Oi seed t young un today a-sitting in front o th cottage, a-talking and laughing wi Bill.
They be good uns, feyther and son, though they tells oi as neither on them baint Yaarkshire.
The general feeling among the company was evidently one of surprise that any good thing should be found outside Yorkshire. But further talk on the subject was interrupted by a slight exclamation at the door.
O what a smoke, feyther! I cant see you, but I suppose youre somewhere here. Youre wanted at home.
Although the speaker was visible to but few in the room there was no doubt as to her identity, or as to the person addressed as feyther. Mary Powlett was indeed the niece and not the daughter of Luke Marner, but as he had brought her up from childhood she looked upon him as her father. It was her accent and the tone of her voice which rendered it unnecessary for any of those present to see her face.
Luke was a bachelor when the child had arrived fifteen years before in the carriers cart from Marsden, having made the journey in a similar conveyance to that town from Sheffield, where her father and mother had died within a week of each other, the last request of her mother being that little Polly should be sent off to the care of Luke Marner at Varley.
Luke had not then settled down into the position of one of the elders of the village, and he had been somewhat embarrassed by the arrival of the three year old girl. He decided promptly, however, upon quitting the lodgings which he had as a single man occupied and taking a cottage by himself. His neighbors urged upon him that so small a child could not remain alone all day while he was away at Marsden at worka proposition to which he assented; but to the surprise of every one, instead of placing her during the day under the care of one of the women of the place, he took her down with him to Marsden and placed her under the care of a respectable woman there who had children of her own.
Starting at five every morning from his cottage with Polly perched on his shoulder he tramped down to the town, leaving her there before going to work, and calling for her in the evening. A year later he married, and the village supposed that Polly would now be left behind. But they were mistaken. When he became engaged he had said:
Now, Loiza, theres one point as oi wish settled. As oi have told ye, oi ha partly chosen ye becos oi knowed as how ye would maake a good mother to my little Polly; but oi doant mean to give up taking her down with me o days to the town. Oi likes to ha her wi me on the roadeit makes it shorter like. As thou knowest thyself, oi ha bin a chaanged man sin she coom. There warnt a cropper in the village drank harder nor oi, but oi maad oop moi moind when she came to gi it up, and oi have gid it up.
I know, Luke, the girl said, I wouldna have had ye, hadnt ye doon so, as I told ye two years agone. I know the child ha done it, and I loves her for it, and will be a good mother to her.
Oi knows you will, Loiza, and oi baint feared as yell be jealous if so be as yeve children o your own. Oi shant love em a bit the less coss oi loves little Polly. She be just the image o what moi sister Jane was when she war a little thing and oi used to take care o her. Mother she didnt belong to this village, and the rough ways of the men and the drink frightened her. She war quiet and tidy and neat in her ways, and Jane took arter her, and glad she was when the time came to marry and get away from Varley. Oi be roight sure if she knows owt whats going on down here, she would be glad to know as her child aint bein brought oop in Varley ways. I ha arranged wi the woman where she gets her meals for her to go to school wi her own children. Dost thee object to that, lass?if so, say so noo afore its too late, but doont thraw it in moi face arterwards. Ef thoust children they shalt go to school too. Oi dont want to do more for Polly nor oid do for moi own.
I ha no objection, Luke. I remembers your sister, how pretty and quiet she wor; and thou shalt do what you likest wi Polly, wiout no grumble from me.
Eliza Marner kept the promise she had made before marriage faithfully. If she ever felt in her heart any jealousy as she saw Polly growing up a pretty bright little maiden, as different to the usual child product of Varley as could well be, she was wise enough never to express her thoughts, and behaved with motherly kindness to her in the evening hours spent at home. She would perhaps have felt the task a harder one had her own elder children been girls; but three boys came first, and a girl was not born until she had been married eleven years. Polly, who was now fourteen, had just come home from her schooling at Marsden for good, and was about to go out into service there. But after the birth of her little girl Mrs. Marner, who had never for a Varley girl been strong, faded rapidly away; and Pollys stay at home, intended at first to last but a few weeks, until its mother was about again, extended into months.
The failing woman reaped now the benefit of Pollys training. Her gentle, quiet way, her soft voice, her neatness and tidiness, made her an excellent nurse, and she devoted herself to cheer and brighten the sickroom of the woman who had made so kind an adopted mother to her. Her influence kept even the rough boys quiet; and all Varley, which had at first been unanimous in its condemnation of the manner in which Luke Marner was bringing up that gal of his, just as if the place was not good enough for her, were now forced to confess that the experiment had turned out well.
Polly, my dear, the sick woman said to her one afternoon when the girl had been reading to her for some time, and was now busy mending some of the boys clothes, while baby, nearly a year old, was gravely amusing herself with a battered doll upon the floor, I used to think, though I never said so, as your feyther war making a mistake in bringing you up different to other gals here; but I see as he was right. There aint one of them as would have been content to give up all their time and thoughts to a sick woman as thou hast done. There aint a house in the village as tidy and comfortable as this, and the boys mind you as they never minded me. When I am gone Luke will miss me, but thar wont be no difference in his comfort, and I know thoult look arter baby and be a mother to her. I dont suppose as thou wilt stay here long; thou art over fifteen now, and the lads will not be long afore they begin to come a-coorting of thee. But doant ee marry in Varley, Polly. My Lukes been a good husband to me. But thou knowst what the most of them bethey may do for Varley bred gals, but not for the like of thee. And when thou goest take baby wi thee and bring her up like thysel till she be old enough to coom back and look arter Luke and the house.
Polly was crying quietly while the dying woman was speaking. The doctor, on leaving that morning, had told her that he could do no more and that Mrs. Marner was sinking rapidly. Kneeling now beside the bed she promised to do all that her adopted mother asked her, adding, and I shall never, never leave feyther as long as he lives.
The woman smiled faintly.
Many a girl ha said that afore now, Polly, and ha changed her moind when the roight man asked her. Dont ee make any promises that away, lass. Tis natural that, when a lassies time comes, she should wed; and if Luke feels loanly here, why hes got it in his power to get another to keep house for him. He be but a little over forty now; and as he ha lived steady and kept hisself away from drink, he be a yoonger man now nor many a one ten year yoonger. Dont ye think to go to sacrifice your loife to hissen. And now, child, read me that chapter over agin, and then I think I could sleep a bit.