Catherine Furze | Page 9

but when we near it, or become immersed in it, it is often at least semi-transparent, and even sometimes admits a ray of sunshine. Gradually his employment became sweet to him; he was a part of the town; he heard all its news; it was gentle within him; even the rough boys never molested him: he tamed a black kitten to stay with him, and a red ribbon and a bell were provided for her by a friend. When the kitten grew to be a cat she gravely watched under Mike's awning during his short absences with Tom, and not a soul ever touched the property she guarded. Country folk who came to market on Saturday invariably saluted Mike with their kind country friendliness, and brought him all sorts of little gifts in the shape of fruit, and even of something more substantial when a pig was killed. Thus with Mike time and the hour wore out the roughest day.
Two years had now passed since his accident, and Tom was about seventeen, when Miss Catharine crossed the bridge one fine Monday morning in June with the servant, and, as was her wont, stopped to have a word or two with her friend Mike. Mike was always at his best on Monday morning. Sunday was a day of rest, but he preferred Monday. It was a delight to him to hear again the carts and the noise of feet, and to feel that the world was alive once more. Sunday with its enforced quietude and inactivity was a burden to him.
"Well, Miss Catharine, how are you to-day?"
"How did you know I was Miss Catharine? I hadn't spoken."
"Lord, Miss, I could tell. Though it's only about two years since I lost my eyes, I could tell. I can make out people's footsteps. What a lovely morning! What's going on now down below?"
Mike always took much interest in the wharves by the side of the river.
"Why, Barnes's big lighter is loading malt."
"Ah! what, the new one with the yellow band round it! that's a beautiful lighter, that is."
Mike had never seen it.
"What days do you dislike the most? Foggy, damp, dull, dark days?"
These foggy, damp, dull, dark days were particularly distasteful to Catharine.
"No, Miss, I can't say I do, for, you know, I don't see them."
"Cold, bitter days?"
"They are a bit bad; but somehow I earn more money on cold days than on any other; how it is I don't know."
"I hate the dust."
"Ah now! that IS unpleasant, but there again, Miss, I dodge it, and it's my belief that it wouldn't worry people half so much if they wouldn't look at it."
"How much have you earned this morning?"
"Not a penny yet, Miss, but it will come."
"I want two pairs of shoe-laces," and Miss Catharine, selecting two pairs, put down a fourpenny-piece, part of her pocket-money, twice the market value of the laces, and tripped over the bridge. When she was at dinner with her father and mother that day she suddenly said -
"Father, didn't Mike Catchpole lose his sight in our foundry?"
"Yes."
"Have you been talking with him again?" interposed Mrs. Furze. "I wish you would not stop on the bridge as you do. It does not look nice for a girl like you to stay and gossip with Mike."
Catharine took no notice.
"Did you ever do anything for him?"
"What an odd question!" again interposed Mrs. Furze. "What should we do? There was his club besides, we sent him the lotion."
"Why cannot you take Tom as an apprentice?"
"Because," said her father, "there is nobody to pay the premium; you know what that means. When a boy is bound apprentice the master has a sum of money for teaching him the business."
Catharine did not quite comprehend, inasmuch as there were two boys in the back shop who were paid wages, and who were learning their trade. She was quiet for a few minutes, but presently returned to the charge.
"You MUST take Tom. Why shouldn't you give him what you give the other boys?"
"Really, Catharine," said her mother, "why MUST?"
"Must!" cried the little miss--"yes, I say MUST, because Mike lost his eyes for you, and you've done nothing for him; it's a shame."
"Catharine, Catharine!" said her father, but in accordance with his usual habit he said nothing more, and the mother, also in accordance with her usual habit, collapsed.
Miss Catharine generally, even at that early age, carried all before her, much to her own detriment. Her parents unfortunately were perpetually making a brief show of resistance and afterwards yielding. Frequently they had no pretext for resistance, for Catharine was right and they were wrong. Consequently the child grew up accustomed to see everything bend to her own will, and accustomed to believe that what she willed was in accordance with the will of the universe--not a