不过，他们很喜欢这个协会，只有在这件事上他们没有埋怨它抢走了他们的母亲——一半因为母亲从中享受到快乐，一半因为他们受到一些优待。一些心怀敌意的大丈夫们称这个协会是“咭咭呱呱”店，即说闲话的店，他们感觉妻子们太独立了。从这个协会的宗旨上说，这种感觉也许是正确的，女人们应该审视一下她们的家庭，她们的生活条件，从而发现生活有许多缺憾。矿工们发现他们的妻子有了自己新价值标准，感到非常恐慌。莫瑞尔太太在星期一的晚上总是带来很多新闻，因此，孩子们希望母亲回来的时候，威廉在家，因为她会毫无保留地 告诉他很多事。
威廉十三岁时，她给他在合作社办公室里找到一份工作。他是一个很聪明的孩子，坦率真诚，相貌粗犷，长一双北欧海盗般的蓝眼睛。
“为什么让他去坐冷板凳？”莫瑞尔问，“他只会把裤子磨破，什么也挣不到，刚去多少钱？”
“开始挣多少没关系。”莫瑞尔太太说。
“不行！”让他跟我去下井，一开始我可以轻松地每周挣十个先令。不过，我知道，在凳子上磨破裤子挣六先令，还是比跟我下井挣十先令好。”
“他不能去下井，”莫瑞尔太太说，“再别提这件事了。”
“我下井没关系，他下井就不行啦？”
“你母亲让你十二岁下井，这并不意味着我让我的孩子也这么做。”
“十二岁？还没到十二岁呢！”
“管你几岁！”莫瑞尔太太说。
她以有这样的儿子而骄傲。他去了夜校，学会速记，到他十六岁时，除了另外一个人，他已经是当地最好的速记员和簿记员了。后来，他在一家夜校教书。但他的脾气大暴躁，要不是因为他的热心肠、大块头保护着他，真不堪设想。
所有男人干的事——好事——威廉都会。 他跑起来快得像风，十二岁时，他在一次比赛中荣获一等奖，一个铁砧形状的玻璃墨水瓶，神气地摆在碗柜上，这给莫瑞尔太太莫大的喜悦。孩子是为她而跑的，他拿着那个奖品飞奔回家，气喘吁吁地说：“看，妈妈！”这是他给她的第一件真正的礼物，她像皇后一样接过了它。
“真漂亮！”她惊叹。
于是，他开始雄心勃勃，想把所有的钱都给了母亲。他每星期挣到十四先令，她给他两先令。由于他从不喝酒，他觉得自己很富 有，便和贝斯伍德的中产阶级有了来往。小镇上地位最高的是牧师，然后是银行经理、医生、商人，还有煤矿老板。威廉相交的有药剂师的儿子、中学校长、商人。他在技工礼堂打弹子，竟然不顾母亲的反对去跳舞。他沉迷于贝斯伍德所有的活动，教堂街六便士的便宜舞会、体育运动、打弹子，无不躬亲。
保罗常听威廉描述那花枝招展的少女们，但大部分就像摘下的花朵一样，在威廉心中只活上短短两星期。
偶尔，也有情人 来找她那行踪不定的情郎。莫瑞尔太太发现一个陌生的女孩站在门口，立刻嗅出了不对劲。
“莫瑞尔先生在吗？”年轻的女人用一种动人的神情问道。
“我丈夫在。”莫瑞尔太太回答。
“我——我是说，年轻的莫瑞尔。”少女费力地重复了一遍。
“哪一个？这里有好几个呢。”
于是，女孩脸色绯红，说话也结巴了。
“我——我是在舞会上碰到莫瑞尔先生的——在里普斯。”她解释着。
“哦——在舞会上！”
“是的。”
“我不喜欢儿子在舞会上结识的女孩，而且，他也不在家。”
他回家后，为母亲如此不礼貌地赶走了那个姑娘大为恼火。他是粗心大意，性情热烈的小伙子，时而昂首阔步，时而蹙额皱眉，常常喜欢把帽子扣到后脑勺上。此刻，他皱着眉头走了进来，把帽子扔到了沙发上，平托着下巴瞪着母亲。她身材矮小，头发朝后梳着。她平静，又让人敬畏，然而又非常亲切。知道儿子生气了，她内心有点不安。
“昨天有位小姐来找我吗，妈妈？”他问。
“我不 知道什么小姐，倒是一位姑娘来过。”
“为什么你不告诉我？”
“因为我忘了。”
他有点激动。
“一个漂亮的女孩——看上去不像一位小姐？”
“我没看她。”
“褐色的大眼睛？”
“我没看。孩子，告诉你的那些姑娘们，她们想追求你时，不要到你妈妈这儿 来找你。 告诉那些你在跳舞班认识的厚颜无耻的女人。”
“我肯定她是一个好女孩。”
“我肯定她不是。”
