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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Julia And Her Romeo: A Chronicle Of Castle
+Barfield, by David Christie Murray
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Julia And Her Romeo: A Chronicle Of Castle Barfield
+       From “Schwartz” by David Christie Murray
+
+Author: David Christie Murray
+
+Release Date: August 8, 2007 [EBook #22274]
+Last Updated: September 16, 2016
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JULIA AND HER ROMEO ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+JULIA AND HER ROMEO: A CHRONICLE OF CASTLE BARFIELD
+
+By David Christie Murray
+
+Author Of ‘Aunt Rachel,’ ‘The Weaker Vessel,’ Etc.
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+In the year eighteen hundred and twenty, and for many years before and
+after, Abel Reddy farmed his own land at Perry Hall End, on the western
+boundaries of Castle Barfield. He lived at Perry Hall, a ripe-coloured
+old tenement of Elizabethan design, which crowned a gentle eminence
+and looked out picturesquely on all sides from amongst its neighbouring
+trees. It had a sturdier aspect in its age than it could have worn when
+younger, for its strength had the sign-manual of time upon it, and even
+its hoary lichens looked as much like a prophecy as a record.
+
+A mile away, but also within the boundaries of Castle Barfield parish,
+there stood another house upon another eminence: a house of older date
+than Perry Hall, though of less pleasing and picturesque an air. The
+long low building was of a darkish stone, and had been altered and added
+to so often that it had at last arrived at a complex ugliness which was
+not altogether displeasing. The materials for its structure had all been
+drawn at different periods from the same stone quarry, and the chequered
+look of new bits and old bits had a hint of the chess-board. Here Samson
+Mountain dwelt on his own land in the midst of his own people.
+
+The Mountain Farm, as it was called, and had been called time out of
+mind, was separated from the Perry Hall Farm by a very shallow and
+narrow brook. The two houses were built as far apart from each other
+as they could be, whilst remaining in their own boundaries, as if the
+builder of the later one had determined to set as great a distance as
+he could between his neighbour and himself. And as a matter of fact the
+Reddys and the Mountains were a sort of Capulets and Montagues, and had
+hated each other for generations. Samson and Abel kept up the ancient
+grudge in all its ancient force. They were of the same age within a week
+or two, had studied at the same school, and had fought there; had at one
+time courted the same girl, had sat within sight of each other Sunday
+after Sunday and year after year in the parish church, had each buried
+father and mother in the parish churchyard, and in the mind of each the
+thought of the other rankled like a sore.
+
+The manner of their surrendering their common courtship was
+characteristic of their common hatred. Somewhere about the beginning
+of this century a certain Miss Jenny Rusker, of Castle Barfield,
+was surrounded by quite a swarm of lovers. She was pretty, she was
+well-to-do, for her time and station, she was accomplished--playing the
+harp (execrably), working samplers in silk and wool with great diligence
+and exactitude, and having read a prodigious number of plays, poems, and
+romances. What this lady’s heart forged that her mouth did vent, but no
+pretty young woman ever looked or sounded foolish to the eyes or ears of
+her lovers. Mountain and Eeddy were among her solicitors. She liked them
+both, and had not quite made up her mind as to which, if either of them,
+she would choose, when suddenly the knowledge of the other’s occasional
+presence in her sitting-room made the house odious to each, and they
+surrendered the chase almost at the same hour. Miss Jenny satisfied
+herself with a cousin of her own, married without changing her name,
+had children, was passably happy, as the world goes, and lived to be a
+profoundly sentimental but inveterate widow. Mountain and Eeddy married
+girls they would not otherwise have chosen, and were passably happy
+also, except when the sore of ancient hatred was inflamed by a chance
+meeting on the corn exchange or an accidental passage of the eyes at
+church. They had no better authority for hating each other than that
+their fathers had hated each other before them. The fathers had the
+authority of the grandfathers, and they, that of the greatgrandfathers.
+
+It was Saturday afternoon. There was a bleak frost abroad, and even the
+waters of the brook which divided the two farms were hard frozen. The
+sun hung low in the western sky, lustreless as a wafer, but ruddy. The
+fields were powdered with thin snow, and the earth was black by contrast
+with it. Now and then a shot sounded far away, but clear and sharp, from
+where the guests of my lord of Barfield were killing time in the warren.
+
+A labouring man, smock-frocked, billy-cocked, gaitered, and hob-nailed,
+was clamping down the frozen lane, the earth ringing like iron under
+iron as he walked. By his side was a fair-haired lad of nine or ten
+years of age, a boy of frank and engaging countenance, carefully and
+even daintily dressed, and holding up his head as if he were a lord of
+the soil and knew it. The boy and the labourer were talking, and on the
+frosty silence of the fields the clear treble of the boy’s speech rang
+out clearly and carried far. A burly man, with a surly red face, who had
+stooped to button a gaiter, in a meadow just beyond the brook, and
+had laid down his gun beside him the while, heard both voice and words
+whilst the speaker was a hundred yards away.
+
+‘But don’t you think it’s very wicked, Ichabod?’
+
+The labourer’s voice only reached the listener in the meadow. He spoke
+with the Barfield drawl, and his features, which were stiffened by the
+frozen wind, were twisted into a look of habitual waggery.
+
+‘Well,’ said he, in answer to his young companion, ‘maybe, Master
+Richard, it might be wicked, but it’s main like natur.’
+
+‘I shan’t hate Joe Mountain when I’m a man,’ said the boy.
+
+The surly man in the field, hearing these words, looked on a sudden
+surlier still, and throwing up his head with a listening air, and
+holding his ankle with both hands, crouched and craned his neck to
+listen.
+
+‘May’st have to change thy mind, Master Richard,’ said the labourer.
+
+‘Why should I change my mind, Ichabod?’ asked the boy, looking up at
+him.
+
+‘Why?’ answered Ichabod, ‘thee’lt niver have it said as thee wast afraid
+of any o’ the Mountain lot.’
+
+‘I’m not afraid of him,’ piped the engaging young cockerel ‘We had a
+fight in the coppice last holidays, and I beat him. The squire caught
+us, and we were going to stop, but he made us go on, and he saw fair.
+Then he made us shake hands after. Joe Mountain wouldn’t say he’d had
+enough, but the squire threw up the sponge for him. And he gave us two
+half-crowns apiece, and said we were both good plucked uns.’
+
+‘Ah! ‘said Ichabod, with warmth, ‘he’s the right sort is the squire.
+And there’s no sort or kind o’ sport as comes amiss to him. A gentleman
+after my own heart.’
+
+‘He made us shake hands and promise we’d be friends,’ said Master
+Richard, ‘and we’re going to be.’
+
+‘Make him turn the brook back first, Master Richard,’ said Ichabod. The
+two were almost at the bridge by this time, and the listener could hear
+distinctly.
+
+‘Turn the brook back?’ the boy asked. ‘What do you mean, Ichabod?’
+
+‘Ax thy feyther, when thee gettest home,’ answered Ichabod. ‘He’ll tell
+thee all the rights on it. So fur as I can make out--and it was the talk
+o’ the country i’ my grandfeyther’s daysen--it amounts to this. Look
+here! ‘He and the boy arrested their steps on the bridge, and Ichabod
+pointed along the frozen track of the brook. ‘Seest that hollow ten rods
+off? It was in the time o’ Cromwell Hast heard tell o’ Cromwell, I mek
+no doubt?’
+
+‘Oliver Cromwell,’ said Master Richard. ‘He was Lord Protector of
+England. He fought King Charles.’
+
+‘Like enough,’ said Ichabod. ‘In his daysen, many ‘ears ago, there was
+the Reddys here and the Mountains there’--indicating either house in
+turn by pointing with his thumb--‘just as they be now. The Reddy o’ that
+day--he was thy grandfeyther’s grand-feyther as like as not--maybe
+he was _his_ grandfeyther for aught as I can tell, for it’s a
+deadly-dreadful heap o’ time long past--the Reddy o’ that day went to
+the wars, and fowt for Cromwell. The Mountain o’ that time stopped at
+hum. Up to then they’d niver been misfriended as fur as I know. That’s
+how it’s put about, anyway. But whilst the Reddy was away what’s the
+Mountain do?’
+
+The boy was looking at Ichabod, and Ichabod, stooping a little to be the
+more impressive, was looking at him. The surly-faced man with the gun
+had hitherto been concealed by the hedge beside which he had knelt to
+fasten his gaiter, and neither of the two had suspected his presence. It
+was natural, therefore, that both of them should start a little when his
+voice reached them.
+
+‘Well?’ The voice was sour and surly, like the face, and the word was
+rapped out sharp and clear. Master Richard and Ichabod turned with one
+accord. ‘Well?’ says the surly man, ‘what does the Mountain do?’
+
+Ichabod, less discomfited by the suddenness of the interruption than
+might have been expected of him, rubbed the frozen base of his nose with
+a cold forefinger and grinned. Master Richard looked from one to the
+other with a frank and fearless interest and inquiry which became him
+very prettily. The surly man bestowed a passing scowl upon him, and
+turned his angry regard again upon Ichabod.
+
+‘Come, now,’ he said, ‘you backbiting, scandal-mongering old liar! What
+does the Mountain do? Out with it!’
+
+‘Why, nayther thee nor me was there at the time, gaffer,’ responded
+Ichabod, his frosty features still creased with a grin. ‘So nayther thee
+nor me can talk for certain. Can us?’
+
+‘I suppose,’ said the surly, burly man, ‘you’re going to stuff that
+young monkey with the old lie about the stream being turned?’
+
+Ichabod made no verbal response, but continued to rub his nose with his
+forefinger, and to grin with an aspect of uncertain humour. The surly
+man stooped for his gun, threw it over his arm, and stared at Ichabod
+and his young companion with eyes of hatred and disdain. Then, having
+somewhat relieved his feelings by a curse or two, he turned his back and
+went off with a long, heavy, dogged-looking stride, his feet crunching
+noisily through the frosty grasses.
+
+‘It eeat for me to talk about my betters, and them as the Lord has put
+in authority over us,’ said Ichabod, with an expression which belied
+these words of humility; ‘but I put it to thee, Master Richard. Dost
+think that old Mountain theer looks like a likeable un? No, no. Might as
+well expect cat an’ dog t’ agree as Reddy and Mountain.’
+
+This speech was made in a carefully modulated tone, when he and the boy
+were at some distance from the surly man, who was still visible, three
+or four fields away.
+
+‘What was it about the brook, Ichabod?’ asked Master Richard.
+
+‘Why,’ said Ichabod, ‘when that old longaway grandfeyther o’ thine was
+away a-fighting for Cromwell, ‘tis said his neighbour turned the brook
+so as to bring in four-score acres o’ land as ud niver have been his by
+right. The Reddy o’ that day died in the wars, and his widder could mek
+no head again the Mountain lot; but her taught her son to hate ‘em and
+look down upon ‘em, and hated an’ looked down upon is the name on ‘em
+from that day to this.’
+
+‘But Joe Mountain didn’t do it,’ said Master Richard.
+
+‘No, no,’ assented Ichabod. ‘But it’s i’ this way. It’s i’ the blood.
+What’s bred i’ the bone will come out i’ the flesh. Afore thee makest
+friends with young Joe Mountain, Master Richard, thee ax thy feyther.’
+
+Master Richard, lapsing into silence, thought things over.
+
+‘Ichabod,’ he said at last, ‘is a boy _bound_ to be bad if he has a bad
+grandfather?’
+
+‘Sure!’ said Ichabod, who was not going to be worsted in argument for
+want of corroborative fact if he could help it.
+
+Master Richard thought things over a little while longer, and returned
+to the charge.
+
+‘Suppose the boy with the bad grandfather had a good grandmother,
+Ichabod?’
+
+‘None of the Mountain lot ever had,’ Ichabod replied. There was no item
+in Ichabod’s creed more fixed than this--the Mountains of Mountain
+Farm were hateful and contemptible. He had imbibed the belief with his
+mother’s milk and his father’s counsel. His grandfather had known it for
+the one cardinal certainty of nature.
+
+Just as the serving-men of Capulet hated the serving-men of Montague,
+so the oldest servants of the Mountains hated the older servants of the
+Reddys. The men made the masters’ quarrel their own. There was a feudal
+spirit in the matter, and half the fights of this outlying district of
+the parish were provoked by that ancient history of the brook. At this
+time of day it mattered very little indeed if the history was true
+or false, for neither proof nor disproof was possible, and the real
+mischief was done past remedy in any case.
+
+‘Are you sure our side fought for Cromwell, Ichabod?’ Master Richard.
+asked, after another long and thoughtful silence.
+
+‘To be sure,’ said Ichabod.
+
+‘I don’t think it can be true, then, about the brook,’ said the boy,
+‘because Cromwell won, and everybody who was on his side had their own
+way. Mr. Greenfell teaches history at school, and he says so.’
+
+This was nothing to Ichabod, whose intellect was not constructed for the
+reception of historical evidences.
+
+‘Then ax thy feyther, Master Richard,’ he answered; ‘he’ll tell thee the
+rights on it.’
+
+The boy walked on pondering, as children of his age will do. The seniors
+would be surprised pretty often if they could guess how deep and far the
+young thoughts go, but, then, the seniors have forgotten their own young
+days, or were never of a thinking habit. Ichabod clamped along with
+his mind on beer. The boy thought his own thoughts, and each was
+indifferent for a while to outer signs and sounds. But suddenly a
+little girl ran round a corner of the devious lane with a brace of
+young savages in pursuit. The youthful savages had each an armful of
+snowballs, and they were pelting the child with more animus than seemed
+befitting. The very tightness with which the balls were pressed seemed
+to say that they were bent less on sport than mischief, and they came
+whooping and dancing round the corner with such rejoicing cruelty as
+only boys or uncivilised men can feel. The little girl was sobbing,
+half in distress, and half because of the haste she had made, and Master
+Richard’s juvenile soul burnt within him at the sight like that of a
+knight-errant. He had read a great deal about knights-errant for the
+time which had been as yet allowed him for the pursuit of literature,
+and he was by nature a boy of much fire and gentleness, and a very
+sympathetic imagination. So the big heart in the small body swelled
+with pity and grew hot with valour, and, without parley, he smote
+the foremost boy, who happened to be the bigger of the two, and went
+headlong into fight with him.
+
+Ichabod followed the young master’s lead without knowing, or in the
+smallest degree caring, why, and tried to seize the smaller savage, who
+skilfully evaded him and ran. The little maiden stood and trembled
+with clasped hands as she looked upon the fray. Ichabod lifted his
+smock-frock to get his hands into the pockets of his corduroys, and
+watched with the air of an old artist standing behind a young one.
+
+‘You shouldn’t work at it so much, Master Richard,’ said Ichabod. ‘Tek
+it easier, and wait for him. That’s it!’
+
+The combat was brief and decisive. The youthful savage carried the
+heavier metal, but he was slow with it; but suddenly, as if to show that
+he was not altogether without activity, he turned and ran his hardest
+Master Richard, with blue-gray eyes still glistening and hands still
+clenched in the ardour of battle, turned upon the little girl, who was
+some two years younger than himself At the sight of her he turned shy
+and blushed, and the little girl turned shy and blushed also. She looked
+at the ground, and then she looked at Richard, and then she looked at
+the ground again. She was slender and delicate, and had very beautiful
+soft brown eyes, and the hero of a minute back was abashed before her.
+
+‘You ‘m a Mountain, baint you?’ said Ichabod, looking at her with
+disfavour. She looked shyly at him, but did not answer. ‘What’s your
+name?’ he asked, stooping towards her.
+
+‘Julia Mountain,’ said the child, in a trembling treble.
+
+‘Ah!’ said Ichabod, ‘I thought so. Come along, Master Richard, or else
+we shall niver get hum again afore dark.’
+
+Master Richard walked away with backward glances, shyly directed at the
+little girl, and the little girl stood with her cheek inclining to her
+shoulder, and the shoulder drawn up a little, as if to shelter her, and
+looked after him. This exchange went on until Ichabod and the boy had
+turned the corner of the lane, when Miss Julia Mountain ran home as
+fast as her small legs would take her, and Master Richard Reddy, with a
+vision in his mind, walked alongside his companion.
+
+‘You should tek a lesson or two, Master Richard,’ said Ichabod, ‘and
+then thee’dst do a heap better. I’m rusty nowadaysen, but I used to love
+it when I was a young un.’
+
+Master Eichard heard nothing of this or of the advice which followed it.
+He enacted many times over the small adventure of the last five minutes,
+and at the end of every mental history he traced, the little figure
+stood in the lane looking shyly at him over one shoulder as he turned
+the corner.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+Samson Mountain went home in an ill-temper, and, as was usual with him
+when in that condition, did everything he had to do with a sulky and
+noisy emphasis, bursting open doors with unnecessary violence, slamming
+them with needless force behind him, and clamping heavily from room to
+room. His wife, who was submissive at the surface, but unconquerable at
+bottom, knew these signs, and accepted them with outer show of meekness.
+Samson tramped into the sitting-room, and there found his wife alone.
+He flung to the door behind him with a crash which would have been
+startling if it had been unexpected, and fell heavily into a roomy
+arm-chair by the fireside. Mrs. Mountain took no notice of this, but
+went on placidly with her sewing. Samson threw his heavily-booted feet
+noisily into the fender, and still Mrs. Mountain went on placidly,
+without so much as looking at him. Stung by this disregard of his
+obvious ill-humour, Samson made a lunge with his foot at the fire-irons,
+and brought them down with a bang.
+
+‘Lawk a daisy me, Samson,’ said his wife mildly. ‘What’s the matter with
+the man?’
+
+‘Matter!’ growled Samson. ‘It’s a thing as ud get a saint to set his
+back up. I was down i’ the bridge leasowe bare an hour ago, and who
+should I see but that young imp of a Reddy along wi’ that old viper of a
+Bubb. Thee know’st the chap--that Ichabod.’
+
+‘I know him, Samson,’ answered Mrs. Mountain. ‘He’s the most impudent of
+all of ‘em.’
+
+‘They stood atop o’ the bridge,’ pursued Samson, ‘and I could hear ‘em
+talkin’. Th’ ode rip was tellin’ the young un that outworn lie about the
+brook. I’d got a shot i’ the barrel, and I’d more than half a mind to
+ha’ peppered him. I’d ha’ done it if it had been worth while.’
+
+‘There’s no end to their malice and oncharitable-ness,’ said Mrs.
+Mountain.
+
+‘I heard the young imp say he’d fowt our Joe and licked him,’ pursued
+Samson. ‘If ever it should come to my knowledge as a truth I’d put
+Master Joe in such fettle he wouldn’t sit down for the best side a month
+o’ Sundays.’
+
+‘They ‘m giving the child such airs,’ said his wife, ‘it’s enough to
+turn the bread o’ life which nourishes.’
+
+Mrs. Mountain had an object in view, and, after her own fashion, had
+held it long in view in silence. The moment seemed to her propitious,
+and she determined to approach it.
+
+‘Young toad!’ said Samson, rising to kick at the coals with his
+heavy-heeled boot, and plunging backward into the chair again.
+
+‘To hear him talk--that fine an’ mincin’--you’d think he was one o’
+my lord’s grandchildren or a son o’ the squire’s at least,’ said Mrs.
+Mountain, approaching her theme with circuitous caution.
+
+‘Ay!’ Samson assented ‘It’s enough to turn your stomach to listen to
+him.’
+
+‘If they go on as they’re goings pursued his wife, circling a little
+nearer, ‘we shall live to see fine things.’
+
+‘We shall, indeed,’ said Samson, a little mollified to find his wife so
+unusually warm in the quarrel. ‘There’s no such a thing as contentment
+to be found amongst ‘em. They settle up to be looked upon as
+gentlefolks.’
+
+‘Yes; fine things we shall live to see, no doubt, if we don’t tek care.
+But thanks be, Samson, it’s left in our own hands.’
+
+‘What be’st hoverin’ at?’ demanded Samson, turning upon her with his
+surly red face.
+
+‘Things ain’t what they used to be when you an’ me was younger,’ said
+Mrs. Mountain. ‘The plain ode-fashioned Barfield talk as you and me
+was bred up to, Samson, ain’t good enough nowadays for the very
+kitchen wenches and the labourers on the farm. Everybody’s gettin’ that
+new-fangled!’
+
+‘Barfield’s good enough for me, and good enough for mine,’ said Samson,
+with sulky wrath.
+
+‘It’s good enough for we, to be sure, but whether it’s good enough for
+ourn is another churnin’ o’ butter altogether,’ his wife answered. ‘It
+ud seem as if ivery generation talked different from one another. My
+mother, as was a very well-spoken woman for her day, used to call a cup
+o’ tay a dish o’ tay, and that’s a thing as only the very ignorant ud
+stoop to nowadays.’ Samson growled, and wallowed discontentedly in
+the big arm-chair. ‘A mother’s got her natural feelings, Samson,’ Mrs.
+Mountain continued, with an air and tone of mildest resignation. ‘I
+don’t scruple to allow as it’ll hurt me if I should live to see our Joe
+looked down upon by a Reddy.’
+
+‘Looked down upon!’ cried Samson. ‘Where’s the Reddy as can count acre
+for acre agen us, or guinea for guinea?’
+
+‘The Reddy’s is fairly well-to-do, Samson,’ said Mrs. Mountain; ‘very
+nigh as well-to-do as we be.’
+
+‘Pooh!’ returned Samson.
+
+‘Oh, but they be, though,’ his wife insisted. ‘Pretty near. There’s
+nothing so much between us as’d prevent ‘em from taking airs with us if
+they could find out anything to do it for.’
+
+‘If they could!’ Samson assented. ‘Abel Eeddy was a bragger and a
+boaster from his cradle days.’
+
+‘That’s where it is,’ cried Mrs. Mountain, in a tone which implied
+that Samson had made a discovery of the first importance, and that this
+discovery unexpectedly confirmed her own argument. ‘Let ‘em have the
+least little bit of a chance for a brag, and where be you?’
+
+‘You might trust ‘em to tek advantage on it if they had it,’ said her
+husband.
+
+‘Of course you might,’ said she, with warmth, ‘and that’s why I’m
+fearful on it.’
+
+‘Fearful o’ what?’ demanded Samson.
+
+‘O’ these here scornful fine-gentleman ways as’ll be a thorn in our
+Joe’s side as long as he lives, poor little chap, unless we put him in
+the way to combat again ‘em.’
+
+‘Ah!’ Samson growled, suddenly enlightened. ‘I see now what thee beest
+drivin’ at. Now, you take a straight sayin’ from me, Mary Ann. I’ll have
+no fine-mouthed, false-natur’d corruption i’ my household. If the Reddys
+choose to breed up that young imp of theirn to drawl fine and to talk
+smooth above his station--let ‘em.’
+
+‘Well, Samson,’ returned Mrs. Mountain, who knew by long experience when
+her husband was malleable, ‘you know best, and you’re the master here,
+as it’s on’y fit and becomin’ an’ in the rightful nature o’ things as
+you should be.’
+
+The first effect of the oil of flattery seemed to be to harden him.
+
+‘I be, and I mean to be,’ he answered, with added surliness. ‘If the
+speech and the clothes and the vittles as have been good enough for me
+ain’t good enough for any young upstart as may follow after me, it _is_
+a pity.’
+
+Mary Ann kept silence and looked meek. Samson growled and bullied a
+little, and wore the airs of a dictator. By and by a serving-maid came
+in and began to arrange the table for tea, and a little later a boy and
+a girl stole noiselessly into the room.
+
+‘Joe,’ said Samson sternly, ‘come here!’ The boy approached him with
+evident dread. ‘What’s this I hear about thee and that young villin of a
+Reddy?’
+
+‘I don’t know, father,’ the boy answered.
+
+‘I heard him makin’ a boast this afternoon,’ said Samson, rolling
+bullyingly in his arm-chair, ‘as you and him had fowt last holidays, and
+as he gi’en you a hiding.’
+
+Joe said nothing, but looked as if he expected the experience to be
+repeated.
+
+‘Now, what ha’ you got to say to that?’ demanded his father.
+
+‘Why,’ began Joe, edging back a little, ‘he’s bigger nor I be, an’ six
+months o’der.’
+
+‘Do you mean to tell me,’ cried Samson, reaching out a hand and seizing
+the little fellow by the jacket, ‘do you mean to tell me as you allowed
+to have enough to that young villin?’
+
+‘No,’ Joe protested. ‘That I niver did. It was the squire as parted us.’
+
+‘You remember this,’ said his father, shaking him to emphasise the
+promise. ‘If ever you agree to tek a hiding from a Reddy you’ve got one
+to follow on from me. D’ye hear?’
+
+‘Yes, father.’
+
+‘Tek heed as well as hear. D’ye hear?’
+
+‘Yes, father.’
+
+‘And here’s another thing, mind you. It’s brought to me as you and him
+shook hands and took on to be friends with one another. Is that trew?’
+Joe looked guilty, but made no answer. ‘Is it trew?’ Still Joe returned
+no answer, and his father changing the hand with which he held him, for
+his own greater convenience, knocked him off his feet, restored him
+to his balance, knocked him off his feet again, and again settled him.
+‘Now,’ said Samson, ‘is it trew?’
+
+The boy tried to recoil from the uplifted threatening hand, and cried
+out ‘No!’
+
+‘Now,’ said Samson, rising with a grim satisfaction, ‘that’s a lie.
+There’s nothin’ i’ the world as I abhor from like a lie I’ll teach thee
+to tell me lies. Goo into the brewus and tek thy shirt off; March!’
+
+The little girl clung to her mother’s skirts crying and trembling. The
+mother herself was trembling, and had turned pale.
+
+‘Hush, hush, my pretty,’ she said, caressing the child, and averting her
+eyes from Joe.
+
+‘March!’ said Samson, and Joe slunk out of the room, hardening his heart
+as well as might be for endurance. But when he was once out of sight of
+the huge bullying figure and threatening eye and hand, the sight of his
+cap lying upon a chair in the hall supplied him with an inspiration. He
+seized the cap, slipped out at the front door, and ran.
+
+The early winter night was falling fast by this time. Half a dozen stars
+twinkled intermittently in the black-blue waste of sky, and when the lad
+paused to listen for possible sounds of pursuit the hollow moaning of
+the wind and the clang of bare wintry poles mingled with the noise of
+his own suppressed breathing.
