A THOROUGH CHANGE.

“I am afraid,” Leonard said presently, “that I am taking you out of your way.”

“Not at all, sir; I live in that same street. There’s a good many of us live there. It is like a rabbit-warren.”

“Really!” said Leonard.

“It swarms with old and young young ones mostly. Too many of ’em. We ought not to grieve too much when they are taken from this hard world to rest and safety. But the mothers do grieve, poor things! and the fathers too.”

“Perhaps you have lost a child lately,” said Leonard, very gently.

“He was buried yesterday.”

They went on in silence until they turned into a street which appeared to begin much better than it ended. Leonard’s guide said, “Here we are; this is your street.”

“Oh, thank you; but don’t come any further.” And Leonard began to fumble in his pocket for a half-crown.

“It is my street too,” said the poor man.

“All right then. I want N.”

“I live at 103 myself.”

“That is curious. Do you know a Mr. Mitchell in that house?”

“I know him pretty well; I am Thomas Mitchell.”

Then Leonard shook hands heartily with his guide, and as they walked slowly along the cooler side of the street he unfolded all the plans which Mr. Burnet had made for the Mitchell family. They were already known in part to the father and mother, but the children had not been informed of what was in store for them. Mrs. Mitchell had thought that such a prospect would excite them greatly, and that their disappointment would be great if anything occurred at the last moment to upset the plan.

But now it must be declared.

All the children were at home, it being holiday-time. Juliet sat at needlework, Albert was carpentering an old wooden box and turning it into a cupboard; the younger ones were playing with some firewood, and building castles with it. Mrs. Mitchell was stitching at one more mantle, and thinking over every little incident of her baby’s life and death.

Into the midst of this quiet scene came Leonard Burnet, full of life and vigour, and overflowing with the happy message he had brought. He told them of the pretty cottage with honeysuckle on the porch, of the garden full of cauliflowers and scarlet-runners, of the clear bright river, of the open fields, of the shady woods, the winding lanes, and of all the pleasant things of rural life. Then he spoke of Mr. and Mrs. Rowles, and the lock, and the boats; of Philip and Emily; of the good vicar and Mrs. Webster; of Mrs. Bosher’s brother, and the horses, cows, pigs, and poultry which he possessed.

How strange it all seemed to Juliet! How far away, and yet how well known! She was the only one of her family who had seen these places and persons, and the thought of them filled her with both sorrow and pleasure. Several times as Leonard talked he turned to her, saying, “You know the lock, Juliet?” or “You have seen Mrs. Bosher’s brother, I think, Juliet?” or else “The fields and the river are very nice, are they not?” and to each of his appeals she had gravely bowed her head in assent.

In the end it was arranged that the following Monday should be spent by the Mitchell family in packing up the few goods which they possessed, and that on Tuesday they should send off those goods by the Littlebourne carrier, who would be directed by Mr. Burnet to call for them; and then they should all go by omnibus to Paddington station, and be met at Littlebourne station by Mr. Burnet, or Leonard, or Mr. Burnet’s butler, or Mrs. Bosher’s brother.

“Or perhaps by all of us!” said Leonard laughing.

These plans and hours being clearly understood, and Leonard having advanced Mitchell a sovereign to help pay for the move, he took his leave, his scarf-pin safe in his waistcoat-pocket. He left the whole family in a state of wonder and delight, which would have been even greater had they guessed what further surprises were in store for them.

No week ever seemed so short and so long to people as that week appeared to the Mitchells. There was not time enough to finish up everything that ought to be finished, and to say good-bye to every one who had been kind and friendly to them in London. Then there were notices to be given the school, and to the society and the dispensary which had helped Thomas Mitchell in his trouble. The clergyman and the schoolmaster and schoolmistress came to say farewell; and as for the neighbours, poor as they all were, and rude as some were, they crowded with wishes and gifts.

“Two gallipots,” said one old woman, “for you to put your black currant jam in.”

“A few cuttings of geraniums,” said a young gardener who worked in Victoria Park; “try if you can get them to take.”

“My school-prize,” said a big girl, putting a red-and-gold-covered book into the hands of little Amy; “I’ve grown too old for it, so you may have it.”

And Miss Sutton came with the good news that one great West-end draper had promised to meet his workwomen face to face, and no longer to employ any middlemen. “For which you will be thankful,” said Miss Sutton to Mrs. Mitchell, “though you will not yourself reap the benefit.”

Yes, Mrs. Mitchell was very thankful for many things; but there was one which brought ever-fresh tears to her eyes as she left the swarming city. “I leave three little graves!”

And Juliet! She hardly knew how she ought to feel or how she did. Certainly there was a great deal of shame in her heart; and equally certainly there was a great deal of pride not the old pride of self-conceit, but a reasonable pride in knowing so much about the things of the country. She had enough to do to explain to her brothers and sisters the many new things which they saw from the train, and to answer their hundreds of questions.

