there's no fear. We know her wishes are sure to be right; and we would not vex her for the world. The last time the dean was here there was a fuss about the choristers getting holiday so often; and he forbade its being done."

"But the dean's away," impatiently interrupted Philip Glenn. "Old Ripton is in residence, and he would give it you for the asking. He knows nothing about the dean's order."

"That's the very reason," returned Frank. "Mamma put it to me whether it would be an honourable thing to do. She said, if Dr. Ripton had known of the dean's order, then I might have asked him, and he could do as he pleased. She makes us wish to do what is right—not only what appears so."

"And you'll punish yourself by going without the holiday, for some rubbishing notion of 'doing right'! It's just nonsense, Frank."

"Of course we have to punish ourselves sometimes," acknowledged Frank. "I shall be wishing all day long to-morrow that I was with you. But when evening comes, and the day's over, then I shall be glad to have done right. Mamma says if we do not learn to act rightly and self-reliantly as boys we shall not do so as men."

Mr. Glenn laid his hand on Frank's shoulder. "Inculcate your creed upon my sons, if you can," said he, speaking seriously. "Has your mother taught it to you long?"

"She has always been teaching it to us; ever since we were little," rejoined Frank. "If we had to begin now, I don't know that we should make much of it."

Mr. Glenn fell into a reverie. As Mr. Ashley had once judged by some words dropped by William, so Mr. Glenn was judging now—that Mrs. Halliburton must be a mother in a thousand. Frank turned to Philip.

"Have you done your lessons?"

"Done my lessons! No. Have you?"

Frank laughed. "Yes, or I should not have come. I have not played a minute to-day—but cribbed the time. Scanning, and exercise, and Greek; I have done them all."

"It seems to me that you and your brothers make friends of your lessons, whilst most boys make enemies," observed Mr. Glenn.

"Yes, that's true," said Frank.

"Philip," said Mr. Glenn to his son that evening after Frank had departed, "I give you carte blanche to bring that boy here as much as you like. If you are wise, you will make a lasting friend of him."

"I like the Halliburtons," replied Philip. "The college school doesn't, though."

"And pray, why?"

"Well, I think Dare senior first set the school against them—that's Cyril, you know, papa. He was always going on at them. They were snobs for sticking to their lessons, he said, which gentlemen never did; and they were snobs because they had no money to spend, which gentlemen always had; and they were snobs for this, and snobs for the other; and he got his desk, which ruled the school, to cut them. They had to put up with a good deal then, but they are bigger now, and can fight their way; and, since Dare senior left, the school has begun to like them. If they are poor, they can't help it," concluded Philip, as if he would apologize for the fact.

"Poor!" retorted Mr. Glenn. "I can tell you, Master Philip, and the college school too, that they are rich in things that you want. Unless I am deceived, the Halliburtons will grow up to be men of no common order."

CHAPTER XIII.
MAKING PROGRESS

Trifles, as we all know, lead to great events. When Frank Halliburton had gone home, in his usual flying, eager manner, plunging headlong into the subject of Mr. Glenn's request, and Jane consented to grant it, she little thought that it would lead to a considerable increase to her income, enabling them to procure several comforts, and rendering better private instruction than her own easy for her sons.

Not that she yielded to the request at once. She took time for consideration. But Frank was urgent; and she was one of those ever ready to do a good turn for others. The Glenns, as Frank said, did write English wretchedly; and if she could help to improve them without losing time or money, neither of which she could afford, why not do so? And she consented.

It certainly did occur to Mrs. Halliburton to wonder that Mr. Glenn had not provided private instruction for his sons, to remedy the deficiencies existing in the college school system. Mr. Glenn suddenly awoke to the same wonder himself. The fact was, that he, like many other gentlemen in Helstonleigh who had sons in the college school, had been content to let things take their chance: possibly he assumed that spelling and composition would come to his sons by intuition, as they grew older. The contrast Frank Halliburton presented to Philip aroused him from his neglect.