+
+The runaway fancied himself bound (as all British runaway boys seem
+bound) for sea, and he set out without delay to walk to Liverpool. He
+got as far as the brook which formed the limit to his father’s farm, and
+lingering before he set foot upon the bridge, began to cry a little, and
+to bemoan his chances and the dear ones left behind. His father came in
+for none of Joe’s regrets. It was in the nature of things to the boy’s
+mind that his father should administer to him periodical thrashings,
+whether he had earned them or not. It was the one social relationship
+which existed between them. It was only quite of late that Joe had begun
+to discern injustice in his father’s bullyings. Children take things
+as they come, and to the mind of a child--in a modified sense, of
+course--whatever is, is right. That a thing exists is its own best
+justification. There is no reason to seek reasons for it. But Joe
+Mountain, having nearly outgrown this state of juvenile acquiescence,
+had begun to make inquiry of himself, and, as a result, had familiarised
+himself with many mental pictures in which he figured as an adventurer
+rich in adventures. In his day the youth of England were less instructed
+than they are now, but the immortal Defoe existed, and Lemuel Gulliver
+was as real as he is to-day. Perhaps the Board schools may have made
+that great mariner a little less real than he used to be. Joe believed
+in him with all his heart, had never had the shadow of a doubt about
+him, and meant to sail straight from Liverpool to Lilliput. He would
+defer his voyage to Brobdingnagia until he had grown bigger, and should
+be something of a match for its inhabitants.
+
+But it was cold, it was darkening fast, it was past his ordinary
+tea-time. Liverpool and Lilliput were far away, pretty nearly
+equidistant to the juvenile mind, and but for Samson’s shadow the
+tea-table would have looked alluring. To be sure of tea, and a bed to
+sleep in afterwards, it seemed almost worth while to go back to the
+brewhouse and obey the paternal command to take his shirt off. To do the
+child justice, it was less the fear of the thrashing than the hot sense
+of rebellion at unfairness which kept him from returning. His father had
+beaten him into that untrue cry of ‘No,’ and had meant to force him to
+it, and then to beat him anew for it. Joe knew that better than Samson,
+for Samson, like the rest of us, liked to stand well with himself, and
+kept self-opinion in blinkers.
+
+Joe set foot on the bridge. He had crossed the boundary brook hundreds
+of times in his brief life, and it had generally come into his mind,
+with a boyish sense of adventure, that when he did so he was putting
+foot into the enemy’s country. But the feeling had never been so strong
+as now. The Mountain Farm was home, and beyond it lay the wide, wide
+world, looking wide indeed, and bleak and cold. What with hot rebellion
+at injustice and cold fear of the vast and friendless expanse, Joe’s
+tears multiplied, and leaning his arms upon the low coping of the
+bridge, with his head between them and his nose touching the frozen
+stone, he began to cry unrestrainedly.
+
+Suddenly he heard a footstep, and it struck a new terror into his soul.
+Freebooters, footpads, kidnappers, _et hoc genus omne_, roamed those
+fields by night, in course of nature. To the snug security of the home
+fireside and bed their images came with a delightful thrill of fear, but
+to be here alone and in the midst of them was altogether another thing.
+He crept crouching across the bridge, and stowed himself into the
+smallest possible compass between the end of the stonework and the
+neighbouring hedgerow, and there waited trembling. His pulses beat so
+fast and made such a noise in his ears that he was ready to take the
+sound of footsteps for the tread of a whole ogreish army, when he heard
+a voice.
+
+‘Hode on a minute, while I shift the sack.’
+
+The sack? It was easy--it was inevitable--to know that the sack
+contained a goblin supper.
+
+‘I shall be late for tea, Ichabod,’ said another voice, ‘and then I
+shall get a blowing-up for coming.’
+
+     Let him who sighs in sadness here,
+     Rejoice, and know a friend is near.
+
+Joe sprang from his hiding-place, and startled Master Richard and
+Ichabod more than a little.
+
+‘That thee, Dick?’
+
+He knew it well enough, but it was quite delightful to be able to ask it
+with certainty.
+
+‘Hillo,’ said Master Richard, recognising his sworn friend. ‘What are
+you doing? Are you trapping anything?’
+
+‘No,’ the hereditary enemy answered. He had been crying, the poor little
+chap, until he had been frightened into quiet, and now on a sudden he
+was as brave and as glad again as ever he had been in his life. Once
+more adventures loomed ahead for the adventurous, and he shone within
+and grew warm with the sweet reflux of courage as he whispered, ‘I’m
+running away from home!’
+
+Once again, the feat was glorious.
+
+‘No?’ said Master Richard, smitten with envy and admiration. ‘Are you?
+Really?’
+
+‘Yes,’ Joe answered. ‘I’m agooin’ to Liverpool, to begin wi’.’
+
+This was exquisitely large and vague, and Master Richard began to yearn
+for a share in the high enterprise upon which his friend had entered. He
+had half a mind to run away from home himself, though, to be sure, there
+was nothing else to run away from. In Joe’s case there was a difference.
+
+‘Where are you going to stay to-night?’ asked Master Richard. The
+question sounded practical, but at bottom it was nothing of the sort.
+It was part of the romance of the thing, and yet it threw cold water on
+Joe’s newly-lighted courage, and put it out again.
+
+‘I don’t know,’ said Joe, somewhat forlornly.
+
+‘I say,’ interjected Ichabod, ‘is that young Mountain, Master Richard?’
+
+‘Yes,’ said Master Richard.
+
+‘Thee know’st thy feyther is again thy speakin’ to him, and his feyther
+is again his speakin’ to thee.’
+
+‘You mind your own business, Ichabod,’ said the young autocrat, who was
+a little spoiled perhaps, and had been accustomed to have his own way in
+quite a princely fashion.
+
+‘I’m mindin’ it,’ returned Ichabod. ‘It’s a part o’ my business to keep
+thee out o’ mischief.’
+
+‘Ah!’ piped Master Richard, ‘you needn’t mind that part of your business
+to-night.’
+
+‘All right,’ said Ichabod, reshouldering the sack he had meanwhile
+balanced on the coping of the bridge. ‘See as thee beesn’t late for
+tay-time.’
+
+With that, having discharged his conscience, he went on again, and the
+two boys stayed behind.
+
+‘What are you running away for?’ asked Eichard.
+
+‘Why, feyther said it was brought to him as you and me had shook hands
+and had took on to be friends with one another, and he told me to go
+into the brewus and take my shirt off.’
+
+‘Take your shirt off?’ inquired the other. In Joe’s lifetime, short
+as it was, he had had opportunity to grow familiar with this fatherly
+formula, but it was strange to Master Richard. ‘What for?’
+
+‘What for! Why, to get a hidin’, to be sure.’
+
+‘Look here!’ said Richard, having digested this, ‘you come and stop in
+one of our barns. Have you had your tea?’
+
+‘No,’ returned Joe, ‘I shouldn’t ha’ minded so much if I had.’
+
+‘I’ll bring something out to you,’ said the protector.
+
+So the two lads set out together, and to evade Ichabod, struck off at
+a run across the fields, Joe pantingly setting forth, in answer to his
+comrade’s questions, how he was going to be a sailor or a pirate, ‘or
+summat,’ or to have a desert island like Crusoe. Of course, it was all
+admirable to both of them, and, of course, it was all a great deal more
+real than the fields they ran over.
+
+The runaway was safely deposited in a roomy barn, and left there
+alone, when once again a life of adventures began to assume a darkish
+complexion. It was cold, it was anxious, it seemed to drag interminably,
+and it was abominably lonely. If it were to be all like this, even the
+prospect of an occasional taking off of one’s shirt in the brewhouse
+looked less oppressive than it had done.
+
+The hidden Joe, bound for piracy on the high seas, or a Crusoe’s island
+somewhere, gave a wonderful zest to Master Richard’s meal But an hour,
+which seemed like a year to the less fortunate of the two, went by
+before a raid upon the well-furnished larder of Perry Hall could
+be effected. When the opportunity came, Master Richard, with no
+remonstrance from conscience, laid hands upon a loaf and a dish of
+delicious little cakes of fried pork fat, from which the lard had that
+day been ‘rendered,’ and thus supplied, stole out to his hereditary
+enemy and fed him. The hereditary enemy complained of cold, and his host
+groped the dark place for sacks, and, having found them, brought them to
+him.
+
+‘I say,’ said Joe, when he had tasted the provender, ‘them’s
+scratchings. That’s gay and fine. I never had as many as I should like
+afore. Mother says they’re too rich, but that’s all rubbish.’
+
+He made oily feast in the dark, with the sacks heaped about him. With
+Master Richard to help him, he began to swim in adventure, and the
+pair were so fascinated and absorbed that one of the farm-servants went
+bawling ‘Master Richard’ about the outlying buildings for two or three
+minutes before they heard him. When at last the call reached their ears
+they had to wait until it died away again before the surreptitious host
+dare leave the barn, lest his being seen should draw attention to the
+place.
+
+Then Joe, who had been hunting wild beasts of all sorts with the
+greatest possible gusto, began in turn to be hunted by them. The
+rattlesnake, hitherto unknown to Castle Barfield, became a common
+object; the lion and the polar bear met on common ground in the
+menagerie of Joe’s imagination. Whatever poor blessings and hopes he
+had, and whatever schoolboy wealth he owned, he would have surrendered
+all of them to be in the brewhouse of the Mountain Farm, even though he
+were there to take his shirt off But the empty, impassable, awful night
+stood between him and any refuge, and he must need stay where he was,
+and sweat with terror under his sacks, through all the prodigious tracts
+of time which lay between the evening and the morning. He was to have
+been up and afoot for Liverpool before dawn, but tired nature chose the
+time he had fixed for starting to send him to sleep, and when Master
+Richard stole into the barn with intent to disperse the sacks and clear
+away any sign of Joe’s occupancy, he found him slumbering soundly, with
+a tear-stained cheek resting on a dirty brown hand.
+
+There had been the wildest sort of hubbub and disorder at the Mountain
+Farm all night. Mrs. Mountain had wept and wrung her hands, and rocking
+herself to and fro, had poured forth doleful prophecy. Samson, who had
+begun with bluster, had fallen into anxiety, and had himself traced the
+course of the brook for a full mile by lanthorn-light. The farm hands
+had been sent abroad, and had tracked every road without result. Of
+course the one place where nobody so much as thought of making inquiry
+was the house of the hereditary foe, but pretty early, in the course of
+the morning, the news of Joe Mountain’s disappearance, and something
+of the reasons for it, reached Perry Hall. Everybody at Perry Hall knew
+already what a terrible personage Samson Mountain was, and his behaviour
+on this occasion was the theme of scathing comment.
+
+Master Richard was guilty at heart, but exultant. Being a boy of lively
+imagination, he took to a secrecy so profound, and became so strikingly
+stealthy, as to excite observation and remark. He was watched and
+tracked to the barn, and then the discovery came about as a matter
+of course. The Reddys made much of Joe--they had no quarrel with an
+innocent persecuted child--but their kindness and commiseration were
+simply darts to throw at Samson.
+
+It was noon when Reddy put the trembling adventurer into his trap, and
+with his own hands drove him home. The two enemies met and glowered at
+each other.
+
+‘I’ve found your lad and brought him home,’ said Reddy; ‘though I doubt
+it’s a cruel kindness to him.’
+
+Samson, with all the gall in his nature burning at his heart, lifted Joe
+from the trap and set him on the ground in silence. Reddy, in silence,
+turned his horse’s head, touched him with the whip, and drove away. Joe
+was welcomed home by a thrashing, which he remembers in old age.
+
+The episode bore fruit in several ways. To begin with, Master Joe was
+packed off to a distant school, far from that to which young Reddy was
+sent. But the boys found each other out in the holidays, and became
+firm friends on the sly, and Joe was so loyal and admiring that he never
+ceased to talk to his one confidante of the courage, the friendliness,
+the generosity, the agility, and skill of his secret hero. The
+confidante was his sister Julia, to whom the young hereditary enemy
+became a synonym for whatever is lovely and of good report. She used
+to look at him in church--she had little other opportunity of observing
+him--and would think in her childish innocent mind how handsome and
+noble he looked. He did not speak like the Barfield boys, or look like
+them, or walk like them. He was a young prince, heir to vast estates,
+and a royal title in fairyland. If story-books were few and far between,
+the sentimental foolish widow, Jenny Busker, was a mine of narrative,
+and a single fairy tale is enough to open all other fairy lore to a
+child’s imagination. If the little girl worshipped the boy, he, in his
+turn, looked kindly down on her. He had fought for her once at odds of
+two to one, and he gave her a smile now and then. It happened that in
+this wise began the curious, half-laughable, and half-pathetic little
+history which buried the hatreds of the Castle Barfield Capulet and
+Montague for ever.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+In this Castle Barfield version of Romeo and Juliet the parody would
+have been impossible without the aid and intervention of some sort of
+Friar Laurence. He was a notability of those parts in those days, and he
+was known as the Dudley Devil. In these enlightened times he would have
+been dealt with as a rogue and vagabond, and, not to bear too hardly
+upon an historical personage, whom there is nobody (even with all our
+wealth of historical charity-mongers) to whitewash, he deserved richly
+in his own day the treatment he would have experienced in ours. He
+discovered stolen property--when his confederates aided him; he put
+the eye on people obnoxious to his clients, for a consideration; he
+overlooked milch cows, and they yielded blood; he went about in
+the guise of a great gray tom-cat. It was historically true in
+my childhood--though, like other things, it may have ceased to be
+historically true since then--that it was in this disguise of the great
+gray tom-cat that he met his death. He was fired at by a farmer, the
+wounded cat crawled into the wizard’s cottage, and the demon restored to
+human form was found dying later on with a gun-shot charge in his ribs.
+There were people alive a dozen--nay, half a dozen--years ago, who
+_knew_ these things, to whom it was blasphemous to dispute them.
+
+The demon’s earthly name was Rufus Smith, and he lived ‘by Dudley Wood
+side, where the wind blows cold,’ as the local ballad puts it His mother
+had dealt in the black art before him, and was ducked to death in the
+Severn by the bridge in the ancient town of Bewdley. He was a lean man,
+with a look of surly fear. It is likely enough that he half expected
+some of his invocations to come true one fine day or other, with
+consequences painful to himselt The old notions are dying out fast, but
+it used to be said in that region that when a man talked to himself he
+was talking with the universal enemy. Rufus and his mother were great
+chatterers in solitude, and what possible companion could they have but
+one?
+
+It is not to be supposed that all the ministrations for which the people
+of the country-side relied upon Rufus were mischievous. If he had done
+nothing but overlook cattle and curse crops, and so forth, he would
+have been hunted out. Some passably good people have been said, upon
+occasions, to hold a candle to the devil. With a similar diversion
+from general principle, Rufus was known occasionally to perform acts
+of harmless utility. He charmed away warts and corns, he prepared love
+philtres, and sold lucky stones. He foreran the societies which insure
+against accident, and would guarantee whole bones for a year or a
+lifetime, according to the insurer’s purse or fancy. He told fortunes by
+the palm and by the cards, and was the sole proprietor and vendor of a
+noted heal-all salve of magic properties.
+
+He and his mother had gathered together between them a respectable
+handful of ghastly trifles, which were of substantial service alike to
+him and to his clients. A gentleman coming to have his corns or warts
+charmed away would be naturally assisted towards faith by the aspect of
+the polecat’s skeleton, the skulls of two or three local criminals,
+and the shrivelled, mummified dead things which hung about the walls or
+depended head downwards from the ceiling. These decorations apart, the
+wizard’s home was a little commonplace. It stood by itself in a
+bare hollow, an unpicturesque and barn-like cottage, not altogether
+weather-proof.
+
+It fell upon a day that Mrs. Jenny Rusker drove over from Castle
+Barfield to pay Rufus a visit. She rode in a smart little trap, the kind
+of thing employed by the better sort of rustic tradesmen, and drove a
+smart little pony. She was a motherly, foolish, good creature, who, next
+to the reading of plays and romances, loved to have children about her
+and to make them happy. On this particular day she had Master Richard
+with her. She kept up her acquaintance with both her old lovers, and was
+on terms of rather coolish friendship with them. But she adored their
+children, and would every now and again make a descent on the house of
+one or other of her old admirers and ravish away a child for a day or
+two.
+
+Mrs. Jenny had consoled herself elsewhere for the loss of lovers for
+whom she had never cared a halfpenny, but she had never ceased to hold a
+sort of liking for both her old suitors. Their claims had formerly been
+pretty evenly balanced in her mind, and even now, when the affair was
+ancient enough in all conscience to have been naturally and quietly
+buried long ago, she never met either of her quondam lovers without
+some touch of old-world coquetry in her manner. The faintest and most
+far-away touch of anything she could call romance was precious to
+the old woman, and having a rare good heart of her own under all her
+superannuated follies, she adored the children. Dick was her especial
+favourite, as was only natural, for he was pretty enough and regal
+enough with his childish airs of _petit grand seigneur_ to make him
+beloved of most women who met him. Women admire the frank masterfulness
+of a generous and half-spoiled boy, and Mrs. Jenny saw in the child the
+prophecy of all she had thought well of in his father, refined by the
+grace of childhood and by a better breeding than the father had ever
+had.
+
+So she and Dick were great allies, and there was always cake and
+elderberry wine and an occasional half-crown for him at Laburnum
+Cottage. It was only natural that, so fostered, Dick’s affection for the
+old lady should be considerable. She was his counsellor and confidante
+from his earliest years, and the little parlour, with its antiquated
+furniture and works of art-in wool, its haunting odour of pot-pourri
+emanating from the big china jar upon the mantelshelf, and its moist
+warm atmosphere dimly filtered through the drooping green and gold of
+the laburnum tree, whose leaves tapped incessantly against the lozenged
+panes of its barred windows, was almost as familiar in his memory in
+after years as the sitting-room at home at the farm.
+
+Dick conferred upon its kindly and garrulous old tenant the brevet rank
+of ‘Aunt’ Jenny, and loved her, telling her, in open-hearted childish
+fashion, his thoughts, experiences, and secrets. Naturally, the story of
+the fight with the paynim oppressors of beauty came out in his talk soon
+after its occurrence, and lost nothing in the telling. Mrs. Jenny would
+have found a romance in circumstances much less easily usable to that
+end than those of the scion of one house rescuing the daughter of a
+rival and inimical line, and here was material enough for foolish fancy.
+She cast a prophetic eye into the future, and saw Dick and Julia, man
+and maid, reuniting their severed houses in the bonds of love, or doubly
+embittering their mutual hatred and perishing--young and lovely victims
+to clannish hatred and parental rigour--like Romeo and Juliet.
+
+The boy’s account of the fight was given as he sat by her side in her
+little pony-trap in the cheerfully frosty morning. Dick chatted gaily as
+the shaggy-backed pony trotted along the resounding road with a clatter
+of hoofs and a jingle of harness, and an occasional sneeze at the frosty
+air. They passed the field of battle on the road, and Dick pointed it
+out. Then, as was natural, he turned to the family feud, and retailed
+all he had heard from Ichabod, supplemented by information from other
+quarters and such additions of fancy as imaginative children and savages
+are sure to weave about the fabric of any story which comes in their way
+to make tradition generally the trustworthy thing it is.
+
+Mrs. Busker was strong on the family quarrel. A family quarrel was a
+great thing in her estimation, almost as good as a family ghost, and
+she gave Dick the whole history of the incident of the brook and of many
+others which had grown out of it, among them one concerning the death of
+a certain Reddy which had tragically come to pass a year or two before
+his birth. The said Reddy had been found one November evening stark and
+cold at the corner of the parson’s spinney, with an empty gun grasped
+in his stiffened hand, and a whole charge of small shot in his breast.
+Crowner’s quest had resulted in a verdict of death by misadventure, and
+the generally received explanation was that the young fellow’s own gun
+had worked the mischief by careless handling in passing through stiff
+undergrowth. But a certain ne’er-do-well Mountain, a noted striker and
+tosspot of the district, had mysteriously disappeared about that date,
+and had never since come within scope of Castle Barfield knowledge.
+Ugly rumours had got afloat, vague and formless, and soon to die out
+of general memory. Dick listened open-mouthed to all this, and when the
+narrative was concluded, held his peace for at least two minutes.
+
+‘_She_ isn’t wicked, is she, Aunt Jenny?’ he suddenly demanded.
+
+‘She? Who? ‘asked Mrs. Eusker in return. ‘The little girl, Julia.’
+
+‘Wicked? Sakes alive, whativer is the boy talking about? Wicked? O’
+course not. She’s a dear good little thing as iver lived.’
+
+‘Ichabod said that all the Mountains were wicked. But I know Joe
+isn’t--at least, not very. He promised me a monkey and a parrot--a green
+parrot, when he came back from running away. But he didn’t run away,
+because father found him and took him home. His father gave him an awful
+thrashing. He often thrashes him, Joe says. Father never thrashes me.
+What does his father thrash him for?’ ‘Mr. Mountain’s a harder man than
+your father, my dear. An’ I fear as Joe’s a bit wild, like his father
+when he was a boy, and obstinit. Theer niver was a obstinater man i’
+this earth than Samson Mountain, I do believe, an’ Joe’s got a bit on it
+in him.’
+
+‘She’s pretty,’ said Dick, returning with sudden childish inconsequence
+to the subject uppermost in his thoughts. ‘Joe isn’t Why is it that the
+girls are always prettier than the boys?’
+
+‘I used to think it was the other way about when I was a gell,’ said
+Aunt Jenny, with perfect simplicity. ‘But she is pretty, that’s true.
+But then her mother was a likely lass, an’ Samson warn’t bad lookin’,
+if he hadn’t ha’ been so fierce an’ cussid. An’ to think as it should be
+you, of all the lads i’ Barfield, as should save a Mountain. An’ a gell
+too.. I suppose as you’ll be a settin’ up to fall in love wi’ her now,
+like Romeo and Juliet?’
+
+‘What was that? ‘asked the boy.
+
+‘It’s a play, my dear, wrote by a clever man as has been dead iver so
+many ‘ears, William Shaakespeare.’
+
+‘Shakespeare?’ said Dick. ‘I know. It’s a big book on one of the shelves
+at home, full of poetry. But what’s Romeo and Juliet?’
+
+‘Romeo and Juliet was two lovers, as lived a long time ago in a place
+called Verona. I don’t know where it is,’ she added quickly, to stave
+off the imminent question already on the boy’s lips. ‘Somewhere abroad,
+wheer Bonyparty is. Juliet’s name was Capulet, an’ Romeo’s was Montague,
+an’ the Capilets and the Montagues hated each other so as they could
+niver meet wi’out havin’ a bit of a turn-up one with another. They was
+as bad as the Reddys an’ the Mountains, only i’ them daysen folks allays
+wore swords an’ daggers, so’s when they fowt they mostly killed each
+other. Well, one night old Capilet gi’en a party, an’ asked all his
+friends, an’ everybody wore masks, so’s they didn’t know half the time
+who they was a-talkin’ tew, as was the fashion i’ them times, an’ Romeo,
+he goes, just for divilment, an’ he puts on a mask tew, so as they
+didn’t know him, else they’d ha’ killed him, sure an’ certain. An’ theer
+he sees Juliet, an’ she was beautiful, an’ he falls plump in love wi’
+her, an’ she falls in love wi’ him, an’ they meets o’ nights, i’ the
+moonlight, on the window-ledge outside her room, but they had to meet
+i’ secret, ‘cause the two fam’lies was like cat an’ dog, an’ there’d ha’
+been awful doin’s if they’d been found out. Well, old Capilet--that was
+Juliet’s feyther--he finds a husband for Juliet, a nice chap enough, a
+count, like Lord Barfield, on’y younger an’ likelier. An’ Juliet, she
+gets welly mad, because she wants to marry Romeo. And then, to mek
+matters wuss, Romeo meets one o’ Juliet’s relations, a young man named
+Tybalt, as hates him like pison, an’ they fowt, an’ Romeo killed him.
+Well, the Capilets was powerful wi’ the king as ruled in Verona, like
+Joseph used to be with Pharaoh in the Holy Land, my dear, an’ Romeo, he
+has to run away an’ hide himself, else p’raps they’d ha’ hung him
+for killin’ Tybalt, though it was Tybalt as begun the fight, so poor
+Juliet’s left all alone. An’ her marriage day’s a-gettin’ near, and old
+Capilet, he’s stuck on her marryin’ the count, an’ the day’s been named,
+and everything provided for the weddin’. Well, Romeo takes a thought,
+an’ goes to a friar, a kind o’ priest, as was a very book-learned man,
+and asks if he can help him. And at first he says no, he can’t, an’
+Romeo gets that crazed, he’s goin’ to kill himself, but by an’ by he
+thinks of a plan. He gives Juliet a bottle o’ physic stuff to send her
+to sleep, and make her look as if she was dead. Then her relations ‘ll
+be sure to bury her i’ the family vault, an’ he’ll write to Romeo to
+come back to Verona i’ the night-time an’ take her out o’ the vault, an’
+goo away quiet wi’ her till things have blown over, an’ they can come
+back again. An’ Juliet takes the physic, an’ everybody thinks her dead,
+her father, an’ her mother, an’ her old nuss, an’ Paris--that’s the
+name of the gentleman as they wanted her to marry--an’ there’s such a
+hullabaloo an’ racket as niver was. An’ they buried her i’ the vault,
+wi’ all her relations, an’ the old friar thinks as it’s all a-comin’
+straight. But the letter as he’d writ to Romeo niver reaches him, an’
+Romeo hears as how Juliet’s really dead, and he buys a bottle o’ pison,
+an’ comes to Juliet’s grave i’ the night-time, an’ there he meets Paris,
+as has come to put flowers there an’ pray for Juliet’s soul, knowin’
+no better and lovin’ her very dear. An’ him an’ Romeo fights, and Romeo
+kills him, an’ opens the vault, an’ go’s in, an’ theer’s Juliet, lyin’
+stiff an’ stark, because the physic ain’t had time to work itself off
+yit. An’ he kisses her, an’ cries over her, and then he teks the pison,
+and dies. An’ just as he’s done it, Juliet wakes up, and finds him dead,
+and she takes his knife, an’ kills herself, poor thing, an’ that’s the
+hend on ‘em.’
+
+The old sentimentalist’s eyes were moist, and her voice choked, as she
+concluded her legend. It was the first love-story Dick had ever heard,
+and in pity at the beautiful narrative, which no clumsiness of narration
+could altogether rob of its pathos, he was crying too. There is no
+audience like an impressionable child, and the immortal story of love
+and misfortune seemed very pitiful to his small and tender heart.
+
+‘Why, theer! theer! Dick! It’s only a story, my dear, wrote in a
+book,’ said Mrs Jenny. ‘It most likely ain’t true, an’ if it is, it
+all happened sich a time ago as it’s no good a-frettin’ about it. Why,
+wheeriver did you get all them warts? ‘She took one of the hands with
+which Dick was rubbing his eyes. ‘You should have ‘em looked tew, they
+quite spile your hands. I must get Rufus Smith to have a look at ‘em.
