The Gold that Glitters

The Gold that Glitters
The Mistakes of Jenny Lavender
By Emily Sarah Holt
CHAPTER ONE.
JENNY PREPARES TO GO A-JOURNEYING.
"Jenny, my dear maid, thou wilt never fetch white meal out of a sack of
sea-coal." Jenny tossed her head. It would have been a nice little brown
head, if it had not been quite so fond of tossing itself. But Jenny was
just sixteen, and laboured under a delusion which besets young folks of
that age--namely, that half the brains in the world had got into her head,
and very few had been left in her grandmother's.
"I don't know what you mean, Grandmother," said Jenny, as an
accompaniment to that toss.
"O Jenny, Jenny! what a shocking thing of you to say, when you knew
what your grandmother meant as well as you knew your name was Jane
Lavender!"
"I rather think thou dost, my lass," said old Mrs Lavender quietly.
"Well, I suppose you mean to run down Mr Featherstone," said Jenny,
pouting. "You're always running him down. And there isn't a bit of use
in it--not with me. I like him, and I always shall. He's such a gentleman,
and always so soft-spoken. But I believe you like that clod-hopper Tom
Fenton, ever so much better. I can't abide him."
"There's a deal more of the feather than the stone about Robin
Featherstone, lass. If he be a stone, he's a rolling one. Hasn't he been in
three places since he came here?"

"Yes, because they didn't use him right in none of 'em. Wanted him to
do things out of his place, and such like. Why, at Hampstead Hall, they
set him to chop wood."
"Well, why not?" asked Mrs Lavender, knitting away.
"Because it wasn't his place," answered Jenny, indignantly. "It made his
hands all rough, and he's that like a gentleman he couldn't stand it."
"Tom Fenton would have done it, I shouldn't wonder."
"As if it would have mattered to Tom Fenton, with his great red hands!
They couldn't be no rougher than they are, if he chopped wood while
Christmas. Besides, it's his trade--wood-chopping is. Mr Featherstone's
some'at better nor a carpenter."
"They're honest hands, if they are red, Jenny."
"And he's a cast in his eyes."
"Scarcely. Anyhow, he's none in his heart."
"And his nose turns up!"
"Not as much as thine, Jenny."
"Mine!" cried Jenny, in angry amazement, "Grandmother, what will
you say next? My nose is as straight as--as the church tower."
"Maybe it is, in general, my lass. But just now thou art turning it up at
poor Tom."
"`Poor Tom,' indeed!" said Jenny, in a disgusted tone. "He'd best not
come after me, or I'll `poor Tom' him. I want none of him, I can tell
you."
"Well, Jenny, don't lose thy temper over Tom, or Robin either. Thou'rt
like the most of maids--they'll never heed the experience of old folks. If
thou wilt not be `ruled by the rudder, thou must be ruled by the rock.'

`All is not gold that glitters,' and I'm afeard thou shalt find it so, poor
soul! But I can't put wisdom into thee; I can only pray the Lord to give
it thee. Be thy bags packed up?"
"Ay," said Jenny, rather sulkily.
"And all ready to set forth?"
"There's just a few little things to see to yet."
"Best go and see to them, then."
Mrs Lavender knitted quietly on, and Jenny shut the door with a little
more of a slam than it quite needed, and ran up to her own room, where
she slept with her elder sister.
"Jenny, thy bags are not locked," said her sister, as she came in.
"Oh, let be, Kate, do! Grandmother's been at me with a whole heap of
her old saws, till I'm worn out. I wish nobody had ever spoke one of
'em."
"What's the matter?"
"Oh, she's at me about Robin Featherstone: wants me to give up
keeping company with him, and all that. Tom Fenton's her pattern man,
and a pretty pattern he is. I wouldn't look at him if there wasn't another
man in Staffordshire. Robin's a gentleman, and Tom's a clown."
"I don't see how you are to give up Robin, when you are going into the
very house where he lives."
"Of course not. 'Tis all rubbish! I wish old women would hold their
tongues. I'm not going to Bentley Hall to sit mewed up in my mistress'
chamber, turning up the whites of my eyes, and singing Psalms through
my nose. I mean to lead a jolly life there, I can tell you, for all
Grandmother. It really is too bad of old folks, that can't knock about
and enjoy their lives, to pen up young maids like so many sheep. I shall