'Theer, theer, master! Theer's ne'er a man, to call a man,
amongst us, but what would do th' same; ay, and better too; for,
belie' me, I'se ne'er got a stroke o' work, nor yet a sight of
any. For all I telled Hamper that, let alone his pledge--which I
would not sign--no, I could na, not e'en for this--he'd ne'er ha'
such a worker on his mill as I would be--he'd ha' none o' me--no
more would none o' th' others. I'm a poor black feckless
sheep--childer may clem for aught I can do, unless, parson, yo'd
help me?' 'Help you! How? I would do anything,--but what can I do?' 'Miss there'--for Margaret had re-entered the room, and stood
silent, listening--'has often talked grand o' the South, and the
ways down there. Now I dunnot know how far off it is, but I've
been thinking if I could get 'em down theer, where food is cheap
and wages good, and all the folk, rich and poor, master and man,
friendly like; yo' could, may be, help me to work. I'm not
forty-five, and I've a deal o' strength in me, measter.' 'But what kind of work could you do, my man?' 'Well, I reckon I could spade a bit----' 'And for that,' said Margaret, stepping forwards, 'for anything
you could do, Higgins, with the best will in the world, you
would, may be, get nine shillings a week; may be ten, at the
outside. Food is much the same as here, except that you might
have a little garden----' 'The childer could work at that,' said he. 'I'm sick o' Milton
anyways, and Milton is sick o' me.' 'You must not go to the South,' said Margaret, 'for all that. You
could not stand it. You would have to be out all weathers. It
would kill you with rheumatism. The mere bodily work at your time
of life would break you down. The fare is far different to what
you have been accustomed to.' 'I'se nought particular about my meat,' said he, as if offended.
'But you've reckoned on having butcher's meat once a day, if
you're in work; pay for that out of your ten shillings, and keep
those poor children if you can. I owe it to you--since it's my
way of talking that has set you off on this idea--to put it all
clear before you. You would not bear the dulness of the life; you
don't know what it is; it would eat you away like rust. Those
that have lived there all their lives, are used to soaking in the
stagnant waters. They labour on, from day to day, in the great
solitude of steaming fields--never speaking or lifting up their
poor, bent, downcast heads. The hard spade-work robs their brain
of life; the sameness of their toil deadens their imagination;
they don't care to meet to talk over thoughts and speculations,
even of the weakest, wildest kind, after their work is done; they
go home brutishly tired, poor creatures! caring for nothing but
food and rest. You could not stir them up into any companionship,
which you get in a town as plentiful as the air you breathe,
whether it be good or bad--and that I don't know; but I do know,
that you of all men are not one to bear a life among such
labourers. What would be peace to them would be eternal fretting
to you. Think no more of it, Nicholas, I beg. Besides, you could
never pay to get mother and children all there--that's one good
thing.' 'I've reckoned for that. One house mun do for us a', and the
furniture o' t'other would go a good way. And men theer mun have
their families to keep--mappen six or seven childer. God help
'em!' said he, more convinced by his own presentation of the
facts than by all Margaret had said, and suddenly renouncing the
idea, which had but recently formed itself in a brain worn out by
the day's fatigue and anxiety. 'God help 'em! North an' South
have each getten their own troubles. If work's sure and steady
theer, labour's paid at starvation prices; while here we'n rucks
o' money coming in one quarter, and ne'er a farthing th' next.
For sure, th' world is in a confusion that passes me or any other
man to understand; it needs fettling, and who's to fettle it, if
it's as yon folks say, and there's nought but what we see?' Mr. Hale was busy cutting bread and butter; Margaret was glad of
this, for she saw that Higgins was better left to himself: that
if her father began to speak ever so mildly on the subject of
Higgins's thoughts, the latter would consider himself challenged
to an argument, and would feel himself bound to maintain his own
ground. She and her father kept up an indifferent conversation
until Higgins, scarcely aware whether he ate or not, had made a
very substantial meal. Then he pushed his chair away from the
table, and tried to take an interest in what they were saying;
but it was of no use; and he fell back into dreamy gloom.
Suddenly, Margaret said (she had been thinking of it for some
time, but the words had stuck in her throat), 'Higgins, have you
been to Marlborough Mills to seek for work?' 'Thornton's?' asked he. 'Ay, I've been at Thornton's.' 'And what did he say?' 'Such a chap as me is not like to see the measter. Th' o'erlooker
bid me go and be d----d.' 'I wish you had seen Mr. Thornton,' said Mr. Hale. 'He might not
have given you work, but he would not have used such language.' 'As to th' language, I'm welly used to it; it dunnot matter to
me. I'm not nesh mysel' when I'm put out. It were th' fact that I
were na wanted theer, no more nor ony other place, as I minded.' 'But I wish you had seen Mr. Thornton,' repeated Margaret. 'Would
you go again--it's a good deal to ask, I know--but would you go
to-morrow and try him? I should be so glad if you would.' 'I'm afraid it would be of no use,' said Mr. Hale, in a low
voice. 'It would be better to let me speak to him.' Margaret
still looked at Higgins for his answer. Those grave soft eyes of
hers were difficult to resist. He gave a great sigh.