+You know who we’m agoin’ to see, don’t you? You’ve heard tell o’ the
+Dudley Devil, Dick?’
+
+‘Yes,’ said Dick. ‘Ichabod goes to him for his rheumatism.’
+
+‘It’s on’y a step away. That’s his cottage, over there. We’ll get him to
+charm the warts away.’
+
+A hundred yards farther on Mrs. Jenny checked the pony, and, dismounting
+from the vehicle, bade Dick tie him to an elder-shoot and follow her.
+They went through a gap in a ruinous hedge, and traversed a furzy field,
+at the farther side of which stood the wizard’s hut, a wretched place
+of a single story, with a shuttered window and a thatched roof full of
+holes and overgrown with weeds. As they approached the door a mighty
+clatter was audible within, and Mrs. Jenny held the boy’s hand in a
+tightened grasp, fearful of devilry. As they stood irresolute to
+advance or retreat, a big cat dashed out at the doorway with a feline
+imprecation, and the wizard appeared, revengefully waving a stick, and
+swearing furiously.
+
+‘Cuss the brute,’ he said, ‘the divil’s in her, sure an’ sartin’.’
+
+It seemed not unlikely to the onlookers, the cat being the wizard’s
+property, and therefore, by all rule and prescription, his prompter and
+familiar. She was not of the received colour, however, her fur being
+of a rusty red. But as she raised her back, and spat at her master’s
+visitors from under her chubbed tail, she looked demoniac enough for
+anything. And from the fashion in which, her anathema once launched, she
+sat down and betook herself to the rearrangement of her ruffled coat, it
+might have been conjectured that it was not purely personal to them, but
+that they were attacked merely as types of the human race, whose society
+she and her master had forsworn.
+
+‘Cuss her!’ reiterated the wizard. ‘Where’s her got tew? My soul, what’s
+this?’
+
+He peered with a short-sighted terror-stricken scowl on Mrs. Jenny
+and her charge, as if for a moment the fancy had crossed him that his
+refractory familiar had taken their shapes. His gray lips muttered
+something, and his fingers worked oddly as he took a step or two
+forward, clearly outlined in the cold winter sunshine against the black
+void beyond his open door.
+
+‘Why, Rufus, what’s the matter?’ asked Mrs. Jenny. ‘Don’t look like that
+at a body.’
+
+‘It’s you, mum?’ said the necromancer. A look of relief came into his
+wizened face. ‘I didn’t know but what it might be----’ His voice trailed
+off into an indistinct murmur, and he smeared his hand heavily across
+his face, and looked at it, mistrustfully, as if he rather expected to
+find something else in its place. ‘Cuss her!’ he said again, looking
+round for the cat.
+
+‘What’s she done?’ demanded Mrs. Jenny.
+
+‘Done? Ate up all my brekfus, that’s what she’s done,’ rejoined
+the wizard. The familiar grinned with a relish of the situation so
+fiendishly human that Dick clung closer to Mrs. Rusker’s hand, and
+devoutly wished himself back in the trap. To his childish sense the
+incongruity of one gifted with demoniac powers being helpless to prevent
+the depredations of his own domestic animal did not appeal. As for Mrs.
+Jenny, she had piously believed in witchcraft all her life, and was
+quite as insensible to the absurdity as he.
+
+‘I want you to look at this young gentleman’s hands,’ said Mrs. Busker.
+‘He’s got warts that bad. I suppose you can charm ‘em away for him?’
+
+Appealed to on a point of his art, the wizard’s air changed altogether.
+He assumed an aspect of wooden majesty.
+
+‘Why, yis,’ he said. ‘I think I’m equal to that Step inside, mum, and
+bring the young gentleman with you.’
+
+‘Couldn’t you-------’ Mrs. Busker hesitatingly began, ‘couldn’t you do
+it outside?’
+
+‘The forms and ceremonies,’ said the necromancer, with an increase of
+woodenness in his manner, ‘cannot be applied out o’ doors. Arter you,
+mum.’
+
+He ushered them into the one room of his hut, and the cat, with her
+tail floating above her like a banner, entered too, evading a kick, and
+sprang upon a rotten deal shelf, which apparently acted as both dresser
+and table.
+
+Rufus closed the ruinous door, thereby intensifying the gloom which
+reigned within the place. The floor was of simple earth, unboarded,
+and the air smelt of it Here and there a fine spear of ghostly sunlight
+pierced a crack in roof or wall. By the time their eyes had become
+accustomed to the gloom they saw that Rufus, on his knees on the floor,
+was scratching a circle about himself with a scrap of a broken pot, and
+the indistinct rhythmic murmur of the spell he muttered reached their
+ears.
+
+The cat, perched upon the dresser, purred as if her internal machinery
+were running down to final collapse, and her contracting and dilating
+eyes borrowed infernal fires from the chance ray of sunshine in which
+she sat. The brute’s rusty red head, so lit, fascinated Dick, and the
+mingled rhythms of her purring and the wizard’s mounted and mounted,
+until to his bewildered mind the whole world seemed filled with their
+murmur, and the demoniac head seemed to dilate as he gazed at it.
+Suddenly, Rufus paused in his sing-song, and the cat’s purr ceased with
+it, as though her share of the charm was done.
+
+‘Come into the ring,’ said Rufus. His voice was shaky, and if there had
+been light enough to see it, his face was gray with terror of his own
+hocus-pocus. The cat’s head had dropped out of the line of sunlight, and
+she had coiled herself up on the dresser among a disorderly litter of
+crockery ware. Dick, relieved from the fascination of her too-visible
+presence, obeyed the summons, and Rufus, seating himself upon a broken
+stool, took his hand in moist and quivering fingers, and touching the
+warts one by one, recommenced his mumble. It had proceeded for a minute
+or so, when a crash, which, following as it did on the dead stillness,
+an earthquake could scarce have equalled, elicited a scream from Mrs.
+Jenny and brought the wizard to his knees with a yell of terror.
+
+‘My blessid!’ he cried, with clacking jaws, ‘I’ve done it at last! Get
+thee behind me, Satan!’
+
+In terror-stricken earnest he believed that the Great Personage he had
+passed all his life in trying to raise had answered to his call at
+last. So, though it was unquestionably a relief to him to find that the
+appalling clatter had merely been caused by his familiar’s pursuit of
+a mouse among the crockery, a shade of disappointment may have followed
+the discovery.
+
+‘Cuss her!’ he said, for the third time that morning, and with
+additional unction. ‘Her’ll be the death of me some day, I know her
+will!’
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+A summer sunset filled all the sky above Castle Barfield and its
+encircling fields. The sun had disappeared, leaving behind him a broad
+reflected track of glory where, here and there, a star was faintly
+visible. A light wind was blowing from the hollow which sheltered the
+town towards the higher land whereon the rival houses of Eeddy and
+Mountain faced each other. Below, it was already almost night, and as
+the wind blew the shadow mounted, as if the wind carried it. The rose
+and gold left by the departing sun faded down the sky, and settled at
+the horizon into a broad band of deep-toned fire, which, to one facing
+it in ascending from the lower ground, seemed to bind the two houses
+together. Some such fancy might have been in the head of Mrs. Jenny
+Rusker, as she went in the warm evening air towards the little eminence
+on which stood the long low-built house of Samson Mountain, already
+a-twinkle with occasional lights in the gloom, its own bulk cast against
+the fast-fading band of sunset.
+
+Mrs. Jenny, hale and vigorous yet, and still a widow, was older by
+fifteen years than on the day when she unfolded to Dick Reddy the story
+of Romeo and Juliet. Fifteen years was a good slice out of a lifetime,
+even in Castle Barfield in the first half of the century, when time
+slipped by so quietly and left so little trace to mark his flight.
+
+She passed the gate which opened on the public road, and entered the
+Mountain domain. The air was so still that the bubble of the boundary
+brook was clearly audible a hundred yards away, with nothing to accent
+it but the slow heavy flap of a late crow, winging his reluctant flight
+homewards, and save for him, sky and earth alike seemed empty of life,
+and delivered wholly to the clinging peace of evening. So that when Mrs.
+Jenny came to the only clump of trees in her line of progress between
+the gate and the house the little scream of surprise with which she
+found herself suddenly face to face with an unexpected human figure was
+justified.
+
+‘Sh-h-h! ‘said the figure’s owner. ‘Don’t you know me, Aunt Jenny?’
+
+‘Dick!’ said Mrs. Jenny, peering at him. ‘So it is. You welly frightened
+the life out o’ me. What brings you here, of all places in the world?’
+
+‘Can’t you guess?’ asked Dick. He was tall and broad-shouldered now,
+an admirable fulfilment of the physical promise of his boyhood, and far
+overtopped Mrs. Rusker. ‘It isn’t for the first time.’
+
+‘I feared not,’ said the old woman. ‘You was allays main venturesome.’
+
+‘It will be for the last, for some time, Aunt Jenny. I leave Castle
+Barfield to-morrow.’
+
+‘Leave Barfield?’ cried the old woman. ‘Why, Dick, wheer are ye goin’?
+You ain’t agoin’ to do nothin’ rash, that I do hope.’
+
+‘I am going to London,’ said Dick, ‘and I must see Julia before I go.
+You must help me. You are going to the house now, aren’t you?’
+
+‘Going to London?’ repeated Mrs. Eusker, who had no ears for the last
+words after that announcement. ‘What’s made you so hot foot to go to
+London all of a minute like?’
+
+‘It was decided to-day. My father suspects what is going on. I feel
+sure of it, though he has never said a word about it. You know he always
+meant to make a doctor of me--it was my own choice when I was quite a
+little fellow, and it has always been understood. Last month he asked me
+if I was of the same mind still, and to-day he told me that my seat is
+taken in the coach from Birmingham. You know my father, Aunt Jenny, as
+well as I do. He has been a very good father to me, and I would not give
+him pain or trouble for the world. I could not refuse. Indeed, it is
+my last chance of ever doing anything for myself and making a home for
+Julia.’
+
+‘My dear, they’ll never hear on it, nayther of ‘em. Samson Mountain ‘d
+rather see his daughter in her coffin than married to any kin of Abel
+Reddy’s. Though he loves her, too, in a kind o’ way. An’ your father’s
+jist as hard; he’s on’y quieter with it, that’s all They’ll niver
+consent Niver, i’ this world.’
+
+‘Then we must do without their consent, that’s all. I must see Julia
+to-night, and you must help me. Tell her that I am here and must see
+her. Oh, Aunt Jenny, you are surely not going to desert us now, after
+helping us so often.’
+
+‘I’m dub’ous, my dear. I hope good may come of it, but I’m dub’ous. I’m
+doubtful if I did right in helping you, again your father’s will, an’
+Mr. Mountain’s, too.’
+
+‘You won’t refuse to do so little, after doing so much,’ pleaded the
+young man. ‘Why, it was at your house that I used to meet her, when we
+were children together, and you first christened us Romeo and Juliet.’
+
+‘A name o’ bad omen, my dear. I wish I hadn’t gi’en it to you now.’
+
+‘For niver was a story o’ more woe, Than this o’ Jewliet an’ her Romeo.’
+
+‘I don’t believe much in omens,’ said Dick. ‘But you will tell Julia
+that I am here, won’t you? It’s the last time, for ever so long.’
+
+‘I’ll tell her,’ said Mrs. Rusker. ‘But don’t stay here; goo down to the
+Five Ash. Mr. Mountain’s gone to Burmungem, an’ he’ll come across this
+way when he comes back. You must tek a bit o’ care, Dick, for the gell’s
+sake.’
+
+‘I’ll take care, dear. It’s good-bye this time, Aunt. You’ve been very
+good to me always, and I shan’t forget your kindness while I’m away. And
+you’ll be good to Julia, too, while--while I’m away, won’t you?’
+
+Mrs. Rusker’s objections had never had any heart in them, and had been
+merely perfunctory, and such as she conceived her age and semi-maternal
+authority compelled her to make. She was wholly given over to Dick and
+Julia, and all her simple craft was for their service. She kissed him,
+and cried over him, and so they parted, he bound for the Five Ash field,
+and she for the farmhouse.
+
+‘Why, lacsaday, Jenny, whativer is the matter?’ asked Mrs. Mountain,
+when her visitor entered her sitting-room, and gave her tear-stained
+cheek to her old friend’s embrace. Julia, a lithe, graceful girl, rose
+at the query from the other side of the little table, and came to Mrs.
+Rusker’s side.
+
+‘Why, you’re cryin’,’ continued the elder woman. ‘What is it, my dear,
+as has upset you i’ this wise?’
+
+‘Well, my dear,’ said Mrs. Rusker, wiping her eyes and smoothing her
+dress, as if her grief was done with and put away, ‘it ain’t a trouble
+as I expects sympathy from you in.’
+
+Mother and daughter exchanged glances.
+
+‘It must be a queer sort o’ trouble, then,’ said Mrs. Mountain; ‘an’
+you might tell me what it is afore you say that, Mrs. Rusker, arter all
+these ‘ears as we’n knowed each other.’
+
+‘Well, if you must know, I’ve jist sin young Reddy, i’ the road, jist
+outside the Five Ash.’ Julia’s hand was on her shoulder as she spoke,
+and she felt the soft touch tremble. ‘He’s a-leavin’ Barfield, agoin’ to
+London, for a long time.’
+
+‘Oh, that’s the matter, is it? Well, I don’t know anythin’ agin the
+young man, barrin’ as he is a Reddy. An’ for the matter o’ that, though
+o’ course a woman has no ch’ice but to stand by the kin as her marries
+into, I niver found much harm in ‘em, unless it is as they’re a bit
+stuck up. I know as you was allays fond on him, an’ I hope the young man
+‘ll do well. I’ve often said to Samson as it was all rubbidge, a-keepin’
+up a old quarrel like that, as keeps two dacent fam’lys at daggers
+drawn. Theer, theer, let Julia get you a cup o’ tay, an’ let’s talk o’
+somethin’ cheerful.’
+
+‘I’ll go and send it in to you,’ said Julia. She exchanged one quick
+glance of intelligence with the widow as she left the room. The old
+woman had done her errand, and Julia knew where to seek her lover.
+She found her hat in the hall, and slipped out by the back way, after
+directing the servant to take in the required refreshment to Mrs.
+Busker. It was bright moonlight now, and as she ran lightly across the
+Five Ash field in her white summer dress, Dick, waiting in the shelter
+of the hedge, saw her plainly, and advanced to meet her.
+
+‘Oh, Dick, is it true?’
+
+He took her in his arms and kissed her before he answered. ‘Yes, dear,
+it’s true. I am going to London.’
+
+‘But why so suddenly, so soon?’
+
+‘I must, dear. It is my own choice. I am going to study, to fit myself
+to take my place in the world, and to find a home for you. Be brave,
+dear. It is only for a little time.’
+
+‘It is all so sudden.’
+
+‘Yes. I had hoped to stay a little longer, to see more of you, to get
+used to my happiness before I lost it. But my father suspects, I am
+sure, if he does not know, and I dared not refuse. It hurts me to go,
+but what can I do? You know the man he is. And there is only one thing
+in the world that your father would help him to do--to separate us. I
+must go away and make a home for you with my own hands; we can expect no
+help from them. If we are true to each other we shall be happy yet. Our
+love may end the ridiculous family squabble which has lasted all these
+generations. But it would be madness to speak yet.’
+
+‘It is that which makes me so unhappy, Dick. Why am I not like other
+girls? Why can’t you come to the farm and ask my father’s leave to court
+me, as other girls’ sweethearts do, and as you would like to do? I
+can’t help feeling that this is wrong, meeting you in secret, and being
+engaged to you against my father’s will, without his knowledge.’
+
+‘The quarrel is not of our making, Julia. We only suffer by it. I hope
+we shall bring it to an end, and teach two honest men to live at peace
+together, as they ought. Why, you’re crying.’
+
+Her tears had been running quietly for some minutes past, but at this
+she began to sob unrestrainedly. Dick comforted her in the orthodox
+fashion, and in that sweet employment almost succeeded in forgetting
+his own sorrow. He drew bright pictures of the future: youth held the
+palette, and hope laid on the colour. Two or three years of partial
+separation--so little--and he would have a livelihood in his hand, and
+could offer her a safe asylum from parental tyranny, and bid his own
+people either to accept the situation or renounce him, as they might
+choose. He was quite heroic internally about the whole business. He felt
+the promise of the coming struggle brace his nerves, and he was more
+than ready for the test. Young love is selfish at the best, and the
+heroic likeness of himself doing battle with the world of London half
+obliterated the pitiful figure of the poor girl, left at home, with
+nothing to fill her heart but dreams. For him, the delight of battle;
+for her, long months of weary waiting.
+
+It was no doubt of him, but only the rooted longing for assurance of his
+love, that made her ask,
+
+‘You won’t forget me, Dick, in London?’
+
+Forget her! His repetition of the word, his little laugh of loving
+scorn, were answer enough, though he found others, and arguments
+unanswerable, to clinch them. How could he forget the sweetest, dearest
+girl that ever drew the breath of life, the prettiest and the bravest?
+She spoke treason against herself in asking such a question. He could
+no more forget her in London than Romeo, Juliet in Mantua. She laughed
+a little at his recalling the old story, from which Mrs. Jenny had
+drawn so many illustrations of the course of their love since they were
+children. It recalled the old woman to their minds.
+
+‘I shall write to you every week, and send the letters under cover to
+her,’ said Dick. ‘And you may be sure that I shall find--or make--plenty
+of opportunities to run down here from time to time. There is a coach
+every day to Birmingham.’
+
+They had been walking slowly all this time. It was night now, the last
+gleam of sunset had faded, the stars were lustrous overhead, and a
+yellow moonlight flooded the surrounding country. A long distance off,
+faint but clear in the dead hush of the summer night, they heard, but
+did not mark, the beat of horses’ hoofs approaching them.
+
+‘I must go, Dick,’ said Julia. ‘It is late, and they will wonder where I
+am No, let me go now, while I have the strength.’
+
+He took her in his arms again, and her head dropped on his shoulder,
+and the tears began to run afresh. He held her close, but in that last
+moment of parting could find no word of comfort, only dumb caresses. The
+hoof-beats were near at hand now, just beyond the bend of the road.
+They rounded the corner, and broke on the lovers’ ears with a loud and
+startling suddenness. The girl broke away, and ran through the gate into
+the field with a stifled sob. Dick turned, and walked down the road in
+the direction of the approaching horseman. The moon was at the full, and
+shone broadly upon his face and figure.
+
+‘Hullo!’ cried the rider, in gruff challenge, and pulling his horse into
+Dick’s path, reined in. The young man looked up and recognised Samson
+Mountain. Flight would have been as useless as ignominious, and it had
+never been Dick’s way out of any difficulty.
+
+‘Well?’ he asked curtly, and stood his ground.
+
+‘Is that my daughter?’ demanded Mountain, pointing with his heavy whip
+after the white figure glinting across the field. ‘Spake the truth for
+once, though you be a Reddy.’
+
+‘It’s a habit we have,’ said Dick quietly. His calm almost surprised
+himself. ‘Yes.’
+
+Mountain had always been of a heavy build, and of late years had
+increased enormously in girth and weight. But his wrath at this
+confirmation of his half guess stirred him so, that before the sound of
+the word had well died out on the air he had dismounted, and came at the
+young man with his riding-whip flourished above his head.
+
+‘Don’t do that, sir.’ Dick spoke in a low voice, though quickly; and
+there was something in his tone which brought the weapon harmlessly to
+the farmer’s side again. ‘It is your daughter. We love each other, and
+she has promised to be my wife.’
+
+Mountain staggered, as if the words had been a pistol bullet or a stab,
+and struck furiously. Quick as was Dick’s parry, he only half saved
+himself, his hat spun into the road, and the whip whistled within an
+inch of his ear. He made a step back, and stopped a second furious
+stroke. The whip broke in the old man’s hand, and he flung the remaining
+fragment from him with a curse.
+
+‘I can’t strike you, sir,’ said Dick. ‘You’re her father.’ Mountain’s
+choking breath filled in the pause, and Dick went on: ‘You know well
+enough there’s not another man in England I’d take that from.’
+
+‘You’re a coward, like all your tribe,’ said Mountain.
+
+‘Not at all, I assure you, sir,’ said Dick calmly. ‘If you like to send
+anybody else with that message, I’ll talk to him. Let us talk sensibly.
+What harm have I ever done you? Or my father either? Why should two
+honest families keep up this ridiculous story, which ought to have been
+buried ages back? Why not let bygones be bygones? I love your daughter.
+I am a young man yet, sir, with my way to make in the world, and I
+am going away to London to study. I met your daughter to-night to say
+goodbye to her, and if you had not come I should have gone away and said
+nothing until I could come and claim her, with a home worthy of her to
+take her to.
+
+But since you know, I speak now. We love each other, and intend to
+marry.’
+
+‘Oh!’ said Mountain. He had gone all on a sudden as cool as Dick, and
+nothing but his stertorous breathing hinted of the rage which filled
+him. ‘That’s it, is it? Then, if you’re finished, hear me. I ain’t got
+the gift o’ the gab as free as you, but I can mek plain my meanin’,
+p’raps. I’d rather see her a-layin’ theer ‘(he pointed with a trembling
+hand at the ground between them); ‘I’d rather lay her there, dead afore
+my eyes, an’ screw her in her coffin a’terwards, than you or any o’ your
+kin should as much as look at her, wi’ my goodwill. And now you’ve got
+your answer, Mr. Fair an’ Fine. Remember it, an’ look out for yourself.
+For, by the Lord! ‘he went on, with a solemn malignity doubly terrible
+in a man whose passion was ordinarily so violent, ‘if iver I ketch you
+round my house again, I’ll put a bullet atween thy ribs as sure as my
+naame’s Samson Mountain.’
+
+With this, he took his horse by the bridle, and passed through the gate,
+leaving the young man to his own reflections. He took the beast to the
+stable, delivered him into the care of a servant, and made straight
+for the parlour, where his wife and Mrs. Rusker were seated at an early
+supper.
+
+‘You’re back early, Sam,’ said the former, rising to draw an additional
+chair to the table. ‘Wilt have some tay, or shall Liza draw you a jug o’
+beer?’
+
+Samson returned no answer, either to this or to Mrs. Rusker’s greeting.
+
+‘Lawk a mussy, what ails the man? ‘asked Mrs. Mountain, as Samson stood
+looking round the room. She had never seen such an expression on her
+husband’s face before. The skin was livid under its rude bronze, and his
+lips twitched strangely.
+
+‘Wheer’s that wench of ourn?’ he asked, after a second glance round
+the room, Mrs. Busker’s heart jumped, and she held on tight to the
+arm-pieces of her chair.
+
+‘Julia?’ said Mrs. Mountain. ‘Her’s about the house, I reckon.’
+
+‘Call her here,’ said Samson; and his wife wondering, but not daring to
+question, went to the door of the sitting-room and screamed ‘Julia!’
+A servant girl came running downstairs at the call, and said that Miss
+Julia did not feel well, and had gone to bed.
+
+‘Fatch her down,’ said Samson from the sitting-room, and the girl, on
+receipt of a confirmatory nod from Mrs. Mountain, went upstairs again.
+Samson took a chair and sat with his head bent forward and his arms
+folded, staring at the paper ornaments in the grate.
+
+‘Samson!’ said his wife appealingly, ‘don’t skeer a body i’ thisnin.
+Whativer _is_ the matter?’
+
+‘Hold thy chat,’ said Samson. ‘Thee’st know soon enough,’ and the trio
+sat in silence until Julia entered the room. She was pale, and there
+were traces of tears on her cheeks, and Samson, as he glanced at her
+askance from under his heavy eyebrows before he rose, saw that she was
+struggling to repress some strong emotion. She advanced to kiss him, but
+he repelled her--not roughly--with his heavy hand upon her shoulder.
+
+‘You wanted to see me, father,’ she asked, trembling.
+
+‘I sent for you.’
+
+Mrs. Rusker was in a state of pitiable excitement, if anybody had had
+the leisure to notice her.
+
+‘Theer’s some’at happened to-day as it’s fit an’ right as yo’ should
+know. I met ode Raybould today i’ th’ Exchange, an’ he tode me some’at
+as I’d long suspected, about his son Tom. I reckon you know what it
+was.’
+
+Julia knew well enough. Tom Raybould was a young farmer, a year or two
+older than herself. She had known him all her life, and he had been a
+schoolfellow and chosen chum of her brother’s. He had shown unmistakable
+signs of affection for her, but had never spoken. He was a good fellow,
+according to common report, and she had a good deal of liking and
+respect for him, and a little pity, being a good girl, and no coquette.
+
+‘I see thee understandest,’ said Samson. ‘I told th’ ode man as he might
+look on it as settled, an’ Tom ‘ll be here to-morrow. He’s a likely lad,
+an’ he’ll have all the Bush Farm when his father goes, as must be afore
+long, i’ the course o’ nature. The two farms ‘ll goo very well in a
+ring fence. Theer’s no partic’lar hurry, as I know on, an’ we’ll ha’ the
+weddin’ next wik, or the wik after.’
+
+The girl’s breast was labouring cruelly, in spite of the hand that
+strove to still it.
+
+‘Father!’ she said. ‘You don’t mean it!’
+
+‘Eh?’ said Samson. ‘I ginerally mean what I say, my wench. I should ha’
+thout as yo’d ha’ known that by this time.’
+
+He stopped there, for Julia, but for her mother’s arm, would have
+fallen.
+
+‘You great oaf!’ cried Mrs. Mountain, irritated for once into open
+rebellion. ‘Oh, it’s like a man, the stupid hulkin’ creeturs as they
+are, to come an’ frighten the life out of a poor maid i’ that style.’
+
+‘Theer, theer!’ said Samson, with the same heavy and threatening
+tranquillity he had borne throughout the interview. ‘Tek her upstairs.’
+
+He sat down again, and without another word filled and lit his
+churchwarden, and stared through the smoke-wreaths at the grate.
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+Mrs. Jenny Rusker, who was half dead with fear of an _exposé_ of her
+part in this unlucky love-affair, was additionally prostrated by the
+dire reversal of all her hopes by Samson Mountain’s ultimatum. Mrs.
+Mountain, with the aid of a female servant, supported Julia upstairs,
+and Samson smoked on stolidly, taking no note whatever of the visitor’s
+presence. Still in doubt of what Samson might or might not know, and
+fearing almost to breathe, lest any reminder of her presence should call
+down his wrath upon her, she listened to the tramping and the muffled
+noises overhead until they ceased, and then, gathering courage from his
+continued apathy, slipped from the room and left the house.
