It Is Never Too Late to Mend | Page 7

he whispered her, "and don't go lumping the chine down under his nose now."
"I thank you, young man," faltered Isaac, "I must not eat with you, but I will go in and rest my limbs which fail me, and compose myself; for passion is unseemly at my years."
Arrived at the door, he suddenly paused, and looking upward, said:
"Peace be under this roof, and comfort and love follow me into this dwelling."
"Thank ye kindly," said young Fielding, a little surprised and touched by this. "How old are you, daddy, if you please?" added he respectfully.
"My son, I am threescore years and ten--a man of years and grief--grief for myself, grief still more for my nation and city. Men that are men pity us; men that are dogs have insulted us in all ages."
"Well," said the good-natured young man soothingly--"don't you vex yourself any more about it. Now you go in, and forget all your trouble awhile, please God, by my fireside, my poor old man."
Isaac turned, the water came to his eyes at this after being insulted so; a little struggle took place in him, but nature conquered prejudice and certain rubbish he called religion. He held out his hand like the king of all Asia; George grasped it like an Englishman.
"Isaac Levi is your friend," and the expression of the man's whole face and body showed these words carried with them a meaning unknown in good society.
He entered the house, and young Fielding stood watching him with a natural curiosity.
Now Isaac Levi knew nothing about the corn-factor's plans. When at one and the same moment he grasped George's hand, and darted a long, lingering glance of demoniacal hatred on Meadows, he coupled two sentiments by pure chance. And Meadows knew this; but still it struck Meadows as singular and ominous.
When, with the best of motives, one is on a wolf's errand, it is not nice to hear a hyena say to the shepherd's dog, "I am your friend," and see him contemptuously shoot the eye of a rattlesnake at one's self.
The misgiving, however, was but momentary; Meadows respected his own motives and felt his own power; an old Jew's wild fury could not shake his confidence.
He muttered, "One more down to your account, George Fielding," and left the young man watching Isaac's retreating form.
George, who didn't know he was gone, said:
"Old man's words seem to knock against my bosom, Mr. Meadows--Gone, eh?--that man," thought George Fielding, "has everybody's good word, parson's and all--who'd think he'd lift his hand, leastways his stick it was and that's worse, against a man of three score and upward--Ugh!" thought George Fielding, yeoman of the midland counties--and unaffected wonder mingled with his disgust.
His reverie was broken by William Fielding just ridden in from Farnborough.
"Better late than never," said the elder brother, impatiently.
"Couldn't get away sooner, George; here's the money for the sheep, 13 pounds 10s.; no offer for the cow, Jem is driving her home."
"Well, but the money--the 80 pounds, Will?"
William looked sulkily down.
"I haven't got it, George! There's your draft again, the bank wouldn't take it."
A keen pang shot across George's face, as much for the affront as the disappointment.
"They wouldn't take it?" gasped he. "Ay, Will, our credit is down, the whole town knows our rent is overdue. I suppose you know money must be got some way."
"Any way is better than threshing out new wheat at such a price," said William sullenly. "Ask a loan of a neighbor."
"Oh, Will," appealed George, "to ask a loan of a neighbor, and be denied--it is bitterer than death. You can do it."
"I! Am I master here?" retorted the younger. "The farm is not farmed my way, nor ever was. No! Give me the plow-handle and I'll cut the furrow, George."
"No doubt, no doubt!" said the other, very sharply, "you'd like to draw the land dry with potato crops, and have fourscore hogs snoring in the farmyard; that's your idea of a farm. Oh! I know you want to be elder brother. Well, I tell'ee what do; you kill me first, Bill Fielding, and then you will be elder brother, and not afore."
Here was a pretty little burst of temper! We have all our sore part.
"So be it, George!" replied William, "you got us into the mud, elder brother, you get us out of the mire!"
George subdued his tone directly.
"Who shall I ask?" said he, as one addressing a bosom counselor.
"Uncle Merton, or--or---Mr. Meadows the corn-factor; he lends money at times to friends. It would not be much to either of them."
"Show my empty pockets to Susanna's father! Oh, Will! how can you be so cruel?"
"Meadows, then."
"No use for me, I've just offended him a hit; beside he's a man that never knew trouble or ill luck in his life; they are like flints, all that