Jane consented to allow the two young Glenns to share the time and instruction she gave to her own boys. Mr. Glenn received the favour gladly; but, at first, there was great battling with the young gentlemen themselves. They could not be made to complete their lessons for school, so as to be at Mrs. Halliburton's by the hour appointed. At length it was accomplished, and they took to going regularly.

Before three months had elapsed, great improvement had become visible in their spelling. They were also acquiring an insight into English grammar; had learnt that America was not situated in the Mediterranean, or watered by the Nile; and that English history did not solely consist of two incidents—the beheading of King Charles, and the Gunpowder Plot. Improvement was also visible in their manners and in the bent of their minds. From being boisterous, self-willed, and careless, they became more considerate, more tractable; and Mr. Glenn actually once heard Philip decline to embark in some tempting scrape, because it would "not be right."

For it was impossible for Jane to have lads near her, and not gently try to counteract their faults and failings, as she would have done by her own sons; whilst the remarkable consideration and deference paid by the young Halliburtons to their mother, their warm affection for her, and the pleasant peace, the refinement of tone and manner distinguishing their home, told upon Philip and Charles Glenn with good influence. At the end of three months, Mr. Glenn wrote a note of warm thanks to Mrs. Halliburton, expressing a hope that she would still allow his sons the privilege of joining her own, and, in a delicate manner, begging grace for his act, enclosed four guineas; which was payment at the rate of sixteen guineas a year for the two.

Jane had not expected it. Nothing had been hinted to her about payment, and she did not expect to receive any: she did not understand that the boys had joined on those terms. It was very welcome. In writing back to Mr. Glenn, she stated that she had not expected to receive remuneration; but she spoke of her straitened circumstances and thanked him for the help it would be.

"That comes from a gentlewoman," was his remark to his wife, when he read the note. "I should like to know her."

"I hinted as much to Frank one day, but he said his mother was too much occupied to receive visits or to pay them," was Mrs. Glenn's reply.

As it happened, however, Mr. Glenn did pay her a visit. A friend of his, whose boys were in the college school, struck with the improvement in the Glenns, and hearing of its source, wondered whether his boys might not be received on the same terms, and Mr. Glenn undertook to propose it. The result of all this was, that in six months from the time of that afternoon when Frank first took tea at Mr. Glenn's, Jane had ten evening pupils, college boys. There she stopped. Others applied, but her table would not hold more, nor could she do justice to a greater number. The ten would bring her in eighty guineas a year; she devoted to them two hours, five evenings in the week.

Now she could command somewhat better food, and more liberal instruction for her own boys, William included, in those higher branches of knowledge which they could not, or had not, commenced for themselves. A learned professor, David Byrne, whose lodgings were in the London Road, was applied to, and he agreed to receive the young Halliburtons at a very moderate charge, three evenings in the week.

"Mamma," cried William, one day, with his thoughtful smile, soon after this agreement was entered upon, "we seem to be getting on amazingly. We can learn something else now, if you have no objection."

"What is that?" asked Jane.

"French. As I and Samuel Lynn were walking home to-day, we met Monsieur Colin. He said he was about to organize a French class, twelve in number, and would be glad if we would make three of the number. What do you say?"

"It is a great temptation," answered Jane. "I have long wished you could learn French. Would it be very expensive?"

"Very cheap to us. He said he considered you a sister professor–"

"The idea!" burst forth Frank, hotly. "Mamma a professor!"

"Indeed, I don't know that I can aspire to anything so formidable," said Jane, with a laugh. "A schoolmistress would be a better word."

Frank was indignant. "You are not a schoolmistress, mamma. I–"

"Frank," interrupted Jane, her tone changing to seriousness.

"What, mamma?"

"I am thankful to be one."

The tears rose to Frank's eyes. "You are a lady, mamma. I shall never think you anything else. There!"

Jane smiled. "Well, I hope I am, Frank; although I help to make gloves and teach boys English."

"How well Mr. Lynn speaks French!" exclaimed William.

"Does he speak it?"

"As a native. I cannot tell what his accent may be, but he speaks it as readily as Monsieur Colin. Shall we learn, mamma? It will be the greatest advantage to us, Monsieur Colin conversing with us in French."