这次争吵结束。关于跳舞，母子之间发生过一次唇枪舌剑的冲突。有一次，威廉说要去哈克诺？特米德——被认为是下等小镇的地方——参加一次化妆舞会，两人之间的不满到了高潮。他要扮成一个苏格兰高地人，就去租朋友的那套非常合适他穿的衣服。高地人服装送到家时，莫瑞尔太太冷冷地接下它，连包都没打开。
“我的衣服到了吗？”威廉喊道。
“前屋里有一个包裹。”
他冲进去，剪断了包上的绳子。
“你儿子穿这个怎么样？”他说着，欣喜若狂地给她看那套衣服。
“你知道我不喜欢你穿那身衣服。”
舞会那天傍晚，他回家来换衣服，莫瑞尔太太已经穿上大衣，戴上帽子。
“你不等一会看我吗？妈妈。”他问。
“不， 我不想看到你。”她回答。
她苍白的面孔板得很紧。她害怕儿子重蹈他父亲的覆辙。他犹豫了一会，心里还是火烧火燎。突然，他看到那顶装饰着彩带的苏格兰高地的帽子，拿起帽子，高兴得忘乎所以，把母亲抛到九霄云外去了。
他十九岁时，突然离开了合作社办公室，在诺丁汉找到了一个差使。在新地方，他可以每周挣30先令而不再是18先令了。这确实是个飞跃。父母都很得意，人人交口称赞威廉，好象他会很快飞黄腾达。莫瑞尔太太希望，他能帮帮他的两个弟弟，安妮正在念师范；保罗，也相当聪明，成绩不错，正跟着那位当牧师的教父学法语和德语。牧师仍是莫瑞尔太太的好朋友。亚瑟是个倍受宠爱的漂亮男孩，正上公立小学，有人说他正在争取进诺丁汉中学的奖学金。
威廉在诺丁汉的新职位上呆了一年。他学习刻苦，人也严肃起来了，似乎有什么事使他烦恼。他仍然出去参加舞会和河边派对，他滴酒不沾。几个孩子都是绝对戒酒主义者。他晚上回来很晚，但还要坐在那里学习很长时间。母亲恳切地嘱咐他保重身体，不要急于求成，想干这，又想干那。
“要想跳舞就跳吧，我的孩子，不要以为自己既能工作，又能学习，还是可以玩的。不要样样想干——或者好好玩，或者学习拉丁语，但别同时兼顾两件事，人的身子骨是支撑不住的。”
后来，他在伦敦找 到一份工作，年薪一百二十镑。这确实是很大一笔收入。他母亲不知道是喜是悲。
“ 他们让我星期一去莱姆大街，妈妈，”他喊道，他念信的时候，眼睛泛着光。莫瑞尔太太觉得内心一片沉寂。他念着信：“‘无论您接受与否，请予星期四之前做出答复。您的忠实的×××。’他们要 我了，妈妈，一年一百一十镑，甚至不要求面试。我告诉过你，我会成功的！想想吧，我要去伦敦了！我可以每年 给你二十镑，妈妈。我们都会有很多的钱。”
“我们会的，我的孩子。”她感伤地回答。
他从没料到，在母亲的心里，母子分别的感伤远远甚于儿子成功的喜悦。
随着他动身的日子的迫近，她越来越感到绝望伤心。她多么爱他呀！而且，她对他的希望多大呀！他是她生活的动力，她喜欢为他做事，喜欢给他端一杯茶，喜欢给他熨衣服。因为当地没有洗衣房。看着他穿上领口挺括的衣服那种自豪的神情时，她内心洋溢着喜悦。她常常用一个凸肚的小熨斗把衣领熨得干干净净，甚至在领口上用力摸出光泽来。如今，他要离开了，她再不能为他做这些了，她仿佛觉得他将要离开她的心。似乎他并没有想让她和他住在一起的意思，这更让她悲痛，他彻彻底底地走了，带走了所有的一切。
他出发前几天——只有二十岁的他——焚烧了他所有的情书。这些情书夹在文夹里，放在碗柜上面，有些他曾摘要似的给母亲读过，有些她不厌其烦地亲自读过。不过大多数信写得无聊浅薄。
到了星期六，他说：“快来，圣徒保罗，我们一起翻翻我的信，信封上的花鸟 给你。”
莫瑞尔太太把星期六的活在星期五就干完了。因为这是威廉在家的最后一个休息天。她给他做了一块他很爱吃的米糕让他带走。他几乎一点儿没有察觉她内心的痛苦。
他从文件夹里拿出一封信，信封是淡紫色，上面印着紫色 和绿色的蓟草。
威廉嗅了嗅信纸。“好香啊，闻闻！”
他把信递 到保罗鼻子下。
“哦，”保罗说着，吸了一口气，“什么味儿，闻一闻，妈妈。”
母亲把她那小巧的鼻子匆匆凑近纸张。
“我才不想闻她们那些垃圾呢。”说着，她吸了吸鼻子。
“这女孩儿的父亲，”威廉说：“和克利苏斯一样富有，他有无数的财产。她叫我拉法耶特，因为我懂法语。‘你会明白，我已经原谅了你’——我很高兴她原谅了我。‘我今天早晨把你的事告诉母亲了，如果星期天你能来喝茶，她会很高兴的，不过她还需要征得父亲的同意。我衷心地希望他能同意。有结果， 我会 告诉你的。但是，如果你——’”
