Mary Barton | Page 8

"Here, children, instead o' kissing and quarrelling, do ye each take a
baby, for if Wilson's arms be like mine they are heartily tired."
Mary sprang forward to take her father's charge, with a girl's fondness
for infants, and with some little foresight of the event soon to happen at
home; while young Wilson seemed to lose his rough, cubbish nature as
he crowed and cooed to his little brother.
"Twins is a great trial to a poor man, bless 'em," said the half- proud,
half-weary father, as he bestowed a smacking kiss on the babe ere he
parted with it.

II. A MANCHESTER TEA-PARTY.
"Polly, put the kettle on, And let's have tea! Polly, put the kettle on,
And we'll all have tea."
"Here we are, wife; did'st thou think thou'd lost us?" quoth
hearty-voiced Wilson, as the two women rose and shook themselves in
preparation for their homeward walk. Mrs. Barton was evidently
soothed, if not cheered, by the unburdening of her fears and thoughts to
her friend; and her approving look went far to second her husband's
invitation that the whole party should adjourn from Green Heys Fields
to tea, at the Bartons' house. The only faint opposition was raised by
Mrs. Wilson, on account of the lateness of the hour at which they

would probably return, which she feared on her babies' account.
"Now, hold your tongue, missis, will you," said her husband
good-temperedly. "Don't you know them brats never goes to sleep till
long past ten? and haven't you a shawl, under which you can tuck one
lad's head, as safe as a bird's under its wing? And as for t'other one, I'll
put it in my pocket rather than not stay, now we are this far away from
Ancoats."
"Or, I can lend you another shawl," suggested Mrs. Barton.
"Ay, anything rather than not stay."
The matter being decided the party proceeded home, through many
half-finished streets, all so like one another, that you might have easily
been bewildered and lost your way. Not a step, however, did our
friends lose; down this entry, cutting off that corner, until they turned
out of one of these innumerable streets into a little paved court, having
the backs of houses at the end opposite to the opening, and a gutter
running through the middle to carry off household slops, washing suds,
etc. The women who lived in the court were busy taking in strings of
caps, frocks, and various articles of linen, which hung from side to side,
dangling so low, that if our friends had been a few minutes' sooner,
they would have had to stoop very much, or else the half-wet clothes
would have flapped in their faces: but although the evening seemed yet
early when they were in the open fields--among the pent-up houses,
night, with its mists and its darkness, had already begun to fall.
Many greetings were given and exchanged between the Wilsons and
these women, for not long ago they had also dwelt in this court.
Two rude lads, standing at a disorderly looking house-door, exclaimed,
as Mary Barton (the daughter) passed, "Eh, look! Polly Barton's getten*
a sweetheart."
*"For he had geten him yet no benefice." --Prologue to Canterbury
Tales.
Of course this referred to young Wilson, who stole a look to see how
Mary took the idea. He saw her assume the air of a young fury, and to
his next speech she answered not a word.
Mrs. Barton produced the key of the door from her pocket; and on
entering the house-place it seemed as if they were in total darkness,
except one bright spot, which might be a cat's eye, or might be, what it
was, a red-hot fire, smouldering under a large piece of coal, which John

Barton immediately applied himself to break up, and the effect
instantly produced was warm and glowing light in every corner of the
room. To add to this (although the coarse yellow glare seemed lost in
the ruddy glow from the fire), Mrs. Barton lighted a dip by sticking it in
the fire, and having placed it satisfactorily in a tin candlestick, began to
look further about her, on hospitable thoughts intent. The room was
tolerably large, and possessed many conveniences. On the right of the
door, as you entered, was a longish window, with a broad ledge. On
each side of this, hung blue-and-white check curtains, which were now
drawn, to shut in the friends met to enjoy themselves. Two geraniums,
unpruned and leafy, which stood on the sill, formed a further defence
from out-door pryers. In the corner between the window and the
fireside was a cupboard, apparently full of plates and dishes, cups and
saucers, and some more nondescript articles, for which one would have
fancied their