Chapter XIX: An Unlooked-For Holiday

"Nor love thy life, nor hate; but whilst thou liv'st
Live well; how long, how short, permit to heaven."
MILTON.

ON returning to consciousness, Joseph became aware of a crowd of people, a buzz of voices, and intense pain in his left arm.

For the moment, he had lost all recollection of what had occurred, and could only utter a faint moan. But as his senses came back, he remembered the ladder, and glanced quickly towards it.

"Is Richards safe?" he asked.

"Here," answered the man, pushing forwards towards him. "I'm afraid you've paid dearly, poor lad!"

"I'm all right," gasped Joseph, catching his breath with the pain as he tried to move, "except this arm. It must be broken."

"Do you think you can walk?" asked Richards.

"I can try," answered the brave fellow, wincing again, but quickly recovering himself. "I'm only a bit shaken."

"And well you may be!" remarked an onlooker who, having satisfied himself that life was preserved, was preparing to turn on his way. "It came near being an ugly business."

"Stupid job, attempting to haul a pole without a rope to it," remarked another. "It was a lucky escape; a mere chance, as one may say."

The crowd now began to disperse, whilst those who had no special reason for hurry commenced discussing the various conjectures put forth as to how the accident happened, and so on. But one man chose to take up a different aspect of the question. He was a painter who frequently worked in Mr. Glover's employ, and was well-known as a freethinker and scoffer.

"'No such thing as chance,' they say," he jeered. "It's all 'design'; ruled and predestined by a wise Providence. What about a slip like that, I wonder! I suppose your preachers can make it come right somehow. 'All things work together for good,' they say. Don't tell me! How about the widowed mother? She wouldn't find much 'good' in losing her only support. There's more chance than Providence in the matter."

Joseph caught these words and looked round. "Who said that?" he asked.

"Me," answered the man; "right enough. You can't make much out o' this job to 'thank the Lord for,' I'll lay," he added.

"That He has spared my life," returned Joseph; "I do thank Him for that."

"Ah! Of course; not so bad but it might have been worse. A very cheerful principle to go upon too! Suppose, now, it had been the neck instead of the arm. Not much 'good' to be worked out o' that, hey?"

Joseph looked him steadily in the face. He well knew the man's creed.

"My poor mother would have found comfort," he answered; "and as for myself, I am not afraid of death. 'For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.'"

The man uttered a loud guffaw. "Take my advice and drop that cant," he said. "It won't serve you against a scaffold-pole."

"It will serve me beyond the grave some day," answered Joseph firmly; "and you cannot affirm that much of any belief you hold, Mr. Robbins."

The man looked somewhat taken aback by the lad's boldness. But at this juncture Richards interfered, saying, that as soon as Joseph felt able to try and move, it would be advisable to get him to a doctor's. So they forthwith set about helping him to his feet and taking him to the nearest surgery.

His arm was found to be broken in two places. But beyond a few bruises and a severe shaking, he had escaped without further injury. And after having the broken limb attended to, he was able to proceed home to his lodgings, where his good friends, Ned Vigus and Nancy, received him with expressions of the deepest concern.

"No fear for me," was Joseph's cheerful reply. "I shall do well enough with a little of your nursing, Miss Vigus; though I'm afraid I shall give you some trouble with this helpless bundle of splints hanging round my neck."

"Never mind about that," responded Miss Vigus warmly, "so that I haven't any bad news to tell your poor mother. That's all I think of."

"That was all I thought of at first," said Joseph. "A fall like that confuses the brains somewhat. I was too much 'astonished' to have many ideas left. The principal thing seemed to be alive, and to know that I wasn't hopelessly maimed. But it begins to strike me that I didn't particularly want an idle time just now. I shall have to ask you for credit, Mr. Vigus. I sent all my surplus cash to my mother on Saturday; and I shan't be in working trim yet awhile."

"Oh! If it comes to that, we can but go shares in the accident," returned good Ned Vigus. "Your patterns have been a wonderful help to my fretwork; and Nancy's needle is very busy just now, with the spring season coming on. But, unless I'm much mistaken, Mr. Glover will make that all straight. He's a Humane Society all to himself, is Mr. Glover; and he'll have a gold medal ready for you."

