The Measure of a Man | Page 7

in Yorkshire. In Saxon
times it was covered with immense elm forests from which it was
originally called Elmete, but nearly a century ago the great family of
Hatton (being much reduced by the passage of the Reform Bill and
their private misfortunes) commenced cotton-spinning here, and their
mills, constantly increasing in size and importance, gave to the Saxon
Elmete the name of Hatton-in-Elmete.
The little village had become a town of some importance, but nearly
every household in it was connected in some way or other with the
cotton mills, either as cotton masters or cotton operatives. There were
necessarily a few professional men and shopkeepers, but there was
street after street full of cotton mills, and the ancient manor of the lords
of Hatton had become thoroughly a manufacturing locality.

But Hatton-in-Elmete was in a beautiful locality, lying on a ridge of
hills rising precipitously from the river, and these hills surrounded the
town as with walls and appeared to block up the way into the world
beyond. The principal street lay along their base, and John Hatton rode
up it at the close of the long summer day, when the mills were shut and
the operatives gathered in groups about its places of interest. Every
woman smiled at him, every man touched his cap, but a stranger would
have noticed that not one man bared his head. Yorkshire men do not
offer that courtesy to any man, for its neglect (originally the expression
of strong individuality and self-respect) had become a habit as natural
and spontaneous as their manner or their speech.
About a mile beyond the town, on the summit of a hill, stood Hatton
Hall, and John felt a hurrying sense of home as soon as he caught a
glimpse of its early sixteenth-century towers and chimneys. The road to
it was all uphill, but it was flagged with immense blocks of stone and
shaded by great elm-trees; at the summit a high, old-fashioned iron gate
admitted him into a delightful garden. And in this sweet place there
stood one of the most ancient and picturesque homes of England.
It is here to be noticed that in the early centuries of the English nation
the homes of the nobles distinctly represented local feeling and
physical conditions. In the North they generally stood on hillsides apart
where the winds rattled the boughs of the surrounding pines or elms
and the murmur of a river could be heard from below. The hill and the
trees, the wind and the river, were their usual background, with the
garden and park and the great plantations of trees belting the estate
around; the house itself standing on the highest land within the circle.
Such was the location and adjuncts of the ancient home of the Hattons,
and John Hatton looked up at the old face of it with a conscious love
and pride. The house was built of dark millstone grit in large blocks,
many of them now green and mossy. The roof was of sandstone in thin
slabs, and in its angles grass had taken root. In front there was a tower
and tall gables, with balls and pinnacles. The principal entrance was a
doorway with a Tudor arch, and a large porch resting on stone pillars.
Within this porch there were seats and a table, pots of flowers, and a

silver Jacobean bell. And all round the house were gables and
doorways and windows, showing carvings and inscriptions wherever
the ivy had not hid them.
The door stood wide open and in the porch his mother was sitting. She
had a piece of old English lace in her hand, which she was carefully
darning. Suddenly she heard John's footsteps and she lifted her head
and listened intently. Then with a radiant face she stood upright just as
John came from behind the laurel hedge into the golden rays of the
setting sun, and her face was transfigured as she called in a strong,
joyful voice,
"O John! John! I've been longing for you days and days. Come inside,
my dear lad. Come in! I'll be bound you are hungry. What will you take?
Have a cup of tea, now, John; it will be four hours before suppertime,
you know."
"Very well, mother. I haven't had my tea today, and I am a bit hungry."
"Poor lad! You shall have your tea and a mouthful in a few minutes."
"I'll go to my room, mother, and wash my face and hands. I am not fit
company for a dame so sweet as you are," and he lifted his right hand
courteously as he passed her.
In less than half an hour there was tea and milk, cold meat and fruit
before John, and his mother watched him eating with a beaming