"But what about the time, William?"

"Oh, if you will manage the money, we will manage the time," returned William, laughing. "Only trust to us, mother. We will make it, and neglect nothing."

"Then, William, you may tell Monsieur Colin that you shall learn."

"Fair and easy!" broke out Frank; a saying of his when pleased. "Mamma, I think, what with one thing and another turning up, we boys shall be getting quite first-class education."

"Although mamma feared we never should accomplish it," returned William. "As did I."

"Fear!" cried Frank. "I didn't. I knew that 'where there's a will there's a way.' Degeneres animos timor arguit," added he, finishing off with one of his favourite Latin quotations; but forgetting, in his flourish, that he was paying a poor compliment to his mother and his brother.

CHAPTER XIV.
WILLIAM HALLIBURTON'S GHOST

This chapter may be said to commence the second part of this history, for some years have elapsed since the events last recorded.

Do you doubt that the self-denying patience displayed by Jane Halliburton, her persevering struggles, her never-fainting industry, joined to her all-perfect trust in the goodness and guidance of the Most High God, could fail to bring their reward? It is not possible. But do not fancy that it came suddenly in the shape of a coach-and-six. Rewards worth having are not acquired so easily. Have you met with the following lines? They are somewhat applicable.

 
"How rarely, friend, a good, great man inherits
Honour and wealth, with all his worth and pains!
It seems a fable from the land of spirits
When any man obtains that which he merits,
Or any merits that which he obtains.
For shame, my friend! renounce this idle strain:
What would'st thou have the good, great man obtain—
Wealth? title? dignity? a golden chain?
Or heaps of corpses which his sword hath slain?
Goodness and greatness are not means, but ends.
Hath he not always treasures, always friends,
The good, great man? Three treasures—
Love; and life; and calm thoughts, equable as infants' breath.
And three fast friends, more sure than day or night,
Himself; his Maker; and the angel, Death."
 

Jane's reward was in progress: it had not fully come. At present it was little more than that of an approving conscience for having fought her way through difficulties in the patient continuance of well-doing, and in the fulfilment, in a remarkable manner, of the subject she had had most at heart—that of giving her sons an education that would fit them to fulfil any part they might be called upon to play in the destinies of life—in watching them grow up full of promise to make good and great men.

In circumstances, Jane was tolerably at ease now. Time had wrought its changes. Mrs. Reece had gone—not into other lodgings, but to join Janey Halliburton on the long journey. And Dobbs—Dobbs!—was servant to Mrs. Halliburton! Dobbs had experienced misfortune. Dobbs had put by a good round sum in a bank, for Dobbs had been provident all her life; and the bank broke and swallowed up Dobbs's savings; and nearly all Dobbs's surly independence went with it. Misfortunes do not come alone; and Mrs. Reece died almost immediately after Dobbs's treacherous bank went. The old lady's will had been good to leave Dobbs something, but she had not the power to do so: the income she had enjoyed went at her death to her late husband's relatives. She had made Dobbs handsome presents from time to time, and these Dobbs had placed with the rest of her money. It had all gone.

Poor Dobbs, good for nothing in the first shock of the loss, paid Mrs. Halliburton for a bedroom weekly, and sat down to fret. Next, she tried to earn a living at making gloves—an employment Dobbs had followed in her early days. But, what with not being so young as she was, neither eyes nor fingers, Dobbs found she could make nothing of the work. She went about the house doing odd tasks for Mrs. Halliburton, until that lady ventured on a proposal (with as much deference as though she had been making it to an Indian Begum), that Dobbs should remain with her as her servant. An experienced, thoroughly good servant she required now; and that she knew Dobbs to be. Dobbs acquiesced; and forthwith went upstairs, moved her things into the dark closet, and obstinately adopted it as her own bedroom.

