The Grandmother's Story

This afternoon I promised I would hear
That story from the poor old lady near ;
So, coming to the cottage there aloft
That creepered stands within its little croft
A stone's throw from the road, roofed in with thatch,
I neared the garden-wicket, clicked the latch.
Passed through sweet-william flowers and hollyhocks.
Straw-plaited hives with bees in humming flocks ;
Knocked and within found wailing me to greet
A slight grey woman finely-featured, sweet,
Yet clear and firm of aspect, simple, neat ;
About her shoulders over the serge gown,
Though it was warm, a worsted cape was thrown —

"You must forgive me if I weary you.
For I am getting very old, you know ;
I shall be seventy come Martinmas —
Swift flies the current of our years that pass !
Well I remember, 'twas a happy day ;
We had persuaded him the holiday
At home to spend, and take the weans to play
With Mary and myself among the fern
In Epping P'orest, when the blazing burn
(The summer you may mind was hot and dry)
Should cool assuaged from evening drawing nigh.
And John he drove our grey nag in the cart ;
Ah ! how they teased, the little ones, to start !
You know the beautiful tall beechen trees
Nigh to the old toll-gate that was — a breeze
Blew cool among them, and the lights and shades
Seemed merry as the children in the glades.
Some cows were standing paunch-deep in the pool,
A rough dull-coated clumsy cart-horse, cool
Bathing his thick fore-fetlocks only, let.
After a draught, the water from his wet
Lips either side pour streaming sleepily.
The children watched him, and the goslings nigh,
A second brood downed yellow, with some geese,
And nibbling sheep shorn of their woolly fleece.
John never seemed, I thought, more cheerfullike
And kindly — it was then we saw the shrike
(We call it butcher-bird), and then he followed
With Ned the eldest, where an elm is hollowed,
The mill-like tapping of a woodpecker "
At this I questioned, interrupting her,
Doubting how far the dear old dame would err :

"So it was then Mary began to ail?"
"Nay," she replied, "mayhap a little pale
Silent and weary she had seemed at first.
But into spirits rapturous she burst
When playing with the children in the wood :
To see their romps ! I felt it did me good.
I recollect the little sister saying
(At hide-and-seek the younger two were playing)
' Now, Tom, I'm going to hide l)y yonder tree
Among the fern, and you must look for me
When you shall hear me calling out cuckoo ! '
And then away the little toddler flew
To bury her wee face where covert grew

Of niarestail and of fern, a forest small
Within the forest, taller than them all ;
But bless you ! she was three year old and she
Never surmised that any one could see
If but her eyes were shut, and so she stole
Ere calling but halfway within a hole
Between some fronds that bordered open grass,
And all might see the blue frock of the lass,
Each bare leg tiny and her little shoon."

This I foresaw would not be ended soon,
So gently coaxing her toward the goal
I spoke again — " Well, I had gone to stroll
Not far," the grandmother resuming spoke,
" WTien I saw Mary coming near the oak
Where I was resting, holding baby fast,
Hushing and singing to it as she passed.
Yet strangely breaking off into a prayer
Wild incoherent, as of strong despair.
Between the snatches of her lullaby :
Conceive the shock it gave me ; plainly I
Heard what she muttered, ' John is gone with HER !
Little he cares about the woodpecker.'

" I knew the husband all too often failed
In duty to my Mary, since she ailed
Now many a day from harshness of the man ;
Albeit in sooth the malady foreran
In buried members of our family
(My fear foreboded her not wholly free.
Even from a girl) ; she wept unceasingly
These later days indeed ; nor most I think
From his brutality to her in drink.
But for his wanton doings with the other :
Gentle and true, poor thing, she could not smother
Hatred of that lewd woman handsome base,
Who daily more encroached upon her place
In her own house as in his fickle heart.
And yet what smote her witii the deadly smart
Was this one day that made so fair a start
Playing her false, betraying her to pain.
She wellnigh foolish counted on the wane,
Because he had been kinder for awhile ;
The woman for a month gone many a mile :
And he was gentler to the children small
As to herself— that evening most of all
Kind he appeared and cheery— happiness
Of dim-remembered years came nigh to bless,
When they twain and the child beneath the sod,
Their pretty first-born, seemed alone with
God,
Happy as those in heaven. — Sudden fell
On her fresh-budding hope the blast from hell.
Loathsome, abhorred, familiar too well.
The hated gleam she saw among the fern
Of her red drapery ; which made her turn
White cold, atremble, as the children told,
Rising from playing with them in the gold
Of silverweed and birdsfoot, fixing look
Intently staring on the path he took
Among thick hazels and low - blooming bramble :
But Tom, poor innocent, moved on a ramble
That very way, spying a foxglove yonder,
(Such a tall spire of spotted bells, a wonder I)
When swift and shrill she screamed that he should stay :
' Stay here ! you dare not ! will you ne'er obey?
Not nigh that woman '—then she caught the child,
The little baby, with a gesture wild.
Straining it to her, hurrying to me.
Muttering singing incoherently."'

She paused as weary, shedding even tears.
Though all was over many many years ;
So I besought her not to tell me more
Nor idly stir the drowsy griefs of yore.