At Littlebourne there was quite a sensation on their arrival. Mr. Burnet was there in his pony-carriage, and Leonard, and Mrs. Bosher’s brother with a donkey-cart. Mrs. Rowles and Emily laughed and cried over their relations; and poor Mitchell became so faint from fatigue and emotion that Mrs. Webster, who now arrived on the scene, hurried him and his wife and little ones into a “fly” to get them out of the hubbub.

The station-master and the porters were quite glad when this party moved off.

They went slowly along the roads, in the soft air sweetened by recent showers, talking all together, all at the same time. What did it matter? Nobody wanted to hear anybody’s words except his own. At the cottage they ceased talking, and all ran about through the small garden, up and down the flight of stairs, in and out the rooms.

Then Mrs. Webster laid down on the dresser a parcel containing home-made bread and fresh butter. Next Mrs. Bosher’s brother brought from the donkey-cart some bacon, eggs, and milk. The pony-carriage had concealed under the seat some soap, candles, and cheese. Mrs. Rowles had a bundle of blankets as a loan, for the present moment; and Mrs. Bosher came in with sheets and towels for Mrs. Mitchell to use until her own arrived. All these kindnesses overpowered the London people, and they knew not how to thank their new friends.

To avoid being thanked Mrs. Bosher nodded her bonnet at Juliet and went away. Mrs. Webster also departed. Mr. Burnet asked Mitchell to meet him at the works next morning, and then he and Leonard drove off. Mrs. Bosher’s brother hauled in a half-sack of coals and two great faggots from the donkey-cart, and then he, too, said good-bye.

The Rowles party stayed longer.

“Ned will come to see you, I hope,” said Mrs. Rowles to her brother-in-law. “But he says he is afraid he can’t come in the middle of the night; but would half-past ten be late enough?”

“Dear, dear!” said Mrs. Mitchell, somewhat puzzled. “Well, we must sit up for him if necessary; but I did hope that Thomas would have his proper nights’ rests here in the country. We ought all to be in bed by ten o’clock.”

“You see, Rowles cannot leave the lock unless he gets a deputy. Philip is hardly strong enough by himself. And Ned says that of course Tom can’t come to the lock, being at work all night and asleep all day.”

“That will not be the case here,” said Mitchell smiling. “Besides, there’s one or two things that I may as well explain to Rowles. Seems to me he’s got some ideas upside down in his head.”

“Oh, I don’t know!” cried Mrs. Rowles; “but my idea is that you had better have your suppers now and go to bed as quick as you can. There’ll be lots of new things to see to-morrow. And if Ned can’t come you’ll be sure to have Mr. Robert the butler at Bourne House, and the housekeeper. You see, they all know Juliet ” Here Mrs. Rowles broke off, and Juliet shrank away, feeling bitterly that they knew little that was good of her.

She was, however, able to eat her supper with the rest of her family, and to sleep on the shake-down of blankets, and to rise in the morning refreshed and happy and ready for the new life before her.

The carrier arrived about eleven o’clock that morning, and the few bits of furniture and so forth which had come from London were put, one by one, in new places. Mrs. Mitchell said that a pound of paint would touch them up quite smart-like.

Thomas Mitchell and Albert had not stayed at Honeysuckle Cottage to see the arrival of these goods, but had gone to the works to meet Mr. Burnet there at nine o’clock. They were told by the foreman to go into the office, and there they awaited the arrival of the master.

Mr. Burnet soon appeared, and after a few words of greeting took a key from his pocket and opened the letter-box. From it he took a large number of business letters. He laid them into several separate heaps. Then he pressed the button of an electric-bell, and a lad came in from some other part of the buildings.

“Here, Willie, take these letters, if you please. One for Mr. Toop, one for Mr. Richard Macnunn, two for Mr. Plasket, and here is a very fat one for ’Arthur George Rayner, Esq., Foreman at the Works of the Thames Valley Times and Post, Littlebourne, Berkshire, England.’ It really looks like something important.”

When the boy had gone off to deliver the letters, Mr. Burnet took Mitchell outside the office and pointed out to him the different parts of the building and the advantages of the position. One of these was that the Little Bourne, a small but rapid stream, flowed close by, supplying water. There were gas-works on the premises, and there was a small tramway for sending paper, &c., from one end to the other. There was handsome stabling, and there were lofty, airy work-rooms.

“Every appliance for making a good thing of it,” said Mr. Burnet.

He held up his hand for silence as a strange, low sound rolled out from the works. Was it the roar of fire or an explosion of steam? But no sign of fire followed, and nothing shook or broke. Only there came a second roar, louder than the first, and then the great gates of the great yard burst open, and out poured a crowd of men, jumping, dancing, shouting, and apparently in great joy.

“A strike,” said Mitchell, “or what?”

“I don’t know,” answered Mr. Burnet calmly but gravely; “I have no notion what can be the matter.”

The men came nearer, some twenty in all, and in the midst of them was one man seated in a chair and carried by four others.

“What can they be doing with Rayner?” exclaimed Mr. Burnet. “Why are they chairing him?”

“Hurrah for Rayner! Hurrah for New Zealand! Hurrah for everybody! Half-time to-day and a sovereign apiece! Hurrah for Rayner and New Zealand!”