+
+She got home and went to bed and passed an interminable night in tossing
+to and fro, and bewailing the untoward fate of the two children. Dawn
+came at last, though it had seemed as if it never would break again,
+and, for the first time for many a year, the first gleam of sunlight saw
+her dressed and downstairs. She felt feverous and ill, and having brewed
+for herself a huge jorum of tansy tea, sat down over this inspiring
+beverage, and tried to pull her scattered wits together and think out
+some way of untangling the skein of difficulty with which she had to
+deal. The danger was pressing, and if she had been herself the poor
+lovesick girl who lay a mile away, stifling her sobs lest they should
+reach her father’s ears, and vainly calling on her lover’s name, she
+would scarcely have been more miserable.
+
+One thing was clear. Dick must be warned, and his journey to London
+postponed by some device. He might lie hidden for a day or two in
+Birmingham, and Julia be smuggled there and secretly married. It was no
+time for half measures, and whatever was done should be done quickly and
+decisively. At this idea, at once romantic and practical, Mrs. Jenny’s
+spirits revived.
+
+‘Samson ‘ll disown Julia, I know. Her ‘ll never see a penny o’ his
+money. An’ I doubt as Abel Reddy ‘ll do the same wi’ Dick. He’s just
+as hard and bitter as th’ other, on’y quieter wi’ it. Well, they shan’t
+want while I’m alive, nor after my death neither, and Dick ud make his
+own way with nobody’s help. I’ll write to him, and find somebody to take
+the letter. I won’t go myself, at this hour o’ the day.’
+
+She concocted a letter and sealed it, and putting on her bonnet sallied
+out to find a messenger. Fate was so far propitious that scarce
+a hundred yards from her door she met Ichabod Bubb, bound for his
+morning’s work at Perry Hall Farm. Ichabod was bent and gnarled and
+twisted now, stiff in all his joints and slow of movement, but his
+quaint visage bore the same look of uncertain and rather wistful humour
+which had marked it in earlier times.
+
+‘Morning, mum,’ he said, with a stiff-necked nod at Mrs. Jenny.
+
+‘Good-mornin’, Mr. Bubb,’ said the old lady. Ichabod beamed at this
+sudden and unexpected ceremonial of title, and straightened his back.
+
+‘You ‘m afoot early, mum.’
+
+‘Why, yes. But it’s such a beautiful morning; it’s a shaame to lie abed
+a time like this.’
+
+‘So many folks, so many ways o’ thinkin’,’ said the ancient one; ‘not
+as it’s a sin as I often commits, nayther, ‘cos why, I don’t get the
+chance.’
+
+‘I’ve got a bit o’ business as I want done, Mr. Bubb,’ said Mrs. Busker,
+‘if ye don’t mind earnin’ a shillin’.’
+
+‘Why,’ returned Ichabod, ‘I don’t know as I’ve got any, not to say
+rewted, objection to makin’ a shillin’.’
+
+‘You’re goin’ to the farm?’ Ichabod nodded. ‘Then I want you to take
+this note to Mr. Richard. But mind, you must get it to him private.
+Nobody else must know. D’you understand?’
+
+‘I’m all theer, missus,’ responded Ichabod.
+
+‘Then there’s the note, an’ there’s the shillin’. An’ if you’re back in
+two hours you shall have a pint o’ beer.’ Ichabod took the note and the
+shilling, and clattered off with a ludicrous show of despatch, and
+the old lady returned to her sitting-room to await the result of his
+message. It came in less than the appointed time, and disappointed her
+terribly. Ichabod had ascertained that Dick had started half an hour
+before his arrival at the farm for Birmingham, and would only return
+to-morrow night to sleep and take away his luggage on the following
+morning.
+
+‘And you come to me w’ a message like that, y’ ode gone-off!’ said
+the exasperated old woman. ‘You might ha’ caught him up i’ the time as
+you’ve wasted comin’ back here.’
+
+‘Caught him up,’ said Ichabod, with a glance at his legs. ‘Yis, likely,
+like a cow might ketch a race-hoss. I’m a gay fine figure, missus, to
+ketch up the best walker i’ the country-side.’
+
+Mrs. Jenny was a woman, and therefore to offer her reason as an antidote
+to unreasoning anger was merely to heap fuel on flame.
+
+‘Ah!’ she said, reasonably enraged with the whole masculine half of her
+species,’ you’re like the rest on ‘em.’
+
+‘Then I’m sorry for the rest on ‘em,’ said Ichabod, ‘whoever they may
+be.’ Here Mrs. Jenny shut the door upon him, leaving him in the street,
+and retired to her sitting-room. But with beer to be gained by boldness,
+Ichabod was leonine in courage. He knocked, and the summons brought
+the old lady to the door again. Ichabod spoke no word, but writhed
+his twisted features into a grin which expressed at once humorous
+deprecation and expectancy, and rabbed the back of his veiny hand across
+his bristly lips.
+
+‘Go round to the brewus,’ said Mrs. Jenny; ‘you’ll find the maid there.
+It’s all you’re fit for, ye guzzlin’ old idiot.’
+
+Ichabod retired, elate.
+
+‘Her tongue’s a stinger; but, Lord bless thee, Ichabod, her bark’s a
+long sight worse than her bite. An’ her beer’s main good.’
+
+Mrs. Jenny, meanwhile, retired to the sitting-room, and there sat
+immersed in gloom. Things looked black for her young protégés, and fate
+was against them. With that curious interest in familiar trifles which
+comes with any fit of hopelessness or despondency, she sat looking at
+the furniture of the room and the pictures which decorated the walls.
+Among these latter was a work of her own hands, her masterpiece, a
+reproduction in coloured wool of a German engraving of the last scene
+of _Romeo and Juliet_. There was a pea-green Capulet paralytically
+embracing a sky-blue Montague in the foreground, with a dissolving view
+of impossibly-constructed servitors of both houses and the County Paris,
+with six strongly accented bridges to his nose and a worsted tear upon
+his cheek, in the background. Under this production was worked in white,
+upon a black ground, the legend which Mrs. Rusker mournfully repeated as
+she gazed on it--
+
+     ‘For never was a story of more woe,
+     Than this of Juliet and her Romeo’;
+
+and as she spoke the words an inspiration flashed into her mind. She had
+her plan.
+
+The new-born idea so possessed her that she could not sit or rest. It
+drove her out, as the gad-fly drove lo, to devious wanderings in the
+neighbouring lanes, and as she walked and walked, finding some little
+ease in the unusual and incessant exercise, she drew nearer and nearer
+to the Mountain Farm. As she paused on a little eminence and looked
+towards it, the distant church bell struck clear across the intervening
+fields, proclaiming nine o’clock.
+
+‘Thank the Lord,’ said the old woman. ‘I can go now. I dussent go too
+early. They might suspect.’
+
+She made straight for the house, and found Mrs. Mountain alone. Samson
+was afield, and in answer to Mrs. Busker’s inquiries regarding Julia,
+Mrs. Mountain tearfully informed her that the poor girl was too ill to
+come downstairs, and had not eaten a crumb of the tempting breakfast
+prepared and sent to her room for her. Mrs. Mountain was voluble in
+condemnation of her husband’s lack of wit in his announcement of the
+matrimonial scheme he had formed for the girl, and Mrs. Jenny was fluent
+and honest in sympathy. Might she see the girl? Julia was fond of her,
+and her counsels might bring some comfort. Mrs. Mountain yielded a ready
+assent, and the old lady went up to the girl’s room, and entering on
+the languid summons which followed her knock, saw Julia seated at the
+window, listless, dejected, and tearful The tears flowed even more
+freely at the sight of her, and the girl sobbed on her old friend’s
+breast in full abandonment to the first great grief of her life.
+
+‘My dear,’ said Mrs. Jenny, when this gush of sorrow was over, ‘take a
+bit o’ heart. Things is rarely as bad as they seem; an’ there’s help at
+hand always if we on’y know where to look for it.’
+
+There was more meaning, to Julia’s thinking, in the tone in which this
+commonplace condolence was delivered than in the words themselves. Mrs.
+Rusker’s manner was big with mystery.
+
+‘Now, my darlin’, I know you ‘m a brave gal, and can act accordin’ when
+there’s rayson for it. I’ve got a plan as ‘ll save you yet, if on’y
+you’ve got the courage.’
+
+Julia’s clasped hands and eager look encouraged her to proceed.
+
+‘My dear, you remember _Romeo and Juliet?_ You remember how Juliet got
+the sleepin’ draught an’ took it? ‘Julia’s look was one of wonder, pure
+and simple, now. ‘That’s my plan, my dear, an’ the Dudley Divil can do
+it for us, if on’y you’ll ha’ the courage to tek it. Not as I mean as
+you need be buried afore Dick comes to you. We shouldn’t go as far as
+that. But I’ll get the stuff, an’ it’ll send you to sleep, an’ they’ll
+think as you’re dead, an’ then I’ll tell ‘em how you an’ Dick loved
+each other so’s you couldn’t bear to part wi’ him, an’ the fear of it’s
+killed you. That’ll soften their hard hearts, my dear. Old Reddy knows
+all about it--that’s why he’s sendin’ Dick away to London an’ I’ll get
+him fetched back to see the last o’ you, an’ I’ll mek your father an’
+his father shaake hands, an’ then you’ll come to, an’ after that what
+can they do but marry you to Dick, an’ forget all that rubbidge about
+the brook, an’ live in peace together, as decent folk should do.’
+
+Julia’s reception of this brilliant scheme, which Mrs. Rusker developed
+with a volubility which left no opportunity for detailed objection, was
+to fall back in her chair and begin to cry anew at the sheer hopeless
+absurdity of it.
+
+‘What’s the matter wi’ the wench?’ demanded Mrs. Rusker, almost sternly.
+‘Come, come,’ she continued, her brief anger fading at the sight of
+Julia’s distress, ‘have a bit o’ sperrit. Now, will you try it? Spake
+the word, an’ I’ll goo to the Divil this minute.’
+
+This wholesale self-abandonment in the cause of love produced no effect
+on Julia, except to frighten her. Mrs. Rusker argued and reasoned, but
+finding her fears too obdurate to be moved by any such means, left
+the house in dudgeon, whereat poor Julia only cried the more. But
+Mrs. Rusker’s confidence in her plan was unshaken, and her persistency
+unchecked. She would save the silly girl against her will, since it must
+be so, and half an hour after she had crossed the Mountain threshold she
+was in her trap, _en route_ for the dwelling of the wizard.
+
+She found that celebrity alone, and opened fire on him at once.
+
+‘Ruffis, I want thy help, an’ I’m willin’ to pay fur it.’ The
+necromancer’s fishy eye brightened. Things were going poorly with him,
+the rising generation followed newer lights unevident in his earlier
+days, and his visitors were mostly of Mrs. Rusker’s age, and were
+getting fewer day by day.
+
+‘My skill’s at your service, ma’am, such as it is,’ he answered, with
+gravity.
+
+‘I want some’at as ‘d send a body to sleep--mek ‘em sleep for a long
+time, wi’out hurtin’ ‘em. Can you doit?’
+
+‘Why, yis; I could do that much, I think.’ His tone and manner intimated
+vaguely how much more he could have done, and his disappointment at the
+facility of his task. ‘But,’ he added prudently, ‘it’s a job as ain’t s’
+easy as you might fancy.’
+
+Mrs. Busker laid a sovereign on the table.
+
+‘Wilt do it for that?’ she asked.
+
+The wizard stole a look at her. She was obviously very much in earnest.
+
+‘The hingredients,’ he said, ‘is hard to find, and harder to mix in doo
+perportions.’
+
+‘I must have it now, and at once,’ said Mrs. Busker.
+
+‘That,’ said Rufus, ‘ain’t possible.’ Mrs. Jenny laid a second piece of
+gold beside the first ‘It’s a dangerous bisness, missus,’ he went
+on. ‘Theer’s noofangled laws about. ‘Twas only last wik as that young
+upstart, Doctor Hodges, comes an’ threatens me with persecution as
+a rogue an’ vagabond, a-obtainin’ money under false pertences for
+practisin’ my lawful an’ necessary art. Why, it ain’t so long since I
+cured his mother o’ the rheumatiz, as is more nor he can dew, wi’ all
+his drugs, an’ the pestle an’ mortar o’er his door.’
+
+‘You ought to know as you’re safe wi’ me, Rufus,’ said Mrs. Rusker. ‘Who
+should I tell? Why, I should tell o’ myself tew, at that raate; an’ is
+that likely?’
+
+‘It’s dangerous, missus,’ repeated the wizard.
+
+‘Well, if yo’ won’t, I must try them as wull,’ said Mrs. Jenny, rising
+and taking up the coins.
+
+‘I didn’t say as I wouldn’t,’ returned Rufus. ‘Theer’s no call to be so
+uppish But if I tek a chance like that I expect to be paid for it.’
+
+‘Two pound ud mek it wuth your while to do more than that.’
+
+‘I’ll dew it,’ said the wizard. ‘Give us the money?’
+
+‘Wheer’s the stuff?’
+
+‘Why, it ain’t made yet. D’you think as I can percure a precious
+hessence like that all of a minute?’
+
+‘Then mek it, an’ I’ll gie you the money.’
+
+‘Gi’ me a pound in advance, an’ I’ll bring it to you.’ And on that
+understanding the bargain was made, and the time fixed for the delivery
+of the potion. The intervening time was filled in by the astute wizard
+journeying to a neighbouring town and procuring from a chemist a
+sleeping draught, which he paid for out of Mrs. Busker’s sovereign. He
+turned up at Laburnum Cottage at the stipulated hour, handed over the
+draught (having previously washed off the chemist’s label), received his
+second sovereign, and departed.
+
+Mrs. Rusker, with the fateful bottle in the bosom of her dress, betook
+herself again to Mountain Farm. Her unfeigned interest in the patient,
+and the intimacy she had so long enjoyed with the whole family, made the
+house almost as free to her as was her own, and when she took possession
+of Julia in the capacity of nurse she was made welcome, and the poor
+girl’s other attendants hoped much from her ministration. Julia was
+undoubtedly very ill, so ill that even Samson Mountain forbore to
+force her to descend to the parlour in which Mr. Tom Raybould nervously
+awaited her coming, and where, on Samson’s return from his daughter’s
+chamber, the pair sat and drank their beer together in miserable
+silence, broken by spasmodic attempts at conversation regarding crops
+and politics. The doctor had been called in, and, knowing nothing of the
+grief which was the poor girl’s only ailment, had been too puzzled by
+the symptoms of her malady to be of any great service. She was feverish,
+excited, with a furred tongue and a hot skin. He had prescribed a mild
+tonic and departed. Mrs. Jenny, intent on the execution of her plan,
+gained solitary charge of her patient by telling Mrs. Mountain that her
+attendance on her daughter had already told upon her, and advising a few
+hours’ rest.
+
+‘I don’t feel very well,’ Mrs. Mountain confessed. ‘Not a wink o’ sleep
+have I had iver since Samson came home last night. Nor him nayther, for
+the matter o’ that, though he tried to desave me by snorin’, whinever
+I spoke to him; an’ as for any sympathy--well, you know him aforetime,
+Jenny--I might as well talk to that theer poker.’
+
+Then Jenny was fluent in condolence, and at last got the old lady out of
+the room.
+
+‘When did you take your medicine last, my dear?’ she asked the patient
+‘Ain’t it time as you had another drop?’
+
+‘It doesn’t do me any good,’ said the patient fretfully. She knew better
+herself what was wrong with her than anybody else could guess, and only
+longed passionately to be alone and free to think and cry over her lost
+love and broken hopes.
+
+‘Why, my dear, you’ve on’y took one dose yit,’ said Machiavel. ‘You
+must give it time. I’ll pour you out another.’ Her back was towards the
+patient as she clattered about among the glasses on the table with a
+shaking hand. She poured out the wizard’s potion, the phial clinking
+against the edge of the glass like a castanet, and her heart beating so
+that she almost feared Julia would hear it The girl at first pettishly
+refused the draught, but Mrs. Jenny, in her guilty agitation, made short
+work of her objections, and poured it down her throat almost by main
+force.
+
+‘Maids must do as their elders bid ‘em,’ she said, as she returned the
+glass to its place.
+
+‘It doesn’t taste the same,’ moaned the patient
+
+‘You’re like all th’ other sick folk I iver nursed. As fall o’ fancies
+as you can stick,’ said Mrs. Jenny. ‘Lie quiet, and try an’ go to
+sleep.’
+
+The girl lay silent, and Mrs. Jenny, more than half wishing the whole
+business had never been begun, sat and listened to her breathing. She
+stirred and sighed once or twice, but after a while lay so utterly still
+that the old lady ventured to approach the bed. Julia’s face was almost
+as white as her pillow, and her breath was so light that it hardly
+stirred the coverlet above her bosom.
+
+‘It’s a-workin,’ said Mrs. Rusker.
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+Mrs. Jenny’s simple faith in the talents of Rufus Smith underwent
+a severe trial during the ensuing night. She had left Julia still
+sleeping, and the memory of the last glance she had bestowed upon the
+white face in the light of the carefully-shaded candle haunted her
+all night, and roused a foreboding too dismal to be expressed, or even
+formulated in definite thought. The matchmaker lay and trembled all
+night at that terrible idea, and again the pale-faced dawn visited a
+sleepless pillow, and found her haggard with anxiety and lack of sleep.
+Juliet’s query to the Friar had been, ‘What if the potion should not
+work?’ but Mrs. Jenny’s terrified inquiry of her own soul was, ‘What if
+it had worked too well?’ What if it had killed Julia in very deed? It
+was too horrible to happen, Mrs. Jenny said to herself. Too horrible to
+think of. But, if it had happened, she would have nothing else to think
+of all her life, and the fancy drove her nearly mad.
+
+She was dressed and afoot even earlier than on the preceding morning.
+She crept out and encircled the Mountain Farm in a radius of a mile
+or thereabouts, looking anxiously towards it at every step, as if its
+silent walls might speak comfort or confirm her fears, even at that
+distance. The house looked peaceful enough amid its surrounding trees
+under the tranquilly broadening light of dawn, but Mrs. Rusker knew how
+ghastly white the face of the poor child she loved as her own might
+look in that roseate glow. Presently a thin line of smoke curled from a
+chimney on the noiseless air. The farm was waking to its daily round
+of life. A burly figure on horseback came towards her as she stood on a
+little eminence. She waited long enough to identify Samson Mountain,
+and hid among the ferns and bushes until the horse’s hoof-beats had
+clattered swiftly by on the stony road below her, and faded in the
+distance.
+
+Time crept on, slow but inexorable. She longed, as she had never longed
+before for anything, for the courage to go to the farmhouse and ask
+tidings of Julia. But her fear was greater than her longing, and she
+roamed at random in a circle, never losing sight of the house, but not
+daring to approach it or be seen from its windows. She dreaded what
+might be the news to greet her there. She feared her own face, with its
+haggard lines of sleeplessness and anxious watching. At last, from the
+very depths of her misery, she plucked the heart of despairing hope, and
+made for the farm. The farm labourers and country folk she met stared
+after her. Even their bovine understandings were troubled by her scared
+face. She scarcely saw them, or anything but the farmhouse, which drew
+her now with an influence as strong as its repulsion had been an hour
+ago. She entered the house by the back door, and made straight for the
+sitting-room. Mrs. Mountain was there, arranging a tray, on which were
+tea and jam and other homely luxuries. She wore her ordinary look of
+placid contentment, and at the sight of her quiet face Mrs. Rusker
+dropped panting, with a vague unformulated feeling of relief, into a
+chair.
+
+‘Sakes alive! Whativer is the matter?’ demanded Mrs. Mountain.
+
+‘Julia!’ panted the visitor. ‘How’s Julia?’
+
+‘Why,’ said Mrs. Mountain, ‘how should her be?’
+
+‘Is she awake yet?’ asked Mrs. Jenny, more calmly.
+
+‘No. Her was sleepin’ when I seed her, jist for a minute, a hour ago.
+I’m jist goin’ upstairs wi’ some breakfast for her. Well, I declare, yo’
+look as pale as a ghost. What’s the matter with you?’
+
+‘Oh, I’ve passed a miserable night,’ said Mrs. Jenny, in unconscious
+quotation from her favourite poet. ‘I couldn’t sleep a-thinkin’ o’
+Julia.’
+
+‘Well, then, you do look poorly,’ said her hostess, with all her
+motherly heart warmed by this solicitude for her daughter. ‘Why, theer’s
+no cause to fret i’ that way. To be sure, Samson might ha’ knowed better
+than to blunder such a thing as that right out, but, then, he’s a man,
+and that’d account for a’most anything. Married life might teach ‘em
+better, you’d think, and yet after nigh on forty year on it he knows
+no more about women folk than any bachelor i’ Barfield. Theer, tek your
+bonnet off, an’ I’ll gi’ ye a cup o’ tay, an’ then you can goo upstairs
+wi’ me and see the wench.’
+
+Mrs. Jenny gratefully accepted the proffered tea, and, having drunk it,
+much to her inward refreshment, accompanied Mrs. Mountain upstairs. As
+the latter had said, the girl was sleeping still, and Mrs. Busker saw
+that her position had not changed by a hair’s breadth. She lay like a
+carven statue, her face marble white in the clear morning light.
+
+‘I’m a’most doubtful about wakin’ her,’ said her mother. ‘Theer’s no
+doubt as Samson gi’en her a shock, an’ sleep’s good for her. But her’s
+had welly fifteen hours of it now, if she’s been asleep all the tima
+Julia, my love,’ she said softly, almost in the sleeper’s ear. ‘My
+sakes, how pale her is. Jenny! come here!’
+
+They both bent above her. Mrs. Rusker’s heart was beating like a muffled
+drum, and seemed, to her own ears, to fill the house with its pulsation.
+
+‘Julia!’ said Mrs. Mountain again, in a louder voice, and shook the girl
+with a tremulous hand, ‘Julia!’
+
+The white eyelids did not even stir.
+
+‘My blessid! Julia! Don’t skeer a body i’ this way!’ She shook the girl
+again. ‘Jenny! whativer’s come to the silly wench?’
+
+Mrs. Jenny was more frightened, and with better reason, than her
+companion. Julia’s marble pallor, and the awful stillness of her
+form--the keenest glance could not detect a quiver in the face or a
+heave of the bosom--almost stilled that exigent pulse within her own
+breast with a sudden anguish of despair.
+
+‘Oh, Jenny, she’s a-dyin’!’
+
+Mrs. Mountain’s scream rang through the house, and startled every soul
+within it, except that marble figure on the bed. Hurried steps came up
+the stairs, the heavy tread of a man, the light patter of women’s feet,
+and the room filled as if by magic.
+
+‘Fetch a doctor,’ screamed Mrs. Jenny; ‘Julia’s a-dyin’!’
+
+Samson Mountain stood for one moment with his hands aloft and his eyes
+glaring at his daughter. Then he dropped with a sobbing groan into a
+chair, with his head in his hands. There was a general scream from the
+women. One, more serviceable than the rest, called from the window to a
+gaping yokel below in the yard, and bade him ride for help. Her face and
+voice froze him for a moment, but he caught the words ‘Miss Julia,’ and
+two minutes after he was astride a broad-backed plough-horse, making for
+the distant village.
+
+Samson Mountain sat with his face hidden and spoke no word; at the sight
+of him his wife’s face had turned to sudden rage, and she stood over
+him like a ruffled hen, and clacked commination of masculine imbecility,
+intermixed with wild plaints for her child.
+
+Julia slept through the tumult as she had slept through the calm, and
+Mrs. Jenny, kneeling beside her with her face in the bedclothes, moaned
+love and penitent despair. Samson raised his head at last, and looked
+with a dazed stare first at his daughter and then at his wife, and left
+the room without a word, pursued by a hailstorm of reproach. He went
+into the yard and pottered aimlessly about, looking old and broken on
+a sudden. The sound of horses’ hoofs roused him; it was the rustic
+messenger returning. ‘Where’s the doctor?’ demanded Samson. ‘Gone to
+Heydon Hey. What am I to dew?’ ‘Follow him an’ fetch him back. Hast not
+gumption enough to know that?’ asked Samson wearily. The man started
+again, and Samson began once more his purposeless wanderings about the
+yard. He had no sense of time or place, only a leaden weight on heart
+and limb, which in all his life he had never known before. He leaned his
+elbows on the fence of the fold yard, and became conscious of a running
+figure which neared him rapidly. He watched it stupidly, and it was
+within twenty yards of him before he recognised it--Dick Reddy, dust and
+mud to the collar, hatless, and panting.
+
+‘Julia!’ he gasped. ‘Tell me, is it true?’ ‘Julia’s dyin,’ said Samson.
+‘My God!’ he cried, with sudden passion, as if his own voice had
+unlocked the sealed fountain of his grief, ‘my little gell’s a-dyin’!’
+
+‘Mr. Mountain,’ said Dick, ‘I love her, you know I love her. Let me see
+her.’ His voice, broken with fatigue and emotion, his streaming eyes,
+his outstretched hands, all pleaded with his words.
+
+‘It’s all one who sees her now,’ said Samson, and leaned his elbows on
+the fence again. Dick took the despairing speech for a permission,
+and entered the house. At the bottom of the stairs, in the otherwise
+deserted hall, he met Mrs. Jenny, a very moving statue of terror.
+
+‘Dick,’ she said, clutching the young man by the arm, ‘I can’t abear it
+any longer. Come in here wi’ me.’ She pulled him into a side room, and
+sitting down, abandoned herself to weeping, wringing her hands, and
+moaning.
+
+‘I can’t abear it any longer,’ she repeated. ‘I must tell somebody, an’
+I’ll tell you. It’s all my wicked cruel fault.’
+
+The old woman was so crazed with her secret that she would have spoken
+in the shadow of the gibbet. Ramblingly and incoherently, with many
+breaks for tears and protestations and self-accusation, she told her
+story.
+
+‘I’ve killed her, Dick. But it was for your sake and hers as I done it.
+I reckon they’ll hang me, an’ it’ll serve me right.’ She besought him
+not to betray her, and, in the same breath, announced her intention to
+surrender herself at once to the parish constable; and, indeed, between
+fear and remorse and sorrow for the hopeless love she had striven to
+befriend, was nearly mad. Dick heard her with such amazement as may be
+best imagined, and suddenly, with a cry that rang in her ears for many a
+long day afterwards, ran from her and scaled the stairs to Julia’s
+room, led thither by the sound of Mrs. Mountain’s weeping. The old woman
+stared, as well she might, at the intrusion, with a wonder which for a
+moment conquered sorrow. He went straight to the bed, and leaned over
+the stark figure upon it.