The death of Mrs. Reece had enabled Jane to put into practice a plan she had long thought of—that of receiving boarders into her house, after the manner of the dames at Eton. Some of the foundation boys in the college school lived at a distance, and it was a great matter with the parents to place them in families where they would find a good home. The wife of the head master, Mrs. Keating, took in half-a-dozen; Jane thought she might do the same. She had been asked to do so; but had not room while Mrs. Reece was with her. She still held her class in the evening. As one set of boys finished with her, others were only too glad to take their places: there was no teaching like Mrs. Halliburton's. Upon making it known that she could receive boarders, applications poured in; and six, all she had accommodation for, came. They, of course, attended the college school during the day. Thus she could afford to relinquish working at the gloves; and did so, to Samuel Lynn's chagrin: a steady, regular worker, as Jane had been, was valuable to the manufactory. Altogether, what with her evening class, and the sum paid by the boarders, her income was between two and three hundred a year, not including what was earned by William.

William had made progress at Mr. Ashley's, and now earned thirty shillings a week. Frank and Gar had not left the college school. Frank's time was out, and more than out: but when a scholar advanced in the manner that Frank Halliburton had done, Mr. Keating was not in a hurry to intimate to him that his time had expired. So Frank remained on, studying hard, one of the most finished scholars Helstonleigh Collegiate School had ever turned out.

There sat one great desire in Frank's heart; it had almost grown into a passion; it coloured his dreams by night and his thoughts by day—that of matriculating at one of the two Universities. The random and somewhat dim idea of Frank's early days—studying for the Bar—had become the fixed purpose of his life. That he was especially gifted with the tastes and qualifications necessary to make a good pleader, there could be no doubt about; therefore, Frank had probably not mistaken his vocation. Persevering in study, keen in perceptive intellect, equable in temper, fluent and persuasive in speech, a true type was he of an embryo barrister. He did not quite see his way yet to getting to college. Neither did Gar; and Gar had set his mind upon the Church.

One cold January evening, bright, clear, and frosty, Samuel Lynn stopped away from the manufactory. He had received a letter by the evening post saying that a friend, on his way from Birmingham to Bristol, would halt for a few hours at his house and go on by the Bristol mail, which passed through the city at eleven o'clock. The friend arrived punctually, was regaled with tea and other good things in the state parlour, and he and Samuel Lynn settled themselves to enjoy a pleasant evening together, Patience and Anna forming part of the company. Anna's luxuriant curls and her wondrous beauty—for, in growing up, that beauty had not belied the promise of her childhood—were shaded under the demure Quaker's cap. Something else had not belied the promise of her childhood, and that was her vanity.

Apparently, she did not find the evening or the visitor to her taste. He was old, as were her father and Patience: every one above thirty Anna was apt to class as "old." She fidgeted, was restless, and, just as the clock struck seven—as if the sound rendered any further inaction unbearable—she rose and was quietly stealing from the room.

"Where are thee going, Anna?" asked her father.

Anna coloured, as if taken by surprise. "Friend Jane Halliburton promised to lend me a book, father: I should like to fetch it."

"Sit thee still, child; thee dost not want to read to-night when friend Stanley is with us. Show him thy drawings. Meanwhile, I will get the chessmen. Thee'd like a game?" turning to his visitor.

"Ay, I should," was the ready answer. "Remember, friend Lynn, I beat thee last time."

"Maybe my skill will redeem itself to-night," nodded the Quaker, as he rose for the chessboard. "It shall try its best."

"Would thee like a candle?" asked Patience, who was busy sewing.

"Not at all. My chamber is light as day, with the moon so near the full."

Mr. Lynn went up to his room. The chessboard and men were kept on a table near the window. As he took them from it he glanced out at the pleasant scene. His window, at the back, faced the charming landscape, and the Malvern Hills in the horizon shone out almost as distinctly as by day. Not, however, on the landscape were Samuel Lynn's eyes fixed; they had caught something nearer, which drew his attention.

Pacing the field-path which ran behind his low garden hedge was a male figure in a cloak. To see a man, whether with a cloak or without it, abroad on a moonlight night, would not have been extraordinary; but Samuel Lynn's notice was drawn by this one's movements. Beyond the immediate space occupied by the house, the field-path was hidden: on one side, by the high hedge intervening between his garden and Mrs. Halliburton's; on the other, by a wall. The figure—whoever it might be—would come to one of these corners, stealthily peep at Samuel Lynn's house and windows, and then continue his way past it, until he reached the other corner, where he would halt and peep again, partially hiding himself behind the hedge. That he was waiting for something or some one was apparent, for he stamped his feet occasionally in an impatient manner.