All this was most extraordinary; and yet even more extraordinary was the conduct and manner of Rayner. He laughed loudly, and then he plunged his face into his handkerchief and sobbed wildly. He shook hands with every one near, and then waved them away with a majestic air. In fact he seemed to have taken leave of his senses; the truth was, that his senses had taken leave of him for a season. And yet the sight of Mr. Burnet’s perplexed face sobered him in a measure.

He swaggered up to his master, saying, “Shake hands, Burnet; I’m not too proud for that.”

Mr. Burnet obeyed.

“Listen to me, I’ll tell you something. Wonders will never cease. If you had a brother, Burnet, whom you had not seen for thirty-five years, would not your heart yearn towards him? Yes, even a letter from his lawyer would fill your heart with joy.”

“No doubt,” said Mr. Burnet.

“Here’s a letter, come this minute; why, joy is nothing to it. I’m a made man, a rich man, snap my fingers at you all! Do you hear? My brother in New Zealand is dead. What do you say to that?”

“I am very sorry for you,” said Mr. Burnet.

“Are you? You are that envious you don’t know how to look me in the face! Thirty thousand pounds, Burnet! What do you say to that? Have you got thirty thousand pounds? I snap my fingers at you all!” And he did it.

“My poor brother died six months ago. Ah! sad, sad! Lonely old bachelor! Not a creature to weep for him but me. They have been six months finding out my address; and now I can go to New Zealand and live on my property worth thirty thousand pounds, or, the lawyer writes, the land can be sold and the cash sent over to me. I think I like cash better than land. Shake hands again, Burnet. I’ve told the men I’ll give them a half-holiday, as there’s not much doing, and a sovereign apiece, which you will advance to them. I’ll give a cheque for it, you know.”

Mr. Burnet did not respond.

“Now, some men,” Rayner went on, wiping the heat from his streaming face, “would have their heads turned by such luck as the death of a rich bachelor brother; but I’m as cool as a cucumber, only the weather is rather warm. Shake hands, Burnet; you’ll never find a bit of pride in me. Cheer again, mates, and off to your homes, and may you all have rich brothers and end with thirty thousand pounds!”

It was evident that poor Rayner’s head was completely turned by his sudden prosperity. Perhaps few men could have taken such a change without some excitement; probably few men would have become so insane on account of what only changed his fortunes, not himself, or, rather, had so far only changed himself for the worse. All this bluster and talk made no impression on either Mr. Burnet or Mitchell, who waited quietly until Rayner’s extravagant delight should have spent itself.

The other men, too, began to see how ridiculous Rayner was making himself. They soon moved off, by twos and threes, back to their work; and presently Rayner found himself alone with his employer and the new man just come down from London.

“I suppose,” said Mr. Burnet calmly, “that you will not wish to work any longer, Rayner, in my factory?”

“That for your factory!” said Rayner, snapping his fingers again; “I’ll never do another day’s work as long as I live. I’ll pay you what you like instead of a week’s notice, or you may fine me what you like. But I’m off to London by the next train to see my lawyer, and to enjoy myself a bit. I’ll send for my wife and the children when I’m ready for them.”

“Hear one word,” said Mr. Burnet. “I have no wish to detain you an hour if you wish to go, nor will I take any payment or fine. The only thing that troubles me is that not one of the other men is capable of filling your place, not one of them could undertake the position of foreman, even if I were willing to offer it.”

“No,” replied Rayner, “you can’t fill my place with one of those duffers. But, I say, what about this chap from London? Can’t you make him foreman?”

Mr. Burnet and Mitchell looked at each other; then said the master, “What do you think, Mitchell?”

“Settle it between you,” cried Rayner, “it is no business of mine. Good-bye, and good luck to you! I shall see no more of that old Times and Post, I’m thankful to say. New times and a new post for me! So I’m off!”

And away he went, down the private road and into the highroad, and to his cottage home, where he astounded his wife by his words and manner, and from whence he betook himself and was seen no more in Littlebourne. A fortnight later, Mrs. Rayner, a quiet, sensible woman, took herself and her children out of the place, and Rayner and his thirty thousand pounds were only remembered as something to laugh over and wonder at.

As for Thomas Mitchell well, it was almost too good to be true. He looked over the works, saw the presses, talked with the men, and came to the conclusion that he could undertake the duties of foreman. It was a great rise for him.

“I never thought of such a thing, sir, when I came down here.”

“Nor did I, Mitchell. I only thought of bringing you into good air, and setting you up in health. If Rayner had not made room for you, you could only have been one of the journeymen printers.”

“Seems to me,” said Mitchell huskily, “that a kind Hand has led me here in a wonderful way. I see quite plainly that it is not myself that has brought me here.”

“I see that too,” answered Mr. Burnet. “I little thought when I found a naughty girl astray on the river that such events would occur. Your Juliet did not seem of any consequence to me, but when Rowles told me of her father’s bad health I just said to myself that he would have a better chance in the country. And the idea put itself into shape, and you were brought down here, and then exactly at the right moment Rayner’s good fortune if it really turns out to be good fortune came to him, and the post was open for you, and I believe you will prove to be the right man in the right place.”