+
+‘She’s not dead yet,’ he said, more to himself than to the
+grief-stricken mother. Mrs. Mountain heard the words, and clutched his
+arm. He turned to her. ‘Trust me,’ he said, ‘and I’ll save her.’ The
+wild hope in the mother’s eyes was terrible to see. ‘I love her,’ said
+Dick. ‘You will trust me? Do as I bid you, and you shall have Julia back
+in an hour.’
+
+Samson Mountain meanwhile wandered in the same purposeless fashion
+about the farm, and held dumb converse with himself. He was a rough man,
+something of a brute--a good deal of an animal--but animals have their
+affections, and he loved Julia as well as it was in his nature to love
+anything. It was ingrained in him by nature and by years of unquestioned
+domination to bully and browbeat all defenceless people; but Julia, the
+most defenceless of his surroundings, had been treated always with a
+lighter hand. Childlike, she had taken advantyage of her immunity in
+many little ways, and though Samson had never forborne to bluster at her
+girlish insubordination, he rather liked it than not, and relished his
+daughter’s independence and spirit. Julia was the only creature in the
+household who dared to hold her own against him. He was proud of her
+beauty and what he called her ‘lurning,’ and, more or less grumblingly,
+petted her a good deal, and would have spoiled her had she been of
+spoilable material. But till this heavy blow fell he had never sounded
+the depths of his own affection for her. The suddenness of the blow
+stunned and bewildered him. He remembered his words to Dick during their
+stormy interview in the road, when he had said that he would rather see
+Julia dead than married to him. Had Providence taken him at his word? He
+did not say it, he did not even think it consciously, but he would have
+submitted to almost any conceivable indignity at the hands of Abel Eeddy
+himself, to have felt his daughter’s arms about his neck again. Little
+incidents of Julia’s past life were fresh and vivid in his memory. He
+had forgotten many of them, years ago, but they sprang up in his mind
+now, like things of yesterday.
+
+He had wandered back to the front of the house, and sat upon the rustic
+bench beside the porch, with his elbows propped upon his knees, and his
+eyes hidden in his shaking hands, when a voice fell on his ear.
+
+‘Neighbour!’
+
+He raised his head. Abel Reddy stood before him.
+
+With something of the old instinct of hatred he had believed to be
+unconquerable he rose and straightened himself before the hereditary
+enemy.
+
+‘Neighbour,’ said Reddy again. The word was pacific, but Mountain’s
+blurred eyes, dim with pain and dazzled by the sunlight, could not see
+the pity in his old enemy’s face, and he waited doggedly. ‘It’s come to
+my ears as you’re i’ sore trouble. So am I. Your trouble’s mine, though
+not so great for me as it is for you, I was wi’ Dick when he heard o’
+your daughter’s danger, an’ what I’d suspected a long time I know now to
+be the truth. I did my best to keep ‘em apart--it was that as Dick was
+going to London for. It seemed to behove me to come to you and offer you
+my hand i’ your affliction. I take shame to myself that I didn’t mek
+an effort to end our quarrel long ago. We’re gettin’ on in life, Mr.
+Mountain, and we’ve got th’ excuse o’ hot blood no longer.’
+
+Therewith he held out his hand, and Samson, with hanging head, took it
+with a growl, which might have been anathema or blessing. And as the
+life-long enemies stood so linked, a window was suddenly opened above,
+and Mrs. Mountain’s voice screamed to her husband,
+
+‘Samson! Her’s alive! Her’s awake! ‘Both men looked up, and beheld an
+unexpected picture framed by the open window, Dick violently embraced
+by Mrs. Mountain, and submitting to the furious assault with obvious
+goodwill.
+
+‘When the liquor’s out, why clink the cannikin?’ The story of Julia
+and her Romeo, like all other stories, had found its end, and merged a
+little later into the history of Mr. and Mrs. Richard Reddy. The family
+feud was buried, and Samson and Abel made very passable grandfathers and
+dwelt in peace one with another. Dick never told a living soul, not even
+Julia herself, of the stratagem by which Mrs. Jenny had succeeded in
+uniting them, and Mrs. Jenny, by complete reticence on the subject,
+disproved the time-worn calumny which declares woman’s inability to keep
+a secret.
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Julia And Her Romeo: A Chronicle Of
+Castle Barfield, by David Christie Murray
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Julia And Her Romeo: A Chronicle Of Castle
+Barfield, by David Christie Murray
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Julia And Her Romeo: A Chronicle Of Castle Barfield
+       From "Schwartz" by David Christie Murray
+
+Author: David Christie Murray
+
+Release Date: August 8, 2007 [EBook #22274]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JULIA AND HER ROMEO ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+JULIA AND HER ROMEO: A CHRONICLE OF CASTLE BARFIELD
+
+By David Christie Murray
+
+Author Of 'Aunt Rachel,' 'The Weaker Vessel,' Etc.
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+In the year eighteen hundred and twenty, and for many years before and
+after, Abel Reddy farmed his own land at Perry Hall End, on the western
+boundaries of Castle Barfield. He lived at Perry Hall, a ripe-coloured
+old tenement of Elizabethan design, which crowned a gentle eminence
+and looked out picturesquely on all sides from amongst its neighbouring
+trees. It had a sturdier aspect in its age than it could have worn when
+younger, for its strength had the sign-manual of time upon it, and even
+its hoary lichens looked as much like a prophecy as a record.
+
+A mile away, but also within the boundaries of Castle Barfield parish,
+there stood another house upon another eminence: a house of older date
+than Perry Hall, though of less pleasing and picturesque an air. The
+long low building was of a darkish stone, and had been altered and added
+to so often that it had at last arrived at a complex ugliness which was
+not altogether displeasing. The materials for its structure had all been
+drawn at different periods from the same stone quarry, and the chequered
+look of new bits and old bits had a hint of the chess-board. Here Samson
+Mountain dwelt on his own land in the midst of his own people.
+
+The Mountain Farm, as it was called, and had been called time out of
+mind, was separated from the Perry Hall Farm by a very shallow and
+narrow brook. The two houses were built as far apart from each other
+as they could be, whilst remaining in their own boundaries, as if the
+builder of the later one had determined to set as great a distance as
+he could between his neighbour and himself. And as a matter of fact the
+Reddys and the Mountains were a sort of Capulets and Montagues, and had
+hated each other for generations. Samson and Abel kept up the ancient
+grudge in all its ancient force. They were of the same age within a week
+or two, had studied at the same school, and had fought there; had at one
+time courted the same girl, had sat within sight of each other Sunday
+after Sunday and year after year in the parish church, had each buried
+father and mother in the parish churchyard, and in the mind of each the
+thought of the other rankled like a sore.
+
+The manner of their surrendering their common courtship was
+characteristic of their common hatred. Somewhere about the beginning
+of this century a certain Miss Jenny Rusker, of Castle Barfield,
+was surrounded by quite a swarm of lovers. She was pretty, she was
+well-to-do, for her time and station, she was accomplished--playing the
+harp (execrably), working samplers in silk and wool with great diligence
+and exactitude, and having read a prodigious number of plays, poems, and
+romances. What this lady's heart forged that her mouth did vent, but no
+pretty young woman ever looked or sounded foolish to the eyes or ears of
+her lovers. Mountain and Eeddy were among her solicitors. She liked them
+both, and had not quite made up her mind as to which, if either of them,
+she would choose, when suddenly the knowledge of the other's occasional
+presence in her sitting-room made the house odious to each, and they
+surrendered the chase almost at the same hour. Miss Jenny satisfied
+herself with a cousin of her own, married without changing her name,
+had children, was passably happy, as the world goes, and lived to be a
+profoundly sentimental but inveterate widow. Mountain and Eeddy married
+girls they would not otherwise have chosen, and were passably happy
+also, except when the sore of ancient hatred was inflamed by a chance
+meeting on the corn exchange or an accidental passage of the eyes at
+church. They had no better authority for hating each other than that
+their fathers had hated each other before them. The fathers had the
+authority of the grandfathers, and they, that of the greatgrandfathers.
+
+It was Saturday afternoon. There was a bleak frost abroad, and even the
+waters of the brook which divided the two farms were hard frozen. The
+sun hung low in the western sky, lustreless as a wafer, but ruddy. The
+fields were powdered with thin snow, and the earth was black by contrast
+with it. Now and then a shot sounded far away, but clear and sharp, from
+where the guests of my lord of Barfield were killing time in the warren.
+
+A labouring man, smock-frocked, billy-cocked, gaitered, and hob-nailed,
+was clamping down the frozen lane, the earth ringing like iron under
+iron as he walked. By his side was a fair-haired lad of nine or ten
+years of age, a boy of frank and engaging countenance, carefully and
+even daintily dressed, and holding up his head as if he were a lord of
+the soil and knew it. The boy and the labourer were talking, and on the
+frosty silence of the fields the clear treble of the boy's speech rang
+out clearly and carried far. A burly man, with a surly red face, who had
+stooped to button a gaiter, in a meadow just beyond the brook, and
+had laid down his gun beside him the while, heard both voice and words
+whilst the speaker was a hundred yards away.
+
+'But don't you think it's very wicked, Ichabod?'
+
+The labourer's voice only reached the listener in the meadow. He spoke
+with the Barfield drawl, and his features, which were stiffened by the
+frozen wind, were twisted into a look of habitual waggery.
+
+'Well,' said he, in answer to his young companion, 'maybe, Master
+Richard, it might be wicked, but it's main like natur.'
+
+'I shan't hate Joe Mountain when I'm a man,' said the boy.
+
+The surly man in the field, hearing these words, looked on a sudden
+surlier still, and throwing up his head with a listening air, and
+holding his ankle with both hands, crouched and craned his neck to
+listen.
+
+'May'st have to change thy mind, Master Richard,' said the labourer.
+
+'Why should I change my mind, Ichabod?' asked the boy, looking up at
+him.
+
+'Why?' answered Ichabod, 'thee'lt niver have it said as thee wast afraid
+of any o' the Mountain lot.'
+
+'I'm not afraid of him,' piped the engaging young cockerel 'We had a
+fight in the coppice last holidays, and I beat him. The squire caught
+us, and we were going to stop, but he made us go on, and he saw fair.
+Then he made us shake hands after. Joe Mountain wouldn't say he'd had
+enough, but the squire threw up the sponge for him. And he gave us two
+half-crowns apiece, and said we were both good plucked uns.'
+
+'Ah! 'said Ichabod, with warmth, 'he's the right sort is the squire.
+And there's no sort or kind o' sport as comes amiss to him. A gentleman
+after my own heart.'
+
+'He made us shake hands and promise we'd be friends,' said Master
+Richard, 'and we're going to be.'
+
+'Make him turn the brook back first, Master Richard,' said Ichabod. The
+two were almost at the bridge by this time, and the listener could hear
+distinctly.
+
+'Turn the brook back?' the boy asked. 'What do you mean, Ichabod?'
+
+'Ax thy feyther, when thee gettest home,' answered Ichabod. 'He'll tell
+thee all the rights on it. So fur as I can make out--and it was the talk
+o' the country i' my grandfeyther's daysen--it amounts to this. Look
+here! 'He and the boy arrested their steps on the bridge, and Ichabod
+pointed along the frozen track of the brook. 'Seest that hollow ten rods
+off? It was in the time o' Cromwell Hast heard tell o' Cromwell, I mek
+no doubt?'
+
+'Oliver Cromwell,' said Master Richard. 'He was Lord Protector of
+England. He fought King Charles.'
+
+'Like enough,' said Ichabod. 'In his daysen, many 'ears ago, there was
+the Reddys here and the Mountains there'--indicating either house in
+turn by pointing with his thumb--'just as they be now. The Reddy o' that
+day--he was thy grandfeyther's grand-feyther as like as not--maybe
+he was _his_ grandfeyther for aught as I can tell, for it's a
+deadly-dreadful heap o' time long past--the Reddy o' that day went to
+the wars, and fowt for Cromwell. The Mountain o' that time stopped at
+hum. Up to then they'd niver been misfriended as fur as I know. That's
+how it's put about, anyway. But whilst the Reddy was away what's the
+Mountain do?'
+
+The boy was looking at Ichabod, and Ichabod, stooping a little to be the
+more impressive, was looking at him. The surly-faced man with the gun
+had hitherto been concealed by the hedge beside which he had knelt to
+fasten his gaiter, and neither of the two had suspected his presence. It
+was natural, therefore, that both of them should start a little when his
+voice reached them.
+
+'Well?' The voice was sour and surly, like the face, and the word was
+rapped out sharp and clear. Master Richard and Ichabod turned with one
+accord. 'Well?' says the surly man, 'what does the Mountain do?'
+
+Ichabod, less discomfited by the suddenness of the interruption than
+might have been expected of him, rubbed the frozen base of his nose with
+a cold forefinger and grinned. Master Richard looked from one to the
+other with a frank and fearless interest and inquiry which became him
+very prettily. The surly man bestowed a passing scowl upon him, and
+turned his angry regard again upon Ichabod.
+
+'Come, now,' he said, 'you backbiting, scandal-mongering old liar! What
+does the Mountain do? Out with it!'
+
+'Why, nayther thee nor me was there at the time, gaffer,' responded
+Ichabod, his frosty features still creased with a grin. 'So nayther thee
+nor me can talk for certain. Can us?'
+
+'I suppose,' said the surly, burly man, 'you're going to stuff that
+young monkey with the old lie about the stream being turned?'
+
+Ichabod made no verbal response, but continued to rub his nose with his
+forefinger, and to grin with an aspect of uncertain humour. The surly
+man stooped for his gun, threw it over his arm, and stared at Ichabod
+and his young companion with eyes of hatred and disdain. Then, having
+somewhat relieved his feelings by a curse or two, he turned his back and
+went off with a long, heavy, dogged-looking stride, his feet crunching
+noisily through the frosty grasses.
+
+'It eeat for me to talk about my betters, and them as the Lord has put
+in authority over us,' said Ichabod, with an expression which belied
+these words of humility; 'but I put it to thee, Master Richard. Dost
+think that old Mountain theer looks like a likeable un? No, no. Might as
+well expect cat an' dog t' agree as Reddy and Mountain.'
+
+This speech was made in a carefully modulated tone, when he and the boy
+were at some distance from the surly man, who was still visible, three
+or four fields away.
+
+'What was it about the brook, Ichabod?' asked Master Richard.
+
+'Why,' said Ichabod, 'when that old longaway grandfeyther o' thine was
+away a-fighting for Cromwell, 'tis said his neighbour turned the brook
+so as to bring in four-score acres o' land as ud niver have been his by
+right. The Reddy o' that day died in the wars, and his widder could mek
+no head again the Mountain lot; but her taught her son to hate 'em and
+look down upon 'em, and hated an' looked down upon is the name on 'em
+from that day to this.'
+
+'But Joe Mountain didn't do it,' said Master Richard.
+
+'No, no,' assented Ichabod. 'But it's i' this way. It's i' the blood.
+What's bred i' the bone will come out i' the flesh. Afore thee makest
+friends with young Joe Mountain, Master Richard, thee ax thy feyther.'
+
+Master Richard, lapsing into silence, thought things over.
+
+'Ichabod,' he said at last, 'is a boy _bound_ to be bad if he has a bad
+grandfather?'
+
+'Sure!' said Ichabod, who was not going to be worsted in argument for
+want of corroborative fact if he could help it.
+
+Master Richard thought things over a little while longer, and returned
+to the charge.
+
+'Suppose the boy with the bad grandfather had a good grandmother,
+Ichabod?'
+
+'None of the Mountain lot ever had,' Ichabod replied. There was no item
+in Ichabod's creed more fixed than this--the Mountains of Mountain
+Farm were hateful and contemptible. He had imbibed the belief with his
+mother's milk and his father's counsel. His grandfather had known it for
+the one cardinal certainty of nature.
+
+Just as the serving-men of Capulet hated the serving-men of Montague,
+so the oldest servants of the Mountains hated the older servants of the
+Reddys. The men made the masters' quarrel their own. There was a feudal
+spirit in the matter, and half the fights of this outlying district of
+the parish were provoked by that ancient history of the brook. At this
+time of day it mattered very little indeed if the history was true
+or false, for neither proof nor disproof was possible, and the real
+mischief was done past remedy in any case.
+
+'Are you sure our side fought for Cromwell, Ichabod?' Master Richard.
+asked, after another long and thoughtful silence.
+
+'To be sure,' said Ichabod.
+
+'I don't think it can be true, then, about the brook,' said the boy,
+'because Cromwell won, and everybody who was on his side had their own
+way. Mr. Greenfell teaches history at school, and he says so.'
+
+This was nothing to Ichabod, whose intellect was not constructed for the
+reception of historical evidences.
+
+'Then ax thy feyther, Master Richard,' he answered; 'he'll tell thee the
+rights on it.'
+
+The boy walked on pondering, as children of his age will do. The seniors
+would be surprised pretty often if they could guess how deep and far the
+young thoughts go, but, then, the seniors have forgotten their own young
+days, or were never of a thinking habit. Ichabod clamped along with
+his mind on beer. The boy thought his own thoughts, and each was
+indifferent for a while to outer signs and sounds. But suddenly a
+little girl ran round a corner of the devious lane with a brace of
+young savages in pursuit. The youthful savages had each an armful of
+snowballs, and they were pelting the child with more animus than seemed
+befitting. The very tightness with which the balls were pressed seemed
+to say that they were bent less on sport than mischief, and they came
+whooping and dancing round the corner with such rejoicing cruelty as
+only boys or uncivilised men can feel. The little girl was sobbing,
+half in distress, and half because of the haste she had made, and Master
+Richard's juvenile soul burnt within him at the sight like that of a
+knight-errant. He had read a great deal about knights-errant for the
+time which had been as yet allowed him for the pursuit of literature,
+and he was by nature a boy of much fire and gentleness, and a very
+sympathetic imagination. So the big heart in the small body swelled
+with pity and grew hot with valour, and, without parley, he smote
+the foremost boy, who happened to be the bigger of the two, and went
+headlong into fight with him.
+
+Ichabod followed the young master's lead without knowing, or in the
+smallest degree caring, why, and tried to seize the smaller savage, who
+skilfully evaded him and ran. The little maiden stood and trembled
+with clasped hands as she looked upon the fray. Ichabod lifted his
+smock-frock to get his hands into the pockets of his corduroys, and
+watched with the air of an old artist standing behind a young one.
+
+'You shouldn't work at it so much, Master Richard,' said Ichabod. 'Tek
+it easier, and wait for him. That's it!'
+
+The combat was brief and decisive. The youthful savage carried the
+heavier metal, but he was slow with it; but suddenly, as if to show that
+he was not altogether without activity, he turned and ran his hardest
+Master Richard, with blue-gray eyes still glistening and hands still
+clenched in the ardour of battle, turned upon the little girl, who was
+some two years younger than himself At the sight of her he turned shy
+and blushed, and the little girl turned shy and blushed also. She looked
+at the ground, and then she looked at Richard, and then she looked at
+the ground again. She was slender and delicate, and had very beautiful
+soft brown eyes, and the hero of a minute back was abashed before her.
+
+'You 'm a Mountain, baint you?' said Ichabod, looking at her with
+disfavour. She looked shyly at him, but did not answer. 'What's your
+name?' he asked, stooping towards her.
+
+'Julia Mountain,' said the child, in a trembling treble.
+
+'Ah!' said Ichabod, 'I thought so. Come along, Master Richard, or else
+we shall niver get hum again afore dark.'
+
+Master Richard walked away with backward glances, shyly directed at the
+little girl, and the little girl stood with her cheek inclining to her
+shoulder, and the shoulder drawn up a little, as if to shelter her, and
+looked after him. This exchange went on until Ichabod and the boy had
+turned the corner of the lane, when Miss Julia Mountain ran home as
+fast as her small legs would take her, and Master Richard Reddy, with a
+vision in his mind, walked alongside his companion.
+
+'You should tek a lesson or two, Master Richard,' said Ichabod, 'and
+then thee'dst do a heap better. I'm rusty nowadaysen, but I used to love
+it when I was a young un.'
+
+Master Eichard heard nothing of this or of the advice which followed it.
+He enacted many times over the small adventure of the last five minutes,
+and at the end of every mental history he traced, the little figure
+stood in the lane looking shyly at him over one shoulder as he turned
+the corner.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+Samson Mountain went home in an ill-temper, and, as was usual with him
+when in that condition, did everything he had to do with a sulky and
+noisy emphasis, bursting open doors with unnecessary violence, slamming
+them with needless force behind him, and clamping heavily from room to
+room. His wife, who was submissive at the surface, but unconquerable at
+bottom, knew these signs, and accepted them with outer show of meekness.
+Samson tramped into the sitting-room, and there found his wife alone.
+He flung to the door behind him with a crash which would have been
+startling if it had been unexpected, and fell heavily into a roomy
+arm-chair by the fireside. Mrs. Mountain took no notice of this, but
+went on placidly with her sewing. Samson threw his heavily-booted feet
+noisily into the fender, and still Mrs. Mountain went on placidly,
+without so much as looking at him. Stung by this disregard of his
+obvious ill-humour, Samson made a lunge with his foot at the fire-irons,
+and brought them down with a bang.
+
+'Lawk a daisy me, Samson,' said his wife mildly. 'What's the matter with
+the man?'
+
+'Matter!' growled Samson. 'It's a thing as ud get a saint to set his
+back up. I was down i' the bridge leasowe bare an hour ago, and who
+should I see but that young imp of a Reddy along wi' that old viper of a
+Bubb. Thee know'st the chap--that Ichabod.'
+
+'I know him, Samson,' answered Mrs. Mountain. 'He's the most impudent of
+all of 'em.'
+
+'They stood atop o' the bridge,' pursued Samson, 'and I could hear 'em
+talkin'. Th' ode rip was tellin' the young un that outworn lie about the
+brook. I'd got a shot i' the barrel, and I'd more than half a mind to
+ha' peppered him. I'd ha' done it if it had been worth while.'
+
+'There's no end to their malice and oncharitable-ness,' said Mrs.
+Mountain.
+
+'I heard the young imp say he'd fowt our Joe and licked him,' pursued
+Samson. 'If ever it should come to my knowledge as a truth I'd put
+Master Joe in such fettle he wouldn't sit down for the best side a month
+o' Sundays.'
+
+'They 'm giving the child such airs,' said his wife, 'it's enough to
+turn the bread o' life which nourishes.'
+
+Mrs. Mountain had an object in view, and, after her own fashion, had
+held it long in view in silence. The moment seemed to her propitious,
+and she determined to approach it.
+
+'Young toad!' said Samson, rising to kick at the coals with his
+heavy-heeled boot, and plunging backward into the chair again.
+
+'To hear him talk--that fine an' mincin'--you'd think he was one o'
+my lord's grandchildren or a son o' the squire's at least,' said Mrs.
+Mountain, approaching her theme with circuitous caution.
+
+'Ay!' Samson assented 'It's enough to turn your stomach to listen to
+him.'
+
+'If they go on as they're goings pursued his wife, circling a little
+nearer, 'we shall live to see fine things.'
+
+'We shall, indeed,' said Samson, a little mollified to find his wife so
+unusually warm in the quarrel. 'There's no such a thing as contentment
+to be found amongst 'em. They settle up to be looked upon as
+gentlefolks.'
+
+'Yes; fine things we shall live to see, no doubt, if we don't tek care.
+But thanks be, Samson, it's left in our own hands.'
+
+'What be'st hoverin' at?' demanded Samson, turning upon her with his
+surly red face.
+
+'Things ain't what they used to be when you an' me was younger,' said
+Mrs. Mountain. 'The plain ode-fashioned Barfield talk as you and me
+was bred up to, Samson, ain't good enough nowadays for the very
+kitchen wenches and the labourers on the farm. Everybody's gettin' that
+new-fangled!'
+
+'Barfield's good enough for me, and good enough for mine,' said Samson,
+with sulky wrath.
+
+'It's good enough for we, to be sure, but whether it's good enough for
+ourn is another churnin' o' butter altogether,' his wife answered. 'It
+ud seem as if ivery generation talked different from one another. My
+mother, as was a very well-spoken woman for her day, used to call a cup
+o' tay a dish o' tay, and that's a thing as only the very ignorant ud
+stoop to nowadays.' Samson growled, and wallowed discontentedly in
+the big arm-chair. 'A mother's got her natural feelings, Samson,' Mrs.
+Mountain continued, with an air and tone of mildest resignation. 'I
+don't scruple to allow as it'll hurt me if I should live to see our Joe
+looked down upon by a Reddy.'
+
+'Looked down upon!' cried Samson. 'Where's the Reddy as can count acre
+for acre agen us, or guinea for guinea?'
+
+'The Reddy's is fairly well-to-do, Samson,' said Mrs. Mountain; 'very
+nigh as well-to-do as we be.'
+
+'Pooh!' returned Samson.
+
+'Oh, but they be, though,' his wife insisted. 'Pretty near. There's
+nothing so much between us as'd prevent 'em from taking airs with us if
+they could find out anything to do it for.'
+
+'If they could!' Samson assented. 'Abel Eeddy was a bragger and a
+boaster from his cradle days.'
+
+'That's where it is,' cried Mrs. Mountain, in a tone which implied
+that Samson had made a discovery of the first importance, and that this
+discovery unexpectedly confirmed her own argument. 'Let 'em have the
+least little bit of a chance for a brag, and where be you?'
+
+'You might trust 'em to tek advantage on it if they had it,' said her
+husband.
+
+'Of course you might,' said she, with warmth, 'and that's why I'm
+fearful on it.'
+
+'Fearful o' what?' demanded Samson.
+
+'O' these here scornful fine-gentleman ways as'll be a thorn in our
+Joe's side as long as he lives, poor little chap, unless we put him in
+the way to combat again 'em.'
+
+'Ah!' Samson growled, suddenly enlightened. 'I see now what thee beest
+drivin' at. Now, you take a straight sayin' from me, Mary Ann. I'll have
+no fine-mouthed, false-natur'd corruption i' my household. If the Reddys
+choose to breed up that young imp of theirn to drawl fine and to talk
+smooth above his station--let 'em.'
+
+'Well, Samson,' returned Mrs. Mountain, who knew by long experience when
+her husband was malleable, 'you know best, and you're the master here,
+as it's on'y fit and becomin' an' in the rightful nature o' things as
+you should be.'
+
+The first effect of the oil of flattery seemed to be to harden him.
+
+'I be, and I mean to be,' he answered, with added surliness. 'If the
+speech and the clothes and the vittles as have been good enough for me
+ain't good enough for any young upstart as may follow after me, it _is_
+a pity.'