" I like to tell you, sad indeed yet sweet.
Going all over, but 'tis hardly meet
Much longer to detain you, and indeed
For what remains there is l)ut little need.
Terrible journey home ! sad interval
Till I all faint, fearing for what might fall
On those wee children with the mother dazed
(Frightful to see her fondling baby crazed !)
On thorns both day and night, in anguish went
With my poor Mary where she must be sent.
The Doctor said ; where skilful dealing would
Be likeliest, he thought, to work for good,
If aught could cure, by severing her ways
From ail that mixed slow poison with her days.
" Well very soon, as I expected, he
Brought home the woman, telling me that she
Would cherish well the babes unmothered all,
Since me myself my proper cares recall
Home to the farmthose days you know I kept
House for my son unwed, yet often stept
Over to Mary's ; it was very near ;
And to my heart her babes were very dear.

" But need there was for me in Chelmsford town
Soon after far from them to bide ; and flown
Were nigh four months before I could again
Behold my children, howsoever fain.
And then indeed it made my heart to ache
Seeing my babes — you know I could not take
Them home, 'twas all impossible, but oh !
They had not got their mother, don't you know.
A mother's love for her own little child,
There's nought so strong, so holy, undefiled !
Rosy and happy they would always look ;
They were her first thought, and I seldom took
A walk their way, but I was sure to find
Her at wee shirt or frock, or romping kind
Tireless with one or all; save when she plied
Her other household tasks — (for she but lied.
The other woman, when she spread abroad
Her duties to her husband were ignored
By Mary, though she made him think the same) —
But as to them, the children, when I came
I found them all uncared-for, pining, pale ;
I was quite sure their very food must fail.
Unwashed, unkempt, ragged and slatternly.
Poor darlings cherished late so tenderly !
And with her always bitter, sharp and cross.
They lost their childish spirits ; what a loss
For little children ! Oft I found them crying :
One cowed, sly, joyless ; peevish or defying
Another grew, and far more quarrelsome —
Starved of fair equal dealing, all that home
With loving watchful service can provide,
Starved in their poor hearts, and as illsupplied
Small growing bodies with the needful food —
I used to think that no one ever could
Maltreat, or even neglect, a little child.
Enslaving us with sheerest weakness mild.
Conquering with designless impotence.
Pleading with all resistless eloquence
Of humble sweet uplooking eyes and sense
Of utter helplessness, implicit trust
In you for all — could any woman thrust
An innocent away, who made appeal
With pleading shiftless geste, if she could feel?
Had she a heart deep in it must he steal,
She not unmindful that herself once throve
Frail pensioner upon a mother's love !
Seeing the little girl alas ! I thought,
How but two years ago I saved and bought
Some wooden animals and other toys
For her, and how quite weary with her joys
One day I found her at my Mary's — there
Was little Nelly in the cushion-chair
In Mary's arms, who dared not breathe nor
Though cramped and numb for fear of waking her :
Unaware dozing off to quiet sleep,
Her dimpled, waxen little fingers keep
A small white wooden cock, her favourite toy,
Rosily loosely locked upon the joy —
Open moist coral mouth, and flushing cheek !
Where were they now ? timid and wan and weak
I found her — but to make my story short.
Trustworthy news one day to me was brought
That John was gone, had left both house and home,
And none knew where; but over the sea-foam
Somewhere abroad, mayhap Australia,
The folk surmised : ' His little children are
Left to that woman,' thus the neighbour said.
' She will not keep them now the father's fled,
But they must go into the workhouse nigh ;
You cannot take them ' — how in sooth could I !
(It seems that John and she had quarrelled sore.
Yet from his winnings she secured a store)
So by the help of our good clergyman
I carried out reluctantly the plan —
I think it was a hard and cheerless life :
One soon gave over the unequal strife ;
Harshness, neglect, poor food, too strong for her,
Poor Httle Nelly died — so happier !
The baby, that, you know, had died before.
But for the others, Tom and Ned, they bore
Up against all ; and when I found the leisure —
Hoping to give my poor lost child a pleasure,
And because Doctor Thomson said it might
Possibly set her wildered reason right
To see the children — on a holiday
I took them to their mother, far away.

"Ah ! what a change — her scanty hair was grey,
Late raven-black ; her face was gaunt and drawn.
Once blithe and fresh and rosy as the dawn.
She knew us, yes she knew us, them and me ;
Yet not as figures from the past, you see.
Blent with old scenes, at most but vaguely linked ;
Rather with that fire-atmosphere all tinct
She breathed, blent with her tortured wildered being-
Hell, with but Death to slide the bolt for fleeing !
She scared the little ones, holding them close
Embraced for long : and once indeed there rose
Some of the Past faint blurred in front of her —
' Nelly and baby, you must bring them here :
Well are they? — John would have come earlier
To see me in my misery, but he
Must be long dead— I mind their telling me !'

. . . "Well, have I more to tell? The boys are here.
If Ned could get some situation near —
He's old enough — you hear them shouting now.
They and my sons three slung from bough to bough
There in the apple orchard late a swing —
They let me have the boys out for a fling
Of pleasure now and then — they're very well —
They like the dipping ; why, I cannot tell ;
It turns me giddy looking — well, the young
I know ! and there's the terrier barking strong ;
When Neddy runs to push, he always will ;
Poor dog, some day he's sure to come to ill I
I think that you can see them if you look ;
The casement is ajar ; 'tis nigh the brook
And gillyflowers — my apples will be rare
I fear this year, they do not promise fair.
"Tis nearly time the children came to tea.
And I must make it : where's the gooseberry
I promised little Mary ?
Must you go ?
You will be always welcome, Sir, you know !"