“‘告诉你’什么呀？”莫瑞尔太太打断他。
“‘结果’”——是的！”
“‘结果’”莫瑞尔太太挖苦地重复一遍。“我以为她接受过良好的教育呢。”
威廉觉得有点儿尴尬，就丢开了这姑娘的信，把信角上的花送给了保罗。他继续念着信中段落，其中的 有些话逗乐了母亲；有些使她不快，让她为 他而担心。
“我的孩子，”她说，“她们聪明透顶。她们知道只需说几句恭维话来满足你的虚荣心，你就会像一只被搔过头的小狗一样紧紧地跟着她们。”
“得了吧，她们不能永远这么搔下去，”他回答道，“等她们搔完了，我就走开。”
“但是有一天你会发现有一根绳子套着你的脖子，你会扯也扯不掉的。”
“我不会的！妈妈。我和她们中的任何人都一样，她们用不着恭维自己。”
“你在恭维你自己。”她平静地说。
一会儿，那文件夹里带香味的情书变成一堆黑色的灰烬。除了保罗从信封角上剪下来三、四十张漂亮的信花—— 有燕子，有勿忘我，还有常春藤。威廉去了伦敦，开始了新生活。
Then, when the lad was thirteen, she got him a job inthe "Co-op." office. He was a very clever boy, frank, with ratherrough features and real viking blue eyes.
"What dost want ter ma'e a stool-harsed Jack on 'im for?"said Morel. "All he'll do is to wear his britches behind out an'earn nowt. What's 'e startin' wi'?"
"It doesn't matter what he's starting with," said Mrs. Morel.
"It wouldna! Put 'im i' th' pit we me, an' 'ell earn a easyten shillin' a wik from th' start. But six shillin' wearin' his truck-endout on a stool's better than ten shillin' i' th' pit wi'me, I know."
"He is NOT going in the pit," said Mrs. Morel, "and there'san end of it."
"It wor good enough for me, but it's non good enough for 'im."
"If your mother put you in the pit at twelve, it's no reasonwhy I should do the same with my lad."
"Twelve! It wor a sight afore that!"
"Whenever it was," said Mrs. Morel.
She was very proud of her son. He went to the night school,and learned shorthand, so that by the time he was sixteen he wasthe best shorthand clerk and book-keeper on the place, except one. Then he taught in the night schools. But he was so fiery that onlyhis good-nature and his size protected him.