+
+Mary Ann kept silence and looked meek. Samson growled and bullied a
+little, and wore the airs of a dictator. By and by a serving-maid came
+in and began to arrange the table for tea, and a little later a boy and
+a girl stole noiselessly into the room.
+
+'Joe,' said Samson sternly, 'come here!' The boy approached him with
+evident dread. 'What's this I hear about thee and that young villin of a
+Reddy?'
+
+'I don't know, father,' the boy answered.
+
+'I heard him makin' a boast this afternoon,' said Samson, rolling
+bullyingly in his arm-chair, 'as you and him had fowt last holidays, and
+as he gi'en you a hiding.'
+
+Joe said nothing, but looked as if he expected the experience to be
+repeated.
+
+'Now, what ha' you got to say to that?' demanded his father.
+
+'Why,' began Joe, edging back a little, 'he's bigger nor I be, an' six
+months o'der.'
+
+'Do you mean to tell me,' cried Samson, reaching out a hand and seizing
+the little fellow by the jacket, 'do you mean to tell me as you allowed
+to have enough to that young villin?'
+
+'No,' Joe protested. 'That I niver did. It was the squire as parted us.'
+
+'You remember this,' said his father, shaking him to emphasise the
+promise. 'If ever you agree to tek a hiding from a Reddy you've got one
+to follow on from me. D'ye hear?'
+
+'Yes, father.'
+
+'Tek heed as well as hear. D'ye hear?'
+
+'Yes, father.'
+
+'And here's another thing, mind you. It's brought to me as you and him
+shook hands and took on to be friends with one another. Is that trew?'
+Joe looked guilty, but made no answer. 'Is it trew?' Still Joe returned
+no answer, and his father changing the hand with which he held him, for
+his own greater convenience, knocked him off his feet, restored him
+to his balance, knocked him off his feet again, and again settled him.
+'Now,' said Samson, 'is it trew?'
+
+The boy tried to recoil from the uplifted threatening hand, and cried
+out 'No!'
+
+'Now,' said Samson, rising with a grim satisfaction, 'that's a lie.
+There's nothin' i' the world as I abhor from like a lie I'll teach thee
+to tell me lies. Goo into the brewus and tek thy shirt off; March!'
+
+The little girl clung to her mother's skirts crying and trembling. The
+mother herself was trembling, and had turned pale.
+
+'Hush, hush, my pretty,' she said, caressing the child, and averting her
+eyes from Joe.
+
+'March!' said Samson, and Joe slunk out of the room, hardening his heart
+as well as might be for endurance. But when he was once out of sight of
+the huge bullying figure and threatening eye and hand, the sight of his
+cap lying upon a chair in the hall supplied him with an inspiration. He
+seized the cap, slipped out at the front door, and ran.
+
+The early winter night was falling fast by this time. Half a dozen stars
+twinkled intermittently in the black-blue waste of sky, and when the lad
+paused to listen for possible sounds of pursuit the hollow moaning of
+the wind and the clang of bare wintry poles mingled with the noise of
+his own suppressed breathing.
+
+The runaway fancied himself bound (as all British runaway boys seem
+bound) for sea, and he set out without delay to walk to Liverpool. He
+got as far as the brook which formed the limit to his father's farm, and
+lingering before he set foot upon the bridge, began to cry a little, and
+to bemoan his chances and the dear ones left behind. His father came in
+for none of Joe's regrets. It was in the nature of things to the boy's
+mind that his father should administer to him periodical thrashings,
+whether he had earned them or not. It was the one social relationship
+which existed between them. It was only quite of late that Joe had begun
+to discern injustice in his father's bullyings. Children take things
+as they come, and to the mind of a child--in a modified sense, of
+course--whatever is, is right. That a thing exists is its own best
+justification. There is no reason to seek reasons for it. But Joe
+Mountain, having nearly outgrown this state of juvenile acquiescence,
+had begun to make inquiry of himself, and, as a result, had familiarised
+himself with many mental pictures in which he figured as an adventurer
+rich in adventures. In his day the youth of England were less instructed
+than they are now, but the immortal Defoe existed, and Lemuel Gulliver
+was as real as he is to-day. Perhaps the Board schools may have made
+that great mariner a little less real than he used to be. Joe believed
+in him with all his heart, had never had the shadow of a doubt about
+him, and meant to sail straight from Liverpool to Lilliput. He would
+defer his voyage to Brobdingnagia until he had grown bigger, and should
+be something of a match for its inhabitants.
+
+But it was cold, it was darkening fast, it was past his ordinary
+tea-time. Liverpool and Lilliput were far away, pretty nearly
+equidistant to the juvenile mind, and but for Samson's shadow the
+tea-table would have looked alluring. To be sure of tea, and a bed to
+sleep in afterwards, it seemed almost worth while to go back to the
+brewhouse and obey the paternal command to take his shirt off. To do the
+child justice, it was less the fear of the thrashing than the hot sense
+of rebellion at unfairness which kept him from returning. His father had
+beaten him into that untrue cry of 'No,' and had meant to force him to
+it, and then to beat him anew for it. Joe knew that better than Samson,
+for Samson, like the rest of us, liked to stand well with himself, and
+kept self-opinion in blinkers.
+
+Joe set foot on the bridge. He had crossed the boundary brook hundreds
+of times in his brief life, and it had generally come into his mind,
+with a boyish sense of adventure, that when he did so he was putting
+foot into the enemy's country. But the feeling had never been so strong
+as now. The Mountain Farm was home, and beyond it lay the wide, wide
+world, looking wide indeed, and bleak and cold. What with hot rebellion
+at injustice and cold fear of the vast and friendless expanse, Joe's
+tears multiplied, and leaning his arms upon the low coping of the
+bridge, with his head between them and his nose touching the frozen
+stone, he began to cry unrestrainedly.
+
+Suddenly he heard a footstep, and it struck a new terror into his soul.
+Freebooters, footpads, kidnappers, _et hoc genus omne_, roamed those
+fields by night, in course of nature. To the snug security of the home
+fireside and bed their images came with a delightful thrill of fear, but
+to be here alone and in the midst of them was altogether another thing.
+He crept crouching across the bridge, and stowed himself into the
+smallest possible compass between the end of the stonework and the
+neighbouring hedgerow, and there waited trembling. His pulses beat so
+fast and made such a noise in his ears that he was ready to take the
+sound of footsteps for the tread of a whole ogreish army, when he heard
+a voice.
+
+'Hode on a minute, while I shift the sack.'
+
+The sack? It was easy--it was inevitable--to know that the sack
+contained a goblin supper.
+
+'I shall be late for tea, Ichabod,' said another voice, 'and then I
+shall get a blowing-up for coming.'
+
+     Let him who sighs in sadness here,
+     Rejoice, and know a friend is near.
+
+Joe sprang from his hiding-place, and startled Master Richard and
+Ichabod more than a little.
+
+'That thee, Dick?'
+
+He knew it well enough, but it was quite delightful to be able to ask it
+with certainty.
+
+'Hillo,' said Master Richard, recognising his sworn friend. 'What are
+you doing? Are you trapping anything?'
+
+'No,' the hereditary enemy answered. He had been crying, the poor little
+chap, until he had been frightened into quiet, and now on a sudden he
+was as brave and as glad again as ever he had been in his life. Once
+more adventures loomed ahead for the adventurous, and he shone within
+and grew warm with the sweet reflux of courage as he whispered, 'I'm
+running away from home!'
+
+Once again, the feat was glorious.
+
+'No?' said Master Richard, smitten with envy and admiration. 'Are you?
+Really?'
+
+'Yes,' Joe answered. 'I'm agooin' to Liverpool, to begin wi'.'
+
+This was exquisitely large and vague, and Master Richard began to yearn
+for a share in the high enterprise upon which his friend had entered. He
+had half a mind to run away from home himself, though, to be sure, there
+was nothing else to run away from. In Joe's case there was a difference.
+
+'Where are you going to stay to-night?' asked Master Richard. The
+question sounded practical, but at bottom it was nothing of the sort.
+It was part of the romance of the thing, and yet it threw cold water on
+Joe's newly-lighted courage, and put it out again.
+
+'I don't know,' said Joe, somewhat forlornly.
+
+'I say,' interjected Ichabod, 'is that young Mountain, Master Richard?'
+
+'Yes,' said Master Richard.
+
+'Thee know'st thy feyther is again thy speakin' to him, and his feyther
+is again his speakin' to thee.'
+
+'You mind your own business, Ichabod,' said the young autocrat, who was
+a little spoiled perhaps, and had been accustomed to have his own way in
+quite a princely fashion.
+
+'I'm mindin' it,' returned Ichabod. 'It's a part o' my business to keep
+thee out o' mischief.'
+
+'Ah!' piped Master Richard, 'you needn't mind that part of your business
+to-night.'
+
+'All right,' said Ichabod, reshouldering the sack he had meanwhile
+balanced on the coping of the bridge. 'See as thee beesn't late for
+tay-time.'
+
+With that, having discharged his conscience, he went on again, and the
+two boys stayed behind.
+
+'What are you running away for?' asked Eichard.
+
+'Why, feyther said it was brought to him as you and me had shook hands
+and had took on to be friends with one another, and he told me to go
+into the brewus and take my shirt off.'
+
+'Take your shirt off?' inquired the other. In Joe's lifetime, short
+as it was, he had had opportunity to grow familiar with this fatherly
+formula, but it was strange to Master Richard. 'What for?'
+
+'What for! Why, to get a hidin', to be sure.'
+
+'Look here!' said Richard, having digested this, 'you come and stop in
+one of our barns. Have you had your tea?'
+
+'No,' returned Joe, 'I shouldn't ha' minded so much if I had.'
+
+'I'll bring something out to you,' said the protector.
+
+So the two lads set out together, and to evade Ichabod, struck off at
+a run across the fields, Joe pantingly setting forth, in answer to his
+comrade's questions, how he was going to be a sailor or a pirate, 'or
+summat,' or to have a desert island like Crusoe. Of course, it was all
+admirable to both of them, and, of course, it was all a great deal more
+real than the fields they ran over.
+
+The runaway was safely deposited in a roomy barn, and left there
+alone, when once again a life of adventures began to assume a darkish
+complexion. It was cold, it was anxious, it seemed to drag interminably,
+and it was abominably lonely. If it were to be all like this, even the
+prospect of an occasional taking off of one's shirt in the brewhouse
+looked less oppressive than it had done.
+
+The hidden Joe, bound for piracy on the high seas, or a Crusoe's island
+somewhere, gave a wonderful zest to Master Richard's meal But an hour,
+which seemed like a year to the less fortunate of the two, went by
+before a raid upon the well-furnished larder of Perry Hall could
+be effected. When the opportunity came, Master Richard, with no
+remonstrance from conscience, laid hands upon a loaf and a dish of
+delicious little cakes of fried pork fat, from which the lard had that
+day been 'rendered,' and thus supplied, stole out to his hereditary
+enemy and fed him. The hereditary enemy complained of cold, and his host
+groped the dark place for sacks, and, having found them, brought them to
+him.
+
+'I say,' said Joe, when he had tasted the provender, 'them's
+scratchings. That's gay and fine. I never had as many as I should like
+afore. Mother says they're too rich, but that's all rubbish.'
+
+He made oily feast in the dark, with the sacks heaped about him. With
+Master Richard to help him, he began to swim in adventure, and the
+pair were so fascinated and absorbed that one of the farm-servants went
+bawling 'Master Richard' about the outlying buildings for two or three
+minutes before they heard him. When at last the call reached their ears
+they had to wait until it died away again before the surreptitious host
+dare leave the barn, lest his being seen should draw attention to the
+place.
+
+Then Joe, who had been hunting wild beasts of all sorts with the
+greatest possible gusto, began in turn to be hunted by them. The
+rattlesnake, hitherto unknown to Castle Barfield, became a common
+object; the lion and the polar bear met on common ground in the
+menagerie of Joe's imagination. Whatever poor blessings and hopes he
+had, and whatever schoolboy wealth he owned, he would have surrendered
+all of them to be in the brewhouse of the Mountain Farm, even though he
+were there to take his shirt off But the empty, impassable, awful night
+stood between him and any refuge, and he must need stay where he was,
+and sweat with terror under his sacks, through all the prodigious tracts
+of time which lay between the evening and the morning. He was to have
+been up and afoot for Liverpool before dawn, but tired nature chose the
+time he had fixed for starting to send him to sleep, and when Master
+Richard stole into the barn with intent to disperse the sacks and clear
+away any sign of Joe's occupancy, he found him slumbering soundly, with
+a tear-stained cheek resting on a dirty brown hand.
+
+There had been the wildest sort of hubbub and disorder at the Mountain
+Farm all night. Mrs. Mountain had wept and wrung her hands, and rocking
+herself to and fro, had poured forth doleful prophecy. Samson, who had
+begun with bluster, had fallen into anxiety, and had himself traced the
+course of the brook for a full mile by lanthorn-light. The farm hands
+had been sent abroad, and had tracked every road without result. Of
+course the one place where nobody so much as thought of making inquiry
+was the house of the hereditary foe, but pretty early, in the course of
+the morning, the news of Joe Mountain's disappearance, and something
+of the reasons for it, reached Perry Hall. Everybody at Perry Hall knew
+already what a terrible personage Samson Mountain was, and his behaviour
+on this occasion was the theme of scathing comment.
+
+Master Richard was guilty at heart, but exultant. Being a boy of lively
+imagination, he took to a secrecy so profound, and became so strikingly
+stealthy, as to excite observation and remark. He was watched and
+tracked to the barn, and then the discovery came about as a matter
+of course. The Reddys made much of Joe--they had no quarrel with an
+innocent persecuted child--but their kindness and commiseration were
+simply darts to throw at Samson.
+
+It was noon when Reddy put the trembling adventurer into his trap, and
+with his own hands drove him home. The two enemies met and glowered at
+each other.
+
+'I've found your lad and brought him home,' said Reddy; 'though I doubt
+it's a cruel kindness to him.'
+
+Samson, with all the gall in his nature burning at his heart, lifted Joe
+from the trap and set him on the ground in silence. Reddy, in silence,
+turned his horse's head, touched him with the whip, and drove away. Joe
+was welcomed home by a thrashing, which he remembers in old age.
+
+The episode bore fruit in several ways. To begin with, Master Joe was
+packed off to a distant school, far from that to which young Reddy was
+sent. But the boys found each other out in the holidays, and became
+firm friends on the sly, and Joe was so loyal and admiring that he never
+ceased to talk to his one confidante of the courage, the friendliness,
+the generosity, the agility, and skill of his secret hero. The
+confidante was his sister Julia, to whom the young hereditary enemy
+became a synonym for whatever is lovely and of good report. She used
+to look at him in church--she had little other opportunity of observing
+him--and would think in her childish innocent mind how handsome and
+noble he looked. He did not speak like the Barfield boys, or look like
+them, or walk like them. He was a young prince, heir to vast estates,
+and a royal title in fairyland. If story-books were few and far between,
+the sentimental foolish widow, Jenny Busker, was a mine of narrative,
+and a single fairy tale is enough to open all other fairy lore to a
+child's imagination. If the little girl worshipped the boy, he, in his
+turn, looked kindly down on her. He had fought for her once at odds of
+two to one, and he gave her a smile now and then. It happened that in
+this wise began the curious, half-laughable, and half-pathetic little
+history which buried the hatreds of the Castle Barfield Capulet and
+Montague for ever.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+In this Castle Barfield version of Romeo and Juliet the parody would
+have been impossible without the aid and intervention of some sort of
+Friar Laurence. He was a notability of those parts in those days, and he
+was known as the Dudley Devil. In these enlightened times he would have
+been dealt with as a rogue and vagabond, and, not to bear too hardly
+upon an historical personage, whom there is nobody (even with all our
+wealth of historical charity-mongers) to whitewash, he deserved richly
+in his own day the treatment he would have experienced in ours. He
+discovered stolen property--when his confederates aided him; he put
+the eye on people obnoxious to his clients, for a consideration; he
+overlooked milch cows, and they yielded blood; he went about in
+the guise of a great gray tom-cat. It was historically true in
+my childhood--though, like other things, it may have ceased to be
+historically true since then--that it was in this disguise of the great
+gray tom-cat that he met his death. He was fired at by a farmer, the
+wounded cat crawled into the wizard's cottage, and the demon restored to
+human form was found dying later on with a gun-shot charge in his ribs.
+There were people alive a dozen--nay, half a dozen--years ago, who
+_knew_ these things, to whom it was blasphemous to dispute them.
+
+The demon's earthly name was Rufus Smith, and he lived 'by Dudley Wood
+side, where the wind blows cold,' as the local ballad puts it His mother
+had dealt in the black art before him, and was ducked to death in the
+Severn by the bridge in the ancient town of Bewdley. He was a lean man,
+with a look of surly fear. It is likely enough that he half expected
+some of his invocations to come true one fine day or other, with
+consequences painful to himselt The old notions are dying out fast, but
+it used to be said in that region that when a man talked to himself he
+was talking with the universal enemy. Rufus and his mother were great
+chatterers in solitude, and what possible companion could they have but
+one?
+
+It is not to be supposed that all the ministrations for which the people
+of the country-side relied upon Rufus were mischievous. If he had done
+nothing but overlook cattle and curse crops, and so forth, he would
+have been hunted out. Some passably good people have been said, upon
+occasions, to hold a candle to the devil. With a similar diversion
+from general principle, Rufus was known occasionally to perform acts
+of harmless utility. He charmed away warts and corns, he prepared love
+philtres, and sold lucky stones. He foreran the societies which insure
+against accident, and would guarantee whole bones for a year or a
+lifetime, according to the insurer's purse or fancy. He told fortunes by
+the palm and by the cards, and was the sole proprietor and vendor of a
+noted heal-all salve of magic properties.
+
+He and his mother had gathered together between them a respectable
+handful of ghastly trifles, which were of substantial service alike to
+him and to his clients. A gentleman coming to have his corns or warts
+charmed away would be naturally assisted towards faith by the aspect of
+the polecat's skeleton, the skulls of two or three local criminals,
+and the shrivelled, mummified dead things which hung about the walls or
+depended head downwards from the ceiling. These decorations apart, the
+wizard's home was a little commonplace. It stood by itself in a
+bare hollow, an unpicturesque and barn-like cottage, not altogether
+weather-proof.
+
+It fell upon a day that Mrs. Jenny Rusker drove over from Castle
+Barfield to pay Rufus a visit. She rode in a smart little trap, the kind
+of thing employed by the better sort of rustic tradesmen, and drove a
+smart little pony. She was a motherly, foolish, good creature, who, next
+to the reading of plays and romances, loved to have children about her
+and to make them happy. On this particular day she had Master Richard
+with her. She kept up her acquaintance with both her old lovers, and was
+on terms of rather coolish friendship with them. But she adored their
+children, and would every now and again make a descent on the house of
+one or other of her old admirers and ravish away a child for a day or
+two.
+
+Mrs. Jenny had consoled herself elsewhere for the loss of lovers for
+whom she had never cared a halfpenny, but she had never ceased to hold a
+sort of liking for both her old suitors. Their claims had formerly been
+pretty evenly balanced in her mind, and even now, when the affair was
+ancient enough in all conscience to have been naturally and quietly
+buried long ago, she never met either of her quondam lovers without
+some touch of old-world coquetry in her manner. The faintest and most
+far-away touch of anything she could call romance was precious to
+the old woman, and having a rare good heart of her own under all her
+superannuated follies, she adored the children. Dick was her especial
+favourite, as was only natural, for he was pretty enough and regal
+enough with his childish airs of _petit grand seigneur_ to make him
+beloved of most women who met him. Women admire the frank masterfulness
+of a generous and half-spoiled boy, and Mrs. Jenny saw in the child the
+prophecy of all she had thought well of in his father, refined by the
+grace of childhood and by a better breeding than the father had ever
+had.
+
+So she and Dick were great allies, and there was always cake and
+elderberry wine and an occasional half-crown for him at Laburnum
+Cottage. It was only natural that, so fostered, Dick's affection for the
+old lady should be considerable. She was his counsellor and confidante
+from his earliest years, and the little parlour, with its antiquated
+furniture and works of art-in wool, its haunting odour of pot-pourri
+emanating from the big china jar upon the mantelshelf, and its moist
+warm atmosphere dimly filtered through the drooping green and gold of
+the laburnum tree, whose leaves tapped incessantly against the lozenged
+panes of its barred windows, was almost as familiar in his memory in
+after years as the sitting-room at home at the farm.
+
+Dick conferred upon its kindly and garrulous old tenant the brevet rank
+of 'Aunt' Jenny, and loved her, telling her, in open-hearted childish
+fashion, his thoughts, experiences, and secrets. Naturally, the story of
+the fight with the paynim oppressors of beauty came out in his talk soon
+after its occurrence, and lost nothing in the telling. Mrs. Jenny would
+have found a romance in circumstances much less easily usable to that
+end than those of the scion of one house rescuing the daughter of a
+rival and inimical line, and here was material enough for foolish fancy.
+She cast a prophetic eye into the future, and saw Dick and Julia, man
+and maid, reuniting their severed houses in the bonds of love, or doubly
+embittering their mutual hatred and perishing--young and lovely victims
+to clannish hatred and parental rigour--like Romeo and Juliet.
+
+The boy's account of the fight was given as he sat by her side in her
+little pony-trap in the cheerfully frosty morning. Dick chatted gaily as
+the shaggy-backed pony trotted along the resounding road with a clatter
+of hoofs and a jingle of harness, and an occasional sneeze at the frosty
+air. They passed the field of battle on the road, and Dick pointed it
+out. Then, as was natural, he turned to the family feud, and retailed
+all he had heard from Ichabod, supplemented by information from other
+quarters and such additions of fancy as imaginative children and savages
+are sure to weave about the fabric of any story which comes in their way
+to make tradition generally the trustworthy thing it is.
+
+Mrs. Busker was strong on the family quarrel. A family quarrel was a
+great thing in her estimation, almost as good as a family ghost, and
+she gave Dick the whole history of the incident of the brook and of many
+others which had grown out of it, among them one concerning the death of
+a certain Reddy which had tragically come to pass a year or two before
+his birth. The said Reddy had been found one November evening stark and
+cold at the corner of the parson's spinney, with an empty gun grasped
+in his stiffened hand, and a whole charge of small shot in his breast.
+Crowner's quest had resulted in a verdict of death by misadventure, and
+the generally received explanation was that the young fellow's own gun
+had worked the mischief by careless handling in passing through stiff
+undergrowth. But a certain ne'er-do-well Mountain, a noted striker and
+tosspot of the district, had mysteriously disappeared about that date,
+and had never since come within scope of Castle Barfield knowledge.
+Ugly rumours had got afloat, vague and formless, and soon to die out
+of general memory. Dick listened open-mouthed to all this, and when the
+narrative was concluded, held his peace for at least two minutes.
+
+'_She_ isn't wicked, is she, Aunt Jenny?' he suddenly demanded.
+
+'She? Who? 'asked Mrs. Eusker in return. 'The little girl, Julia.'
+
+'Wicked? Sakes alive, whativer is the boy talking about? Wicked? O'
+course not. She's a dear good little thing as iver lived.'
+
+'Ichabod said that all the Mountains were wicked. But I know Joe
+isn't--at least, not very. He promised me a monkey and a parrot--a green
+parrot, when he came back from running away. But he didn't run away,
+because father found him and took him home. His father gave him an awful
+thrashing. He often thrashes him, Joe says. Father never thrashes me.
+What does his father thrash him for?' 'Mr. Mountain's a harder man than
+your father, my dear. An' I fear as Joe's a bit wild, like his father
+when he was a boy, and obstinit. Theer niver was a obstinater man i'
+this earth than Samson Mountain, I do believe, an' Joe's got a bit on it
+in him.'
+
+'She's pretty,' said Dick, returning with sudden childish inconsequence
+to the subject uppermost in his thoughts. 'Joe isn't Why is it that the
+girls are always prettier than the boys?'
+
+'I used to think it was the other way about when I was a gell,' said
+Aunt Jenny, with perfect simplicity. 'But she is pretty, that's true.
+But then her mother was a likely lass, an' Samson warn't bad lookin',
+if he hadn't ha' been so fierce an' cussid. An' to think as it should be
+you, of all the lads i' Barfield, as should save a Mountain. An' a gell
+too.. I suppose as you'll be a settin' up to fall in love wi' her now,
+like Romeo and Juliet?'
+
+'What was that? 'asked the boy.
+
+'It's a play, my dear, wrote by a clever man as has been dead iver so
+many 'ears, William Shaakespeare.'
+
+'Shakespeare?' said Dick. 'I know. It's a big book on one of the shelves
+at home, full of poetry. But what's Romeo and Juliet?'
+
+'Romeo and Juliet was two lovers, as lived a long time ago in a place
+called Verona. I don't know where it is,' she added quickly, to stave
+off the imminent question already on the boy's lips. 'Somewhere abroad,
+wheer Bonyparty is. Juliet's name was Capulet, an' Romeo's was Montague,
+an' the Capilets and the Montagues hated each other so as they could
+niver meet wi'out havin' a bit of a turn-up one with another. They was
+as bad as the Reddys an' the Mountains, only i' them daysen folks allays
+wore swords an' daggers, so's when they fowt they mostly killed each
+other. Well, one night old Capilet gi'en a party, an' asked all his
+friends, an' everybody wore masks, so's they didn't know half the time
+who they was a-talkin' tew, as was the fashion i' them times, an' Romeo,
+he goes, just for divilment, an' he puts on a mask tew, so as they
+didn't know him, else they'd ha' killed him, sure an' certain. An' theer
+he sees Juliet, an' she was beautiful, an' he falls plump in love wi'
+her, an' she falls in love wi' him, an' they meets o' nights, i' the
+moonlight, on the window-ledge outside her room, but they had to meet
+i' secret, 'cause the two fam'lies was like cat an' dog, an' there'd ha'
+been awful doin's if they'd been found out. Well, old Capilet--that was
+Juliet's feyther--he finds a husband for Juliet, a nice chap enough, a
+count, like Lord Barfield, on'y younger an' likelier. An' Juliet, she
+gets welly mad, because she wants to marry Romeo. And then, to mek
+matters wuss, Romeo meets one o' Juliet's relations, a young man named
+Tybalt, as hates him like pison, an' they fowt, an' Romeo killed him.
