"Oh!" thought Lucy, "could I have thought they cared so little about me, I would have been more independent of their opinion."
She, however, soon endeavoured to dispel the listlessness which followed her return to old pursuits, by entering into the subject of general interest, with as much seeming zest as her sisters; but, sometimes, when she seemed the merriest of them all, her thoughts would revert to Aston, and her gay laugh would find a check. Gaiety may sear, but it never yet has healed a wounded heart.
He shall again be seen when evening comes, And social parties crowd their favorite rooms, Where on the table pipes and papers lie, The steaming bowl and foaming tankard by.
Almost every village possesses a house of public entertainment, however humble in appearance. Unfortunately, this is generally the most comfortable place accessible to the lower orders, who are often unwittingly tempted to increase the one pint of beer, which secures a seat by the large inn fire, drop by drop, till habits of drunkenness are too readily acquired. Some have recommended the establishment of something similar to a coffee-room in every village, where laboring men might enjoy the pleasures of society and conversation, without the temptations to a vice which adds many a tragedy to "the short and simple annals of the poor."
It could indeed scarcely be wondered at, that at Aston, many of the laborers left their weather-beaten cottages, which, in some cases, formed scarcely a shelter from the wind and rain--and, without stopping to calculate the mischief which might ensue to their neglected families, should frequently resort to the "Hargrave Arms," where a blazing fire and a comfortable seat by a chatty neighbour were generally to be found. Here, at least, poverty and discomfort might be forgotten for a while, even by those who did not seek to drown remembrance in the fatal draught.
One Friday evening, many of the regular customers of the house assembled themselves as usual, more, perhaps, to chat than to drink, for they seldom carried their conviviality to any great height, except on the Saturday, when the young men of the village brought, too often, the first fruits of their week's earnings. On the occasion we now mention, a more sober conclave was assembled. The white haired Giles, whom Clair had visited with his uncle, on the first morning of his visit, was one of the guests. Not, now, with his head bent, and his hands extended over the dying embers of his wood fire, but with head erect in a comfortable corner, with the air of a man whose opinions are respected, and whose words claim immediate attention. Martin, the poacher, was also there, smoking a pipe, whose dusty colour bespoke long service. Besides these, were several of the most respectable labourers of the village, young and old.