All the things that men do--the decent things--William did. He could run like the wind. When he was twelve he won a firstprize in a race; an inkstand of glass, shaped like an anvil. It stood proudly on the dresser, and gave Mrs. Morel a keen pleasure. The boy only ran for her. He flew home with his anvil, breathless,with a "Look, mother!" That was the first real tribute to herself. She took it like a queen.
"How pretty!" she exclaimed.
Then he began to get ambitious. He gave all his money tohis mother. When he earned fourteen shillings a week, she gave himback two for himself, and, as he never drank, he felt himself rich. He went about with the bourgeois of Bestwood. The townlet containednothing higher than the clergyman. Then came the bank manager,then the doctors, then the tradespeople, and after that the hostsof colliers. Willam began to consort with the sons of the chemist,the schoolmaster, and the tradesmen. He played billiards inthe Mechanics' Hall. Also he danced--this in spite of his mother. All the life that Bestwood offered he enjoyed, from the sixpenny-hopsdown Church Street, to sports and billiards.
Paul was treated to dazzling descriptions of all kinds offlower-like ladies, most of whom lived like cut blooms in William'sheart for a brief fortnight.
Occasionally some flame would come in pursuit of her errantswain. Mrs. Morel would find a strange girl at the door,and immediately she sniffed the air.
"Is Mr. Morel in?" the damsel would ask appealingly.
"My husband is at home," Mrs. Morel replied.
"I--I mean YOUNG Mr. Morel," repeated the maiden painfully.
"Which one? There are several."
Whereupon much blushing and stammering from the fair one.
"I--I met Mr. Morel--at Ripley," she explained.
"Oh--at a dance!"
"Yes."
"I don't approve of the girls my son meets at dances. And he is NOT at home."
Then he came home angry with his mother for having turned thegirl away so rudely. He was a careless, yet eager-looking fellow,who walked with long strides, sometimes frowning, often with his cappushed jollily to the back of his head. Now he came in frowning. He threw his cap on to the sofa, and took his strong jaw in his hand,and glared down at his mother. She was small, with her hairtaken straight back from her forehead. She had a quiet airof authority, and yet of rare warmth. Knowing her son was angry,she trembled inwardly.
"Did a lady call for me yesterday, mother?" he asked.
"I don't know about a lady. There was a girl came."
"And why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I forgot, simply."
He fumed a little.
"A good-looking girl--seemed a lady?"
"I didn't look at her."
"Big brown eyes?"
"I did NOT look. And tell your girls, my son, that when they'rerunning after you, they're not to come and ask your mother for you. Tell them that--brazen baggages you meet at dancing-classes."
"I'm sure she was a nice girl."
"And I'm sure she wasn't."
There ended the altercation. Over the dancing there was a greatstrife between the mother and the son. The grievance reached itsheight when William said he was going to Hucknall Torkard--considereda low town--to a fancy-dress ball. He was to be a Highlander.There was a dress he could hire, which one of his friendshad had, and which fitted him perfectly. The Highland suit came home. Mrs. Morel received it coldly and would not unpack it.
"My suit come?" cried William.
"There's a parcel in the front room."
He rushed in and cut the string.
"How do you fancy your son in this!" he said, enraptured,showing her the suit.
"You know I don't want to fancy you in it."
On the evening of the dance, when he had come home to dress,Mrs. Morel put on her coat and bonnet.
"Aren't you going to stop and see me, mother?" he asked.
"No; I don't want to see you," she replied.
She was rather pale, and her face was closed and hard. She was afraid of her son's going the same way as his father. He hesitated a moment, and his heart stood still with anxiety. Then he caught sight of the Highland bonnet with its ribbons. He picked it up gleefully, forgetting her. She went out.
When he was nineteen he suddenly left the Co-op. office and gota situation in Nottingham. In his new place he had thirty shillingsa week instead of eighteen. This was indeed a rise. His mother andhis father were brimmed up with pride. Everybody praised William. It seemed he was going to get on rapidly. Mrs. Morel hoped,with his aid, to help her younger sons. Annie was now studyingto be a teacher. Paul, also very clever, was getting on well,having lessons in French and German from his godfather, the clergymanwho was still a friend to Mrs. Morel. Arthur, a spoilt and verygood-looking boy, was at the Board school, but there was talkof his trying to get a scholarship for the High School in Nottingham.