+Well, the Capilets was powerful wi' the king as ruled in Verona, like
+Joseph used to be with Pharaoh in the Holy Land, my dear, an' Romeo, he
+has to run away an' hide himself, else p'raps they'd ha' hung him
+for killin' Tybalt, though it was Tybalt as begun the fight, so poor
+Juliet's left all alone. An' her marriage day's a-gettin' near, and old
+Capilet, he's stuck on her marryin' the count, an' the day's been named,
+and everything provided for the weddin'. Well, Romeo takes a thought,
+an' goes to a friar, a kind o' priest, as was a very book-learned man,
+and asks if he can help him. And at first he says no, he can't, an'
+Romeo gets that crazed, he's goin' to kill himself, but by an' by he
+thinks of a plan. He gives Juliet a bottle o' physic stuff to send her
+to sleep, and make her look as if she was dead. Then her relations 'll
+be sure to bury her i' the family vault, an' he'll write to Romeo to
+come back to Verona i' the night-time an' take her out o' the vault, an'
+goo away quiet wi' her till things have blown over, an' they can come
+back again. An' Juliet takes the physic, an' everybody thinks her dead,
+her father, an' her mother, an' her old nuss, an' Paris--that's the
+name of the gentleman as they wanted her to marry--an' there's such a
+hullabaloo an' racket as niver was. An' they buried her i' the vault,
+wi' all her relations, an' the old friar thinks as it's all a-comin'
+straight. But the letter as he'd writ to Romeo niver reaches him, an'
+Romeo hears as how Juliet's really dead, and he buys a bottle o' pison,
+an' comes to Juliet's grave i' the night-time, an' there he meets Paris,
+as has come to put flowers there an' pray for Juliet's soul, knowin'
+no better and lovin' her very dear. An' him an' Romeo fights, and Romeo
+kills him, an' opens the vault, an' go's in, an' theer's Juliet, lyin'
+stiff an' stark, because the physic ain't had time to work itself off
+yit. An' he kisses her, an' cries over her, and then he teks the pison,
+and dies. An' just as he's done it, Juliet wakes up, and finds him dead,
+and she takes his knife, an' kills herself, poor thing, an' that's the
+hend on 'em.'
+
+The old sentimentalist's eyes were moist, and her voice choked, as she
+concluded her legend. It was the first love-story Dick had ever heard,
+and in pity at the beautiful narrative, which no clumsiness of narration
+could altogether rob of its pathos, he was crying too. There is no
+audience like an impressionable child, and the immortal story of love
+and misfortune seemed very pitiful to his small and tender heart.
+
+'Why, theer! theer! Dick! It's only a story, my dear, wrote in a
+book,' said Mrs Jenny. 'It most likely ain't true, an' if it is, it
+all happened sich a time ago as it's no good a-frettin' about it. Why,
+wheeriver did you get all them warts? 'She took one of the hands with
+which Dick was rubbing his eyes. 'You should have 'em looked tew, they
+quite spile your hands. I must get Rufus Smith to have a look at 'em.
+You know who we'm agoin' to see, don't you? You've heard tell o' the
+Dudley Devil, Dick?'
+
+'Yes,' said Dick. 'Ichabod goes to him for his rheumatism.'
+
+'It's on'y a step away. That's his cottage, over there. We'll get him to
+charm the warts away.'
+
+A hundred yards farther on Mrs. Jenny checked the pony, and, dismounting
+from the vehicle, bade Dick tie him to an elder-shoot and follow her.
+They went through a gap in a ruinous hedge, and traversed a furzy field,
+at the farther side of which stood the wizard's hut, a wretched place
+of a single story, with a shuttered window and a thatched roof full of
+holes and overgrown with weeds. As they approached the door a mighty
+clatter was audible within, and Mrs. Jenny held the boy's hand in a
+tightened grasp, fearful of devilry. As they stood irresolute to
+advance or retreat, a big cat dashed out at the doorway with a feline
+imprecation, and the wizard appeared, revengefully waving a stick, and
+swearing furiously.
+
+'Cuss the brute,' he said, 'the divil's in her, sure an' sartin'.'
+
+It seemed not unlikely to the onlookers, the cat being the wizard's
+property, and therefore, by all rule and prescription, his prompter and
+familiar. She was not of the received colour, however, her fur being
+of a rusty red. But as she raised her back, and spat at her master's
+visitors from under her chubbed tail, she looked demoniac enough for
+anything. And from the fashion in which, her anathema once launched, she
+sat down and betook herself to the rearrangement of her ruffled coat, it
+might have been conjectured that it was not purely personal to them, but
+that they were attacked merely as types of the human race, whose society
+she and her master had forsworn.
+
+'Cuss her!' reiterated the wizard. 'Where's her got tew? My soul, what's
+this?'
+
+He peered with a short-sighted terror-stricken scowl on Mrs. Jenny
+and her charge, as if for a moment the fancy had crossed him that his
+refractory familiar had taken their shapes. His gray lips muttered
+something, and his fingers worked oddly as he took a step or two
+forward, clearly outlined in the cold winter sunshine against the black
+void beyond his open door.
+
+'Why, Rufus, what's the matter?' asked Mrs. Jenny. 'Don't look like that
+at a body.'
+
+'It's you, mum?' said the necromancer. A look of relief came into his
+wizened face. 'I didn't know but what it might be----' His voice trailed
+off into an indistinct murmur, and he smeared his hand heavily across
+his face, and looked at it, mistrustfully, as if he rather expected to
+find something else in its place. 'Cuss her!' he said again, looking
+round for the cat.
+
+'What's she done?' demanded Mrs. Jenny.
+
+'Done? Ate up all my brekfus, that's what she's done,' rejoined
+the wizard. The familiar grinned with a relish of the situation so
+fiendishly human that Dick clung closer to Mrs. Rusker's hand, and
+devoutly wished himself back in the trap. To his childish sense the
+incongruity of one gifted with demoniac powers being helpless to prevent
+the depredations of his own domestic animal did not appeal. As for Mrs.
+Jenny, she had piously believed in witchcraft all her life, and was
+quite as insensible to the absurdity as he.
+
+'I want you to look at this young gentleman's hands,' said Mrs. Busker.
+'He's got warts that bad. I suppose you can charm 'em away for him?'
+
+Appealed to on a point of his art, the wizard's air changed altogether.
+He assumed an aspect of wooden majesty.
+
+'Why, yis,' he said. 'I think I'm equal to that Step inside, mum, and
+bring the young gentleman with you.'
+
+'Couldn't you-------' Mrs. Busker hesitatingly began, 'couldn't you do
+it outside?'
+
+'The forms and ceremonies,' said the necromancer, with an increase of
+woodenness in his manner, 'cannot be applied out o' doors. Arter you,
+mum.'
+
+He ushered them into the one room of his hut, and the cat, with her
+tail floating above her like a banner, entered too, evading a kick, and
+sprang upon a rotten deal shelf, which apparently acted as both dresser
+and table.
+
+Rufus closed the ruinous door, thereby intensifying the gloom which
+reigned within the place. The floor was of simple earth, unboarded,
+and the air smelt of it Here and there a fine spear of ghostly sunlight
+pierced a crack in roof or wall. By the time their eyes had become
+accustomed to the gloom they saw that Rufus, on his knees on the floor,
+was scratching a circle about himself with a scrap of a broken pot, and
+the indistinct rhythmic murmur of the spell he muttered reached their
+ears.
+
+The cat, perched upon the dresser, purred as if her internal machinery
+were running down to final collapse, and her contracting and dilating
+eyes borrowed infernal fires from the chance ray of sunshine in which
+she sat. The brute's rusty red head, so lit, fascinated Dick, and the
+mingled rhythms of her purring and the wizard's mounted and mounted,
+until to his bewildered mind the whole world seemed filled with their
+murmur, and the demoniac head seemed to dilate as he gazed at it.
+Suddenly, Rufus paused in his sing-song, and the cat's purr ceased with
+it, as though her share of the charm was done.
+
+'Come into the ring,' said Rufus. His voice was shaky, and if there had
+been light enough to see it, his face was gray with terror of his own
+hocus-pocus. The cat's head had dropped out of the line of sunlight, and
+she had coiled herself up on the dresser among a disorderly litter of
+crockery ware. Dick, relieved from the fascination of her too-visible
+presence, obeyed the summons, and Rufus, seating himself upon a broken
+stool, took his hand in moist and quivering fingers, and touching the
+warts one by one, recommenced his mumble. It had proceeded for a minute
+or so, when a crash, which, following as it did on the dead stillness,
+an earthquake could scarce have equalled, elicited a scream from Mrs.
+Jenny and brought the wizard to his knees with a yell of terror.
+
+'My blessid!' he cried, with clacking jaws, 'I've done it at last! Get
+thee behind me, Satan!'
+
+In terror-stricken earnest he believed that the Great Personage he had
+passed all his life in trying to raise had answered to his call at
+last. So, though it was unquestionably a relief to him to find that the
+appalling clatter had merely been caused by his familiar's pursuit of
+a mouse among the crockery, a shade of disappointment may have followed
+the discovery.
+
+'Cuss her!' he said, for the third time that morning, and with
+additional unction. 'Her'll be the death of me some day, I know her
+will!'
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+A summer sunset filled all the sky above Castle Barfield and its
+encircling fields. The sun had disappeared, leaving behind him a broad
+reflected track of glory where, here and there, a star was faintly
+visible. A light wind was blowing from the hollow which sheltered the
+town towards the higher land whereon the rival houses of Eeddy and
+Mountain faced each other. Below, it was already almost night, and as
+the wind blew the shadow mounted, as if the wind carried it. The rose
+and gold left by the departing sun faded down the sky, and settled at
+the horizon into a broad band of deep-toned fire, which, to one facing
+it in ascending from the lower ground, seemed to bind the two houses
+together. Some such fancy might have been in the head of Mrs. Jenny
+Rusker, as she went in the warm evening air towards the little eminence
+on which stood the long low-built house of Samson Mountain, already
+a-twinkle with occasional lights in the gloom, its own bulk cast against
+the fast-fading band of sunset.
+
+Mrs. Jenny, hale and vigorous yet, and still a widow, was older by
+fifteen years than on the day when she unfolded to Dick Reddy the story
+of Romeo and Juliet. Fifteen years was a good slice out of a lifetime,
+even in Castle Barfield in the first half of the century, when time
+slipped by so quietly and left so little trace to mark his flight.
+
+She passed the gate which opened on the public road, and entered the
+Mountain domain. The air was so still that the bubble of the boundary
+brook was clearly audible a hundred yards away, with nothing to accent
+it but the slow heavy flap of a late crow, winging his reluctant flight
+homewards, and save for him, sky and earth alike seemed empty of life,
+and delivered wholly to the clinging peace of evening. So that when Mrs.
+Jenny came to the only clump of trees in her line of progress between
+the gate and the house the little scream of surprise with which she
+found herself suddenly face to face with an unexpected human figure was
+justified.
+
+'Sh-h-h! 'said the figure's owner. 'Don't you know me, Aunt Jenny?'
+
+'Dick!' said Mrs. Jenny, peering at him. 'So it is. You welly frightened
+the life out o' me. What brings you here, of all places in the world?'
+
+'Can't you guess?' asked Dick. He was tall and broad-shouldered now,
+an admirable fulfilment of the physical promise of his boyhood, and far
+overtopped Mrs. Rusker. 'It isn't for the first time.'
+
+'I feared not,' said the old woman. 'You was allays main venturesome.'
+
+'It will be for the last, for some time, Aunt Jenny. I leave Castle
+Barfield to-morrow.'
+
+'Leave Barfield?' cried the old woman. 'Why, Dick, wheer are ye goin'?
+You ain't agoin' to do nothin' rash, that I do hope.'
+
+'I am going to London,' said Dick, 'and I must see Julia before I go.
+You must help me. You are going to the house now, aren't you?'
+
+'Going to London?' repeated Mrs. Eusker, who had no ears for the last
+words after that announcement. 'What's made you so hot foot to go to
+London all of a minute like?'
+
+'It was decided to-day. My father suspects what is going on. I feel
+sure of it, though he has never said a word about it. You know he always
+meant to make a doctor of me--it was my own choice when I was quite a
+little fellow, and it has always been understood. Last month he asked me
+if I was of the same mind still, and to-day he told me that my seat is
+taken in the coach from Birmingham. You know my father, Aunt Jenny, as
+well as I do. He has been a very good father to me, and I would not give
+him pain or trouble for the world. I could not refuse. Indeed, it is
+my last chance of ever doing anything for myself and making a home for
+Julia.'
+
+'My dear, they'll never hear on it, nayther of 'em. Samson Mountain 'd
+rather see his daughter in her coffin than married to any kin of Abel
+Reddy's. Though he loves her, too, in a kind o' way. An' your father's
+jist as hard; he's on'y quieter with it, that's all They'll niver
+consent Niver, i' this world.'
+
+'Then we must do without their consent, that's all. I must see Julia
+to-night, and you must help me. Tell her that I am here and must see
+her. Oh, Aunt Jenny, you are surely not going to desert us now, after
+helping us so often.'
+
+'I'm dub'ous, my dear. I hope good may come of it, but I'm dub'ous. I'm
+doubtful if I did right in helping you, again your father's will, an'
+Mr. Mountain's, too.'
+
+'You won't refuse to do so little, after doing so much,' pleaded the
+young man. 'Why, it was at your house that I used to meet her, when we
+were children together, and you first christened us Romeo and Juliet.'
+
+'A name o' bad omen, my dear. I wish I hadn't gi'en it to you now.'
+
+'For niver was a story o' more woe, Than this o' Jewliet an' her Romeo.'
+
+'I don't believe much in omens,' said Dick. 'But you will tell Julia
+that I am here, won't you? It's the last time, for ever so long.'
+
+'I'll tell her,' said Mrs. Rusker. 'But don't stay here; goo down to the
+Five Ash. Mr. Mountain's gone to Burmungem, an' he'll come across this
+way when he comes back. You must tek a bit o' care, Dick, for the gell's
+sake.'
+
+'I'll take care, dear. It's good-bye this time, Aunt. You've been very
+good to me always, and I shan't forget your kindness while I'm away. And
+you'll be good to Julia, too, while--while I'm away, won't you?'
+
+Mrs. Rusker's objections had never had any heart in them, and had been
+merely perfunctory, and such as she conceived her age and semi-maternal
+authority compelled her to make. She was wholly given over to Dick and
+Julia, and all her simple craft was for their service. She kissed him,
+and cried over him, and so they parted, he bound for the Five Ash field,
+and she for the farmhouse.
+
+'Why, lacsaday, Jenny, whativer is the matter?' asked Mrs. Mountain,
+when her visitor entered her sitting-room, and gave her tear-stained
+cheek to her old friend's embrace. Julia, a lithe, graceful girl, rose
+at the query from the other side of the little table, and came to Mrs.
+Rusker's side.
+
+'Why, you're cryin',' continued the elder woman. 'What is it, my dear,
+as has upset you i' this wise?'
+
+'Well, my dear,' said Mrs. Rusker, wiping her eyes and smoothing her
+dress, as if her grief was done with and put away, 'it ain't a trouble
+as I expects sympathy from you in.'
+
+Mother and daughter exchanged glances.
+
+'It must be a queer sort o' trouble, then,' said Mrs. Mountain; 'an'
+you might tell me what it is afore you say that, Mrs. Rusker, arter all
+these 'ears as we'n knowed each other.'
+
+'Well, if you must know, I've jist sin young Reddy, i' the road, jist
+outside the Five Ash.' Julia's hand was on her shoulder as she spoke,
+and she felt the soft touch tremble. 'He's a-leavin' Barfield, agoin' to
+London, for a long time.'
+
+'Oh, that's the matter, is it? Well, I don't know anythin' agin the
+young man, barrin' as he is a Reddy. An' for the matter o' that, though
+o' course a woman has no ch'ice but to stand by the kin as her marries
+into, I niver found much harm in 'em, unless it is as they're a bit
+stuck up. I know as you was allays fond on him, an' I hope the young man
+'ll do well. I've often said to Samson as it was all rubbidge, a-keepin'
+up a old quarrel like that, as keeps two dacent fam'lys at daggers
+drawn. Theer, theer, let Julia get you a cup o' tay, an' let's talk o'
+somethin' cheerful.'
+
+'I'll go and send it in to you,' said Julia. She exchanged one quick
+glance of intelligence with the widow as she left the room. The old
+woman had done her errand, and Julia knew where to seek her lover.
+She found her hat in the hall, and slipped out by the back way, after
+directing the servant to take in the required refreshment to Mrs.
+Busker. It was bright moonlight now, and as she ran lightly across the
+Five Ash field in her white summer dress, Dick, waiting in the shelter
+of the hedge, saw her plainly, and advanced to meet her.
+
+'Oh, Dick, is it true?'
+
+He took her in his arms and kissed her before he answered. 'Yes, dear,
+it's true. I am going to London.'
+
+'But why so suddenly, so soon?'
+
+'I must, dear. It is my own choice. I am going to study, to fit myself
+to take my place in the world, and to find a home for you. Be brave,
+dear. It is only for a little time.'
+
+'It is all so sudden.'
+
+'Yes. I had hoped to stay a little longer, to see more of you, to get
+used to my happiness before I lost it. But my father suspects, I am
+sure, if he does not know, and I dared not refuse. It hurts me to go,
+but what can I do? You know the man he is. And there is only one thing
+in the world that your father would help him to do--to separate us. I
+must go away and make a home for you with my own hands; we can expect no
+help from them. If we are true to each other we shall be happy yet. Our
+love may end the ridiculous family squabble which has lasted all these
+generations. But it would be madness to speak yet.'
+
+'It is that which makes me so unhappy, Dick. Why am I not like other
+girls? Why can't you come to the farm and ask my father's leave to court
+me, as other girls' sweethearts do, and as you would like to do? I
+can't help feeling that this is wrong, meeting you in secret, and being
+engaged to you against my father's will, without his knowledge.'
+
+'The quarrel is not of our making, Julia. We only suffer by it. I hope
+we shall bring it to an end, and teach two honest men to live at peace
+together, as they ought. Why, you're crying.'
+
+Her tears had been running quietly for some minutes past, but at this
+she began to sob unrestrainedly. Dick comforted her in the orthodox
+fashion, and in that sweet employment almost succeeded in forgetting
+his own sorrow. He drew bright pictures of the future: youth held the
+palette, and hope laid on the colour. Two or three years of partial
+separation--so little--and he would have a livelihood in his hand, and
+could offer her a safe asylum from parental tyranny, and bid his own
+people either to accept the situation or renounce him, as they might
+choose. He was quite heroic internally about the whole business. He felt
+the promise of the coming struggle brace his nerves, and he was more
+than ready for the test. Young love is selfish at the best, and the
+heroic likeness of himself doing battle with the world of London half
+obliterated the pitiful figure of the poor girl, left at home, with
+nothing to fill her heart but dreams. For him, the delight of battle;
+for her, long months of weary waiting.
+
+It was no doubt of him, but only the rooted longing for assurance of his
+love, that made her ask,
+
+'You won't forget me, Dick, in London?'
+
+Forget her! His repetition of the word, his little laugh of loving
+scorn, were answer enough, though he found others, and arguments
+unanswerable, to clinch them. How could he forget the sweetest, dearest
+girl that ever drew the breath of life, the prettiest and the bravest?
+She spoke treason against herself in asking such a question. He could
+no more forget her in London than Romeo, Juliet in Mantua. She laughed
+a little at his recalling the old story, from which Mrs. Jenny had
+drawn so many illustrations of the course of their love since they were
+children. It recalled the old woman to their minds.
+
+'I shall write to you every week, and send the letters under cover to
+her,' said Dick. 'And you may be sure that I shall find--or make--plenty
+of opportunities to run down here from time to time. There is a coach
+every day to Birmingham.'
+
+They had been walking slowly all this time. It was night now, the last
+gleam of sunset had faded, the stars were lustrous overhead, and a
+yellow moonlight flooded the surrounding country. A long distance off,
+faint but clear in the dead hush of the summer night, they heard, but
+did not mark, the beat of horses' hoofs approaching them.
+
+'I must go, Dick,' said Julia. 'It is late, and they will wonder where I
+am No, let me go now, while I have the strength.'
+
+He took her in his arms again, and her head dropped on his shoulder,
+and the tears began to run afresh. He held her close, but in that last
+moment of parting could find no word of comfort, only dumb caresses. The
+hoof-beats were near at hand now, just beyond the bend of the road.
+They rounded the corner, and broke on the lovers' ears with a loud and
+startling suddenness. The girl broke away, and ran through the gate into
+the field with a stifled sob. Dick turned, and walked down the road in
+the direction of the approaching horseman. The moon was at the full, and
+shone broadly upon his face and figure.
+
+'Hullo!' cried the rider, in gruff challenge, and pulling his horse into
+Dick's path, reined in. The young man looked up and recognised Samson
+Mountain. Flight would have been as useless as ignominious, and it had
+never been Dick's way out of any difficulty.
+
+'Well?' he asked curtly, and stood his ground.
+
+'Is that my daughter?' demanded Mountain, pointing with his heavy whip
+after the white figure glinting across the field. 'Spake the truth for
+once, though you be a Reddy.'
+
+'It's a habit we have,' said Dick quietly. His calm almost surprised
+himself. 'Yes.'
+
+Mountain had always been of a heavy build, and of late years had
+increased enormously in girth and weight. But his wrath at this
+confirmation of his half guess stirred him so, that before the sound of
+the word had well died out on the air he had dismounted, and came at the
+young man with his riding-whip flourished above his head.
+
+'Don't do that, sir.' Dick spoke in a low voice, though quickly; and
+there was something in his tone which brought the weapon harmlessly to
+the farmer's side again. 'It is your daughter. We love each other, and
+she has promised to be my wife.'
+
+Mountain staggered, as if the words had been a pistol bullet or a stab,
+and struck furiously. Quick as was Dick's parry, he only half saved
+himself, his hat spun into the road, and the whip whistled within an
+inch of his ear. He made a step back, and stopped a second furious
+stroke. The whip broke in the old man's hand, and he flung the remaining
+fragment from him with a curse.
+
+'I can't strike you, sir,' said Dick. 'You're her father.' Mountain's
+choking breath filled in the pause, and Dick went on: 'You know well
+enough there's not another man in England I'd take that from.'
+
+'You're a coward, like all your tribe,' said Mountain.
+
+'Not at all, I assure you, sir,' said Dick calmly. 'If you like to send
+anybody else with that message, I'll talk to him. Let us talk sensibly.
+What harm have I ever done you? Or my father either? Why should two
+honest families keep up this ridiculous story, which ought to have been
+buried ages back? Why not let bygones be bygones? I love your daughter.
+I am a young man yet, sir, with my way to make in the world, and I
+am going away to London to study. I met your daughter to-night to say
+goodbye to her, and if you had not come I should have gone away and said
+nothing until I could come and claim her, with a home worthy of her to
+take her to.
+
+But since you know, I speak now. We love each other, and intend to
+marry.'
+
+'Oh!' said Mountain. He had gone all on a sudden as cool as Dick, and
+nothing but his stertorous breathing hinted of the rage which filled
+him. 'That's it, is it? Then, if you're finished, hear me. I ain't got
+the gift o' the gab as free as you, but I can mek plain my meanin',
+p'raps. I'd rather see her a-layin' theer '(he pointed with a trembling
+hand at the ground between them); 'I'd rather lay her there, dead afore
+my eyes, an' screw her in her coffin a'terwards, than you or any o' your
+kin should as much as look at her, wi' my goodwill. And now you've got
+your answer, Mr. Fair an' Fine. Remember it, an' look out for yourself.
+For, by the Lord! 'he went on, with a solemn malignity doubly terrible
+in a man whose passion was ordinarily so violent, 'if iver I ketch you
+round my house again, I'll put a bullet atween thy ribs as sure as my
+naame's Samson Mountain.'
+
+With this, he took his horse by the bridle, and passed through the gate,
+leaving the young man to his own reflections. He took the beast to the
+stable, delivered him into the care of a servant, and made straight
+for the parlour, where his wife and Mrs. Rusker were seated at an early
+supper.
+
+'You're back early, Sam,' said the former, rising to draw an additional
+chair to the table. 'Wilt have some tay, or shall Liza draw you a jug o'
+beer?'
+
+Samson returned no answer, either to this or to Mrs. Rusker's greeting.
+
+'Lawk a mussy, what ails the man? 'asked Mrs. Mountain, as Samson stood
+looking round the room. She had never seen such an expression on her
+husband's face before. The skin was livid under its rude bronze, and his
+lips twitched strangely.
+
+'Wheer's that wench of ourn?' he asked, after a second glance round
+the room, Mrs. Busker's heart jumped, and she held on tight to the
+arm-pieces of her chair.
+
+'Julia?' said Mrs. Mountain. 'Her's about the house, I reckon.'
+
+'Call her here,' said Samson; and his wife wondering, but not daring to
+question, went to the door of the sitting-room and screamed 'Julia!'
+A servant girl came running downstairs at the call, and said that Miss
+Julia did not feel well, and had gone to bed.
+
+'Fatch her down,' said Samson from the sitting-room, and the girl, on
+receipt of a confirmatory nod from Mrs. Mountain, went upstairs again.
+Samson took a chair and sat with his head bent forward and his arms
+folded, staring at the paper ornaments in the grate.
+
+'Samson!' said his wife appealingly, 'don't skeer a body i' thisnin.
+Whativer _is_ the matter?'
+
+'Hold thy chat,' said Samson. 'Thee'st know soon enough,' and the trio
+sat in silence until Julia entered the room. She was pale, and there
+were traces of tears on her cheeks, and Samson, as he glanced at her
+askance from under his heavy eyebrows before he rose, saw that she was
+struggling to repress some strong emotion. She advanced to kiss him, but
+he repelled her--not roughly--with his heavy hand upon her shoulder.
+
+'You wanted to see me, father,' she asked, trembling.
+
+'I sent for you.'
+
+Mrs. Rusker was in a state of pitiable excitement, if anybody had had
+the leisure to notice her.
+
+'Theer's some'at happened to-day as it's fit an' right as yo' should
+know. I met ode Raybould today i' th' Exchange, an' he tode me some'at
+as I'd long suspected, about his son Tom. I reckon you know what it
+was.'
+
+Julia knew well enough. Tom Raybould was a young farmer, a year or two
+older than herself. She had known him all her life, and he had been a
+schoolfellow and chosen chum of her brother's. He had shown unmistakable
+signs of affection for her, but had never spoken. He was a good fellow,
+according to common report, and she had a good deal of liking and
+respect for him, and a little pity, being a good girl, and no coquette.
+
+'I see thee understandest,' said Samson. 'I told th' ode man as he might
+look on it as settled, an' Tom 'll be here to-morrow. He's a likely lad,
+an' he'll have all the Bush Farm when his father goes, as must be afore
+long, i' the course o' nature. The two farms 'll goo very well in a
+ring fence. Theer's no partic'lar hurry, as I know on, an' we'll ha' the
+weddin' next wik, or the wik after.'