"What can it be that he does there?" cried the Quaker, half aloud: "this is the second time I have seen him. He cannot be taking a sketch of my house by moonlight! Were it any other than thee, William Halliburton, I should say it wore a clandestine look."

He returned to the parlour, and took his revenge on his friend by checkmating him three times in succession. At nine o'clock supper came in, and at ten Mr. Stanley, accompanied by Samuel Lynn, left, to walk leisurely into Helstonleigh and await the Bristol mail. As they turned out of the house they saw William Halliburton going in at his own door.

"It is a cold night," William remarked to Mr. Lynn.

"Very. Good night to thee."

You cannot see what he is like by this light, especially in that disguising cloak, and the cap with its protecting ears. But you can see him the following morning, as he stands in Mr. Ashley's counting-house.

A well-grown, upright, noble form, a head taller than Samuel Lynn, by whose side he is standing, with a peculiarly attractive face. Not for its beauty—the face cannot boast of very much—but for its broad brow of intellect, its firm, sweet mouth, and its truthful dark-grey eyes. None could mistake William Halliburton for anything but a gentleman, although they had seen him, as now, with a white apron tied round his waist. William was making up gloves: a term, as you may remember, which means sorting them according to their qualities—work that was sometimes done in Mr. Ashley's room, on account of its steady light, for it bore a north aspect. A table, or counter, was fixed down one side, under its windows. Mr. Lynn stood by his side, looking on.

"Thee can do it tolerably well, William," he observed, after some minutes' close inspection.

William smiled. The Quaker never bestowed decided praise, and never thought any one could be trusted in the making-up department, himself and James Meeking excepted. William had been exercised in the making-up for the past eighteen months, and he thought he ought to do it pretty well by this time. Mr. Lynn was turning away, when his keen sight fell on several dozens at a little distance. He took up one of the top pairs with a hasty movement, knitted his brow, and then took up others.

"Thee has not exercised thy judgment or thy caution here, friend William."

"I did not make up those," replied William.

"Who did, then?"

"Cyril Dare."

"I have told Cyril Dare he is not to attempt the making-up," returned Samuel Lynn, in severe tones. "When did he do these?"

"Yesterday afternoon."

"There, again! He knows the gloves are not made up in a winter's afternoon. I myself would not do it by so obscure a light. Thee go over these thyself when thee has finished the stack before thee."

Samuel Lynn was not one who spared work. He mixed the offending dozens together indiscriminately, and pushed them towards William. Then he turned to his own place, and went on with his work: he was also making up. Presently he spoke again.

"What does thee do at the back of my house of a night? Thee must find the walk cold."

William turned his head with a movement of surprise. "I don't do anything at the back of your house. What do you mean?"

"Not walk about there, watching it, as thee did last night?"

"Certainly not! I do not understand you."

Samuel Lynn's brows knit heavily. "William, I deemed thee truthful. Why deny what is a palpable fact?"

William Halliburton put down the pair of gloves he had in his hand, and turned to the Quaker. "In saying that I do not walk at the back of your house at night, or at the back of any house, I state the truth."

"Last night at seven o'clock, I saw thee parading there in thy cloak. I saw thee, I say, William. The night was unusually light."

"Last night, from tea-time until half-past nine, I never stirred out of my mother's parlour," rejoined William. "I was at my books as usual. At half-past nine I ran up to say a word to Henry Ashley. You saw me returning."

"But I saw thee at the back with my own eyes," persisted the Quaker. "I saw thy cloak. Thee had on that blue cap of thine: it was tied down over thy ears; and the collar of the cloak was turned up, to protect thee, as I surmised, from the cold."

"It must have been my ghost," responded William. "Should I be likely to pace up and down a cold field, for pastime, on a January night?"

"Will thee oblige me by putting on thy cloak?" was all the answer returned by Samuel Lynn.