Ned Vigus was right. On going down to the works after breakfast, Mr. Glover heard all the particulars of Stacey's unlucky manœuvre, and before the day was over, he came round to see the disabled hero.

"Well!" he said cheerily, after some talk. "You didn't ask me for a holiday, or perhaps I might not have been so ready to give you one. But you will have to lie by for a month or so, and the best thing you can do is to go home and get some country air to set you up."

Joseph hesitated, uncertain how to take these words. "I don't know, sir," he replied. "I can't go home to be a burden to my mother. And as Mr. Vigus is willing to let my bill run, I think I had better remain here. I must get to work as soon as possible, and right myself by degrees."

But Mr. Glover shook his head.

"Miss Nancy doesn't want an invalid about, in the midst of all this dressmaking," he said; "and your mother will be glad enough to have you to nurse. When I speak of giving a holiday, I don't mean making you the loser. So you can set off with a clear conscience as soon as the doctor grants permission; and don't return until you can use your arm properly."

Joseph hastened to express his sense of his employer's kindness, whilst Ned Vigus nodded a "signe d'intelligence" at Nancy, thoroughly satisfied at this fulfilment of his own prediction. And after a little further conversation, Mr. Glover left.

The following week, Joseph—having previously written to his mother to expect him—once more took train home, and was soon answering endless questions concerning his disaster by the fireside in the old keeping-room.

It was some considerable time before a subject of such vital interest could wear itself out, especially as the helpless arm acted the part of a perpetual reminder. But at length, Joseph began to make inquiries about some of his old acquaintances—more especially the Andersons, of whose downfall he had of course already heard. Walter, he now learned, had left home, whilst Cicely still remained with her parents,—their mainstay and comforter, in her dauntless courage and indomitable energy.

Then Mrs. Adams went on to relate what she knew of the cause and circumstances of Horace Grandpont's flight from the country, adding, "It has completely crushed his poor father and mother. But what else could possibly result from a bringing-up which taught him to regard pleasure as the main end of life, and himself as the principal person in the world?"

Joseph remembered the adventure in the stable-yard, the day his father died. "Riches are not everything after all, mother," he said.

"Your aunt and uncle are in trouble, too," Mrs. Adams continued. "Neville has been seriously ill. They have been with him at Oxford for the last month, and yesterday they brought him home."

Joseph expressed sincere concern upon hearing of the danger through which his cousin had passed. Since the accident which had come so near taking his own life, death had become more of a reality to him; and in proportion as he himself could face it fearlessly, was he enabled to appreciate the solemn aspect of such an illness to one who had lived so carelessly.

"Let us hope it may be the means of good to him," he said. "It may have been sent to save him."

The same thought had been in his mother's mind. She was by no means ignorant of the perils of university life, for a pleasure-seeking young man devoid of religious principle. And from hints she had gathered, she had reason to believe that the commencement which her nephew had made was such as could only bring sorrow and disgrace upon his parents.

However, Neville's danger for the present seemed past. The weather was in his favour, and as soon as he had had time to recover from the fatigue of his journey, he was seen driving out with Mina—well muffled up, it is true, and looking a mere ghost of his former self, but still so far recovered that he was able to benefit by the invigorating influence of the mild spring air. His spirits seemed high, as usual.

Joseph met him one day, when out for a walk with Ruth. He was talking in an animated way to Mina as they drove gaily along; and he nodded carelessly to Joseph, and even turned his head with evident curiosity on perceiving the sling.

But Joseph never forgot the look of his face. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes bright; but not with the vigour of returning health. Folly and imprudence had undermined the strength which otherwise might have resisted the fatal tendency inherited from his mother's family, and the stamp of consumption was on his brow. The transparent skin, the hectic colour, the unnatural lustre of his eyes, all told that the hidden fire was eating away his life, and that death had sealed him for its own.

Before that week was over, a wearing cough had come on, and in consequence of a change of wind, he was confined to the house. He never went out again.