William remained a year at his new post in Nottingham. He was studying hard, and growing serious. Something seemed to befretting him. Still he went out to the dances and the river parties. He did not drink. The children were all rabid teetotallers. He came home very late at night, and sat yet longer studying. His mother implored him to take more care, to do one thingor another.
"Dance, if you want to dance, my son; but don't think you canwork in the office, and then amuse yourself, and THENstudy on top of all. You can't; the human frame won'tstand it. Do one thing or the other--amuse yourself or learn Latin;but don't try to do both."
Then he got a place in London, at a hundred and twenty a year. This seemed a fabulous sum. His mother doubted almost whether torejoice or to grieve.
"They want me in Lime Street on Monday week, mother," he cried,his eyes blazing as he read the letter. Mrs. Morel felt everythinggo silent inside her. He read the letter: "'And will you replyby Thursday whether you accept. Yours faithfully---' They want me,mother, at a hundred and twenty a year, and don't even ask to see me. Didn't I tell you I could do it! Think of me in London! And Ican give you twenty pounds a year, mater. We s'll all be rollingin money."
"We shall, my son," she answered sadly.
It never occurred to him that she might be more hurt at his goingaway than glad of his success. Indeed, as the days drew near forhis departure, her heart began to close and grow dreary with despair. She loved him so much! More than that, she hoped in him so much. Almost she lived by him. She liked to do things for him: she likedto put a cup for his tea and to iron his collars, of which he wasso proud. It was a joy to her to have him proud of his collars. There was no laundry. So she used to rub away at them with her littleconvex iron, to polish them, till they shone from the sheer pressureof her arm. Now she would not do it for him. Now he was going away. She felt almost as if he were going as well out of her heart. He did not seem to leave her inhabited with himself. That was the griefand the pain to her. He took nearly all himself away.
A few days before his departure--he was just twenty--he burned hislove-letters. They had hung on a file at the top of the kitchen cupboard. From some of them he had read extracts to his mother. Some of themshe had taken the trouble to read herself. But most were too trivial.
Now, on the Saturday morning he said:
"Come on, Postle, let's go through my letters, and you canhave the birds and flowers."
Mrs. Morel had done her Saturday's work on the Friday,because he was having a last day's holiday. She was making hima rice cake, which he loved, to take with him. He was scarcelyconscious that she was so miserable.
He took the first letter off the file. It was mauve-tinted,and had purple and green thistles. William sniffed the page.
"Nice scent! Smell."
And he thrust the sheet under Paul's nose.
"Um!" said Paul, breathing in. "What d'you call it? Smell, mother."
His mother ducked her small, fine nose down to the paper.
"I don't want to smell their rubbish," she said, sniffing.
"This girl's father," said William, "is as rich as Croesus. He owns property without end. She calls me Lafayette, because Iknow French. 'You will see, I've forgiven you'--I like HER forgiving me. 'I told mother about you this morning, and she will have muchpleasure if you come to tea on Sunday, but she will have to getfather's consent also. I sincerely hope he will agree. I will letyou know how it transpires. If, however, you---'"
"'Let you know how it' what?" interrupted Mrs. Morel.
"'Transpires'--oh yes!"
"'Transpires!'" repeated Mrs. Morel mockingly. "I thoughtshe was so well educated!"
William felt slightly uncomfortable, and abandoned this maiden,giving Paul the corner with the thistles. He continued to readextracts from his letters, some of which amused his mother,some of which saddened her and made her anxious for him.
"My lad," she said, "they're very wise. They know they'veonly got to flatter your vanity, and you press up to them likea dog that has its head scratched."
"Well, they can't go on scratching for ever," he replied. "And when they've done, I trot away."
"But one day you'll find a string round your neck that youcan't pull off," she answered.
"Not me! I'm equal to any of 'em, mater, they needn'tflatter themselves."
"You flatter YOURSELF," she said quietly.
Soon there was a heap of twisted black pages, all that remainedof the file of scented letters, except that Paul had thirty orforty pretty tickets from the corners of the notepaper--swallowsand forget-me-nots and ivy sprays. And William went to London,to start a new life.
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