+
+The girl's breast was labouring cruelly, in spite of the hand that
+strove to still it.
+
+'Father!' she said. 'You don't mean it!'
+
+'Eh?' said Samson. 'I ginerally mean what I say, my wench. I should ha'
+thout as yo'd ha' known that by this time.'
+
+He stopped there, for Julia, but for her mother's arm, would have
+fallen.
+
+'You great oaf!' cried Mrs. Mountain, irritated for once into open
+rebellion. 'Oh, it's like a man, the stupid hulkin' creeturs as they
+are, to come an' frighten the life out of a poor maid i' that style.'
+
+'Theer, theer!' said Samson, with the same heavy and threatening
+tranquillity he had borne throughout the interview. 'Tek her upstairs.'
+
+He sat down again, and without another word filled and lit his
+churchwarden, and stared through the smoke-wreaths at the grate.
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+Mrs. Jenny Rusker, who was half dead with fear of an _expos�_ of her
+part in this unlucky love-affair, was additionally prostrated by the
+dire reversal of all her hopes by Samson Mountain's ultimatum. Mrs.
+Mountain, with the aid of a female servant, supported Julia upstairs,
+and Samson smoked on stolidly, taking no note whatever of the visitor's
+presence. Still in doubt of what Samson might or might not know, and
+fearing almost to breathe, lest any reminder of her presence should call
+down his wrath upon her, she listened to the tramping and the muffled
+noises overhead until they ceased, and then, gathering courage from his
+continued apathy, slipped from the room and left the house.
+
+She got home and went to bed and passed an interminable night in tossing
+to and fro, and bewailing the untoward fate of the two children. Dawn
+came at last, though it had seemed as if it never would break again,
+and, for the first time for many a year, the first gleam of sunlight saw
+her dressed and downstairs. She felt feverous and ill, and having brewed
+for herself a huge jorum of tansy tea, sat down over this inspiring
+beverage, and tried to pull her scattered wits together and think out
+some way of untangling the skein of difficulty with which she had to
+deal. The danger was pressing, and if she had been herself the poor
+lovesick girl who lay a mile away, stifling her sobs lest they should
+reach her father's ears, and vainly calling on her lover's name, she
+would scarcely have been more miserable.
+
+One thing was clear. Dick must be warned, and his journey to London
+postponed by some device. He might lie hidden for a day or two in
+Birmingham, and Julia be smuggled there and secretly married. It was no
+time for half measures, and whatever was done should be done quickly and
+decisively. At this idea, at once romantic and practical, Mrs. Jenny's
+spirits revived.
+
+'Samson 'll disown Julia, I know. Her 'll never see a penny o' his
+money. An' I doubt as Abel Reddy 'll do the same wi' Dick. He's just
+as hard and bitter as th' other, on'y quieter wi' it. Well, they shan't
+want while I'm alive, nor after my death neither, and Dick ud make his
+own way with nobody's help. I'll write to him, and find somebody to take
+the letter. I won't go myself, at this hour o' the day.'
+
+She concocted a letter and sealed it, and putting on her bonnet sallied
+out to find a messenger. Fate was so far propitious that scarce
+a hundred yards from her door she met Ichabod Bubb, bound for his
+morning's work at Perry Hall Farm. Ichabod was bent and gnarled and
+twisted now, stiff in all his joints and slow of movement, but his
+quaint visage bore the same look of uncertain and rather wistful humour
+which had marked it in earlier times.
+
+'Morning, mum,' he said, with a stiff-necked nod at Mrs. Jenny.
+
+'Good-mornin', Mr. Bubb,' said the old lady. Ichabod beamed at this
+sudden and unexpected ceremonial of title, and straightened his back.
+
+'You 'm afoot early, mum.'
+
+'Why, yes. But it's such a beautiful morning; it's a shaame to lie abed
+a time like this.'
+
+'So many folks, so many ways o' thinkin',' said the ancient one; 'not
+as it's a sin as I often commits, nayther, 'cos why, I don't get the
+chance.'
+
+'I've got a bit o' business as I want done, Mr. Bubb,' said Mrs. Busker,
+'if ye don't mind earnin' a shillin'.'
+
+'Why,' returned Ichabod, 'I don't know as I've got any, not to say
+rewted, objection to makin' a shillin'.'
+
+'You're goin' to the farm?' Ichabod nodded. 'Then I want you to take
+this note to Mr. Richard. But mind, you must get it to him private.
+Nobody else must know. D'you understand?'
+
+'I'm all theer, missus,' responded Ichabod.
+
+'Then there's the note, an' there's the shillin'. An' if you're back in
+two hours you shall have a pint o' beer.' Ichabod took the note and the
+shilling, and clattered off with a ludicrous show of despatch, and
+the old lady returned to her sitting-room to await the result of his
+message. It came in less than the appointed time, and disappointed her
+terribly. Ichabod had ascertained that Dick had started half an hour
+before his arrival at the farm for Birmingham, and would only return
+to-morrow night to sleep and take away his luggage on the following
+morning.
+
+'And you come to me w' a message like that, y' ode gone-off!' said
+the exasperated old woman. 'You might ha' caught him up i' the time as
+you've wasted comin' back here.'
+
+'Caught him up,' said Ichabod, with a glance at his legs. 'Yis, likely,
+like a cow might ketch a race-hoss. I'm a gay fine figure, missus, to
+ketch up the best walker i' the country-side.'
+
+Mrs. Jenny was a woman, and therefore to offer her reason as an antidote
+to unreasoning anger was merely to heap fuel on flame.
+
+'Ah!' she said, reasonably enraged with the whole masculine half of her
+species,' you're like the rest on 'em.'
+
+'Then I'm sorry for the rest on 'em,' said Ichabod, 'whoever they may
+be.' Here Mrs. Jenny shut the door upon him, leaving him in the street,
+and retired to her sitting-room. But with beer to be gained by boldness,
+Ichabod was leonine in courage. He knocked, and the summons brought
+the old lady to the door again. Ichabod spoke no word, but writhed
+his twisted features into a grin which expressed at once humorous
+deprecation and expectancy, and rabbed the back of his veiny hand across
+his bristly lips.
+
+'Go round to the brewus,' said Mrs. Jenny; 'you'll find the maid there.
+It's all you're fit for, ye guzzlin' old idiot.'
+
+Ichabod retired, elate.
+
+'Her tongue's a stinger; but, Lord bless thee, Ichabod, her bark's a
+long sight worse than her bite. An' her beer's main good.'
+
+Mrs. Jenny, meanwhile, retired to the sitting-room, and there sat
+immersed in gloom. Things looked black for her young prot�g�s, and fate
+was against them. With that curious interest in familiar trifles which
+comes with any fit of hopelessness or despondency, she sat looking at
+the furniture of the room and the pictures which decorated the walls.
+Among these latter was a work of her own hands, her masterpiece, a
+reproduction in coloured wool of a German engraving of the last scene
+of _Romeo and Juliet_. There was a pea-green Capulet paralytically
+embracing a sky-blue Montague in the foreground, with a dissolving view
+of impossibly-constructed servitors of both houses and the County Paris,
+with six strongly accented bridges to his nose and a worsted tear upon
+his cheek, in the background. Under this production was worked in white,
+upon a black ground, the legend which Mrs. Rusker mournfully repeated as
+she gazed on it--
+
+     'For never was a story of more woe,
+     Than this of Juliet and her Romeo';
+
+and as she spoke the words an inspiration flashed into her mind. She had
+her plan.
+
+The new-born idea so possessed her that she could not sit or rest. It
+drove her out, as the gad-fly drove lo, to devious wanderings in the
+neighbouring lanes, and as she walked and walked, finding some little
+ease in the unusual and incessant exercise, she drew nearer and nearer
+to the Mountain Farm. As she paused on a little eminence and looked
+towards it, the distant church bell struck clear across the intervening
+fields, proclaiming nine o'clock.
+
+'Thank the Lord,' said the old woman. 'I can go now. I dussent go too
+early. They might suspect.'
+
+She made straight for the house, and found Mrs. Mountain alone. Samson
+was afield, and in answer to Mrs. Busker's inquiries regarding Julia,
+Mrs. Mountain tearfully informed her that the poor girl was too ill to
+come downstairs, and had not eaten a crumb of the tempting breakfast
+prepared and sent to her room for her. Mrs. Mountain was voluble in
+condemnation of her husband's lack of wit in his announcement of the
+matrimonial scheme he had formed for the girl, and Mrs. Jenny was fluent
+and honest in sympathy. Might she see the girl? Julia was fond of her,
+and her counsels might bring some comfort. Mrs. Mountain yielded a ready
+assent, and the old lady went up to the girl's room, and entering on
+the languid summons which followed her knock, saw Julia seated at the
+window, listless, dejected, and tearful The tears flowed even more
+freely at the sight of her, and the girl sobbed on her old friend's
+breast in full abandonment to the first great grief of her life.
+
+'My dear,' said Mrs. Jenny, when this gush of sorrow was over, 'take a
+bit o' heart. Things is rarely as bad as they seem; an' there's help at
+hand always if we on'y know where to look for it.'
+
+There was more meaning, to Julia's thinking, in the tone in which this
+commonplace condolence was delivered than in the words themselves. Mrs.
+Rusker's manner was big with mystery.
+
+'Now, my darlin', I know you 'm a brave gal, and can act accordin' when
+there's rayson for it. I've got a plan as 'll save you yet, if on'y
+you've got the courage.'
+
+Julia's clasped hands and eager look encouraged her to proceed.
+
+'My dear, you remember _Romeo and Juliet?_ You remember how Juliet got
+the sleepin' draught an' took it? 'Julia's look was one of wonder, pure
+and simple, now. 'That's my plan, my dear, an' the Dudley Divil can do
+it for us, if on'y you'll ha' the courage to tek it. Not as I mean as
+you need be buried afore Dick comes to you. We shouldn't go as far as
+that. But I'll get the stuff, an' it'll send you to sleep, an' they'll
+think as you're dead, an' then I'll tell 'em how you an' Dick loved
+each other so's you couldn't bear to part wi' him, an' the fear of it's
+killed you. That'll soften their hard hearts, my dear. Old Reddy knows
+all about it--that's why he's sendin' Dick away to London an' I'll get
+him fetched back to see the last o' you, an' I'll mek your father an'
+his father shaake hands, an' then you'll come to, an' after that what
+can they do but marry you to Dick, an' forget all that rubbidge about
+the brook, an' live in peace together, as decent folk should do.'
+
+Julia's reception of this brilliant scheme, which Mrs. Rusker developed
+with a volubility which left no opportunity for detailed objection, was
+to fall back in her chair and begin to cry anew at the sheer hopeless
+absurdity of it.
+
+'What's the matter wi' the wench?' demanded Mrs. Rusker, almost sternly.
+'Come, come,' she continued, her brief anger fading at the sight of
+Julia's distress, 'have a bit o' sperrit. Now, will you try it? Spake
+the word, an' I'll goo to the Divil this minute.'
+
+This wholesale self-abandonment in the cause of love produced no effect
+on Julia, except to frighten her. Mrs. Rusker argued and reasoned, but
+finding her fears too obdurate to be moved by any such means, left
+the house in dudgeon, whereat poor Julia only cried the more. But
+Mrs. Rusker's confidence in her plan was unshaken, and her persistency
+unchecked. She would save the silly girl against her will, since it must
+be so, and half an hour after she had crossed the Mountain threshold she
+was in her trap, _en route_ for the dwelling of the wizard.
+
+She found that celebrity alone, and opened fire on him at once.
+
+'Ruffis, I want thy help, an' I'm willin' to pay fur it.' The
+necromancer's fishy eye brightened. Things were going poorly with him,
+the rising generation followed newer lights unevident in his earlier
+days, and his visitors were mostly of Mrs. Rusker's age, and were
+getting fewer day by day.
+
+'My skill's at your service, ma'am, such as it is,' he answered, with
+gravity.
+
+'I want some'at as 'd send a body to sleep--mek 'em sleep for a long
+time, wi'out hurtin' 'em. Can you doit?'
+
+'Why, yis; I could do that much, I think.' His tone and manner intimated
+vaguely how much more he could have done, and his disappointment at the
+facility of his task. 'But,' he added prudently, 'it's a job as ain't s'
+easy as you might fancy.'
+
+Mrs. Busker laid a sovereign on the table.
+
+'Wilt do it for that?' she asked.
+
+The wizard stole a look at her. She was obviously very much in earnest.
+
+'The hingredients,' he said, 'is hard to find, and harder to mix in doo
+perportions.'
+
+'I must have it now, and at once,' said Mrs. Busker.
+
+'That,' said Rufus, 'ain't possible.' Mrs. Jenny laid a second piece of
+gold beside the first 'It's a dangerous bisness, missus,' he went
+on. 'Theer's noofangled laws about. 'Twas only last wik as that young
+upstart, Doctor Hodges, comes an' threatens me with persecution as
+a rogue an' vagabond, a-obtainin' money under false pertences for
+practisin' my lawful an' necessary art. Why, it ain't so long since I
+cured his mother o' the rheumatiz, as is more nor he can dew, wi' all
+his drugs, an' the pestle an' mortar o'er his door.'
+
+'You ought to know as you're safe wi' me, Rufus,' said Mrs. Rusker. 'Who
+should I tell? Why, I should tell o' myself tew, at that raate; an' is
+that likely?'
+
+'It's dangerous, missus,' repeated the wizard.
+
+'Well, if yo' won't, I must try them as wull,' said Mrs. Jenny, rising
+and taking up the coins.
+
+'I didn't say as I wouldn't,' returned Rufus. 'Theer's no call to be so
+uppish But if I tek a chance like that I expect to be paid for it.'
+
+'Two pound ud mek it wuth your while to do more than that.'
+
+'I'll dew it,' said the wizard. 'Give us the money?'
+
+'Wheer's the stuff?'
+
+'Why, it ain't made yet. D'you think as I can percure a precious
+hessence like that all of a minute?'
+
+'Then mek it, an' I'll gie you the money.'
+
+'Gi' me a pound in advance, an' I'll bring it to you.' And on that
+understanding the bargain was made, and the time fixed for the delivery
+of the potion. The intervening time was filled in by the astute wizard
+journeying to a neighbouring town and procuring from a chemist a
+sleeping draught, which he paid for out of Mrs. Busker's sovereign. He
+turned up at Laburnum Cottage at the stipulated hour, handed over the
+draught (having previously washed off the chemist's label), received his
+second sovereign, and departed.
+
+Mrs. Rusker, with the fateful bottle in the bosom of her dress, betook
+herself again to Mountain Farm. Her unfeigned interest in the patient,
+and the intimacy she had so long enjoyed with the whole family, made the
+house almost as free to her as was her own, and when she took possession
+of Julia in the capacity of nurse she was made welcome, and the poor
+girl's other attendants hoped much from her ministration. Julia was
+undoubtedly very ill, so ill that even Samson Mountain forbore to
+force her to descend to the parlour in which Mr. Tom Raybould nervously
+awaited her coming, and where, on Samson's return from his daughter's
+chamber, the pair sat and drank their beer together in miserable
+silence, broken by spasmodic attempts at conversation regarding crops
+and politics. The doctor had been called in, and, knowing nothing of the
+grief which was the poor girl's only ailment, had been too puzzled by
+the symptoms of her malady to be of any great service. She was feverish,
+excited, with a furred tongue and a hot skin. He had prescribed a mild
+tonic and departed. Mrs. Jenny, intent on the execution of her plan,
+gained solitary charge of her patient by telling Mrs. Mountain that her
+attendance on her daughter had already told upon her, and advising a few
+hours' rest.
+
+'I don't feel very well,' Mrs. Mountain confessed. 'Not a wink o' sleep
+have I had iver since Samson came home last night. Nor him nayther, for
+the matter o' that, though he tried to desave me by snorin', whinever
+I spoke to him; an' as for any sympathy--well, you know him aforetime,
+Jenny--I might as well talk to that theer poker.'
+
+Then Jenny was fluent in condolence, and at last got the old lady out of
+the room.
+
+'When did you take your medicine last, my dear?' she asked the patient
+'Ain't it time as you had another drop?'
+
+'It doesn't do me any good,' said the patient fretfully. She knew better
+herself what was wrong with her than anybody else could guess, and only
+longed passionately to be alone and free to think and cry over her lost
+love and broken hopes.
+
+'Why, my dear, you've on'y took one dose yit,' said Machiavel. 'You
+must give it time. I'll pour you out another.' Her back was towards the
+patient as she clattered about among the glasses on the table with a
+shaking hand. She poured out the wizard's potion, the phial clinking
+against the edge of the glass like a castanet, and her heart beating so
+that she almost feared Julia would hear it The girl at first pettishly
+refused the draught, but Mrs. Jenny, in her guilty agitation, made short
+work of her objections, and poured it down her throat almost by main
+force.
+
+'Maids must do as their elders bid 'em,' she said, as she returned the
+glass to its place.
+
+'It doesn't taste the same,' moaned the patient
+
+'You're like all th' other sick folk I iver nursed. As fall o' fancies
+as you can stick,' said Mrs. Jenny. 'Lie quiet, and try an' go to
+sleep.'
+
+The girl lay silent, and Mrs. Jenny, more than half wishing the whole
+business had never been begun, sat and listened to her breathing. She
+stirred and sighed once or twice, but after a while lay so utterly still
+that the old lady ventured to approach the bed. Julia's face was almost
+as white as her pillow, and her breath was so light that it hardly
+stirred the coverlet above her bosom.
+
+'It's a-workin,' said Mrs. Rusker.
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+Mrs. Jenny's simple faith in the talents of Rufus Smith underwent
+a severe trial during the ensuing night. She had left Julia still
+sleeping, and the memory of the last glance she had bestowed upon the
+white face in the light of the carefully-shaded candle haunted her
+all night, and roused a foreboding too dismal to be expressed, or even
+formulated in definite thought. The matchmaker lay and trembled all
+night at that terrible idea, and again the pale-faced dawn visited a
+sleepless pillow, and found her haggard with anxiety and lack of sleep.
+Juliet's query to the Friar had been, 'What if the potion should not
+work?' but Mrs. Jenny's terrified inquiry of her own soul was, 'What if
+it had worked too well?' What if it had killed Julia in very deed? It
+was too horrible to happen, Mrs. Jenny said to herself. Too horrible to
+think of. But, if it had happened, she would have nothing else to think
+of all her life, and the fancy drove her nearly mad.
+
+She was dressed and afoot even earlier than on the preceding morning.
+She crept out and encircled the Mountain Farm in a radius of a mile
+or thereabouts, looking anxiously towards it at every step, as if its
+silent walls might speak comfort or confirm her fears, even at that
+distance. The house looked peaceful enough amid its surrounding trees
+under the tranquilly broadening light of dawn, but Mrs. Rusker knew how
+ghastly white the face of the poor child she loved as her own might
+look in that roseate glow. Presently a thin line of smoke curled from a
+chimney on the noiseless air. The farm was waking to its daily round
+of life. A burly figure on horseback came towards her as she stood on a
+little eminence. She waited long enough to identify Samson Mountain,
+and hid among the ferns and bushes until the horse's hoof-beats had
+clattered swiftly by on the stony road below her, and faded in the
+distance.
+
+Time crept on, slow but inexorable. She longed, as she had never longed
+before for anything, for the courage to go to the farmhouse and ask
+tidings of Julia. But her fear was greater than her longing, and she
+roamed at random in a circle, never losing sight of the house, but not
+daring to approach it or be seen from its windows. She dreaded what
+might be the news to greet her there. She feared her own face, with its
+haggard lines of sleeplessness and anxious watching. At last, from the
+very depths of her misery, she plucked the heart of despairing hope, and
+made for the farm. The farm labourers and country folk she met stared
+after her. Even their bovine understandings were troubled by her scared
+face. She scarcely saw them, or anything but the farmhouse, which drew
+her now with an influence as strong as its repulsion had been an hour
+ago. She entered the house by the back door, and made straight for the
+sitting-room. Mrs. Mountain was there, arranging a tray, on which were
+tea and jam and other homely luxuries. She wore her ordinary look of
+placid contentment, and at the sight of her quiet face Mrs. Rusker
+dropped panting, with a vague unformulated feeling of relief, into a
+chair.
+
+'Sakes alive! Whativer is the matter?' demanded Mrs. Mountain.
+
+'Julia!' panted the visitor. 'How's Julia?'
+
+'Why,' said Mrs. Mountain, 'how should her be?'
+
+'Is she awake yet?' asked Mrs. Jenny, more calmly.
+
+'No. Her was sleepin' when I seed her, jist for a minute, a hour ago.
+I'm jist goin' upstairs wi' some breakfast for her. Well, I declare, yo'
+look as pale as a ghost. What's the matter with you?'
+
+'Oh, I've passed a miserable night,' said Mrs. Jenny, in unconscious
+quotation from her favourite poet. 'I couldn't sleep a-thinkin' o'
+Julia.'
+
+'Well, then, you do look poorly,' said her hostess, with all her
+motherly heart warmed by this solicitude for her daughter. 'Why, theer's
+no cause to fret i' that way. To be sure, Samson might ha' knowed better
+than to blunder such a thing as that right out, but, then, he's a man,
+and that'd account for a'most anything. Married life might teach 'em
+better, you'd think, and yet after nigh on forty year on it he knows
+no more about women folk than any bachelor i' Barfield. Theer, tek your
+bonnet off, an' I'll gi' ye a cup o' tay, an' then you can goo upstairs
+wi' me and see the wench.'
+
+Mrs. Jenny gratefully accepted the proffered tea, and, having drunk it,
+much to her inward refreshment, accompanied Mrs. Mountain upstairs. As
+the latter had said, the girl was sleeping still, and Mrs. Busker saw
+that her position had not changed by a hair's breadth. She lay like a
+carven statue, her face marble white in the clear morning light.
+
+'I'm a'most doubtful about wakin' her,' said her mother. 'Theer's no
+doubt as Samson gi'en her a shock, an' sleep's good for her. But her's
+had welly fifteen hours of it now, if she's been asleep all the tima
+Julia, my love,' she said softly, almost in the sleeper's ear. 'My
+sakes, how pale her is. Jenny! come here!'
+
+They both bent above her. Mrs. Rusker's heart was beating like a muffled
+drum, and seemed, to her own ears, to fill the house with its pulsation.
+
+'Julia!' said Mrs. Mountain again, in a louder voice, and shook the girl
+with a tremulous hand, 'Julia!'
+
+The white eyelids did not even stir.
+
+'My blessid! Julia! Don't skeer a body i' this way!' She shook the girl
+again. 'Jenny! whativer's come to the silly wench?'
+
+Mrs. Jenny was more frightened, and with better reason, than her
+companion. Julia's marble pallor, and the awful stillness of her
+form--the keenest glance could not detect a quiver in the face or a
+heave of the bosom--almost stilled that exigent pulse within her own
+breast with a sudden anguish of despair.
+
+'Oh, Jenny, she's a-dyin'!'
+
+Mrs. Mountain's scream rang through the house, and startled every soul
+within it, except that marble figure on the bed. Hurried steps came up
+the stairs, the heavy tread of a man, the light patter of women's feet,
+and the room filled as if by magic.
+
+'Fetch a doctor,' screamed Mrs. Jenny; 'Julia's a-dyin'!'
+
+Samson Mountain stood for one moment with his hands aloft and his eyes
+glaring at his daughter. Then he dropped with a sobbing groan into a
+chair, with his head in his hands. There was a general scream from the
+women. One, more serviceable than the rest, called from the window to a
+gaping yokel below in the yard, and bade him ride for help. Her face and
+voice froze him for a moment, but he caught the words 'Miss Julia,' and
+two minutes after he was astride a broad-backed plough-horse, making for
+the distant village.
+
+Samson Mountain sat with his face hidden and spoke no word; at the sight
+of him his wife's face had turned to sudden rage, and she stood over
+him like a ruffled hen, and clacked commination of masculine imbecility,
+intermixed with wild plaints for her child.
+
+Julia slept through the tumult as she had slept through the calm, and
+Mrs. Jenny, kneeling beside her with her face in the bedclothes, moaned
+love and penitent despair. Samson raised his head at last, and looked
+with a dazed stare first at his daughter and then at his wife, and left
+the room without a word, pursued by a hailstorm of reproach. He went
+into the yard and pottered aimlessly about, looking old and broken on
+a sudden. The sound of horses' hoofs roused him; it was the rustic
+messenger returning. 'Where's the doctor?' demanded Samson. 'Gone to
+Heydon Hey. What am I to dew?' 'Follow him an' fetch him back. Hast not
+gumption enough to know that?' asked Samson wearily. The man started
+again, and Samson began once more his purposeless wanderings about the
+yard. He had no sense of time or place, only a leaden weight on heart
+and limb, which in all his life he had never known before. He leaned his
+elbows on the fence of the fold yard, and became conscious of a running
+figure which neared him rapidly. He watched it stupidly, and it was
+within twenty yards of him before he recognised it--Dick Reddy, dust and
+mud to the collar, hatless, and panting.
+
+'Julia!' he gasped. 'Tell me, is it true?' 'Julia's dyin,' said Samson.
+'My God!' he cried, with sudden passion, as if his own voice had
+unlocked the sealed fountain of his grief, 'my little gell's a-dyin'!'
+
+'Mr. Mountain,' said Dick, 'I love her, you know I love her. Let me see
+her.' His voice, broken with fatigue and emotion, his streaming eyes,
+his outstretched hands, all pleaded with his words.
+
+'It's all one who sees her now,' said Samson, and leaned his elbows on
+the fence again. Dick took the despairing speech for a permission,
+and entered the house. At the bottom of the stairs, in the otherwise
+deserted hall, he met Mrs. Jenny, a very moving statue of terror.
+
+'Dick,' she said, clutching the young man by the arm, 'I can't abear it
+any longer. Come in here wi' me.' She pulled him into a side room, and
+sitting down, abandoned herself to weeping, wringing her hands, and
+moaning.
+
+'I can't abear it any longer,' she repeated. 'I must tell somebody, an'
+I'll tell you. It's all my wicked cruel fault.'
+
+The old woman was so crazed with her secret that she would have spoken
+in the shadow of the gibbet. Ramblingly and incoherently, with many
+breaks for tears and protestations and self-accusation, she told her
+story.
+
+'I've killed her, Dick. But it was for your sake and hers as I done it.
+I reckon they'll hang me, an' it'll serve me right.' She besought him
+not to betray her, and, in the same breath, announced her intention to
+surrender herself at once to the parish constable; and, indeed, between
+fear and remorse and sorrow for the hopeless love she had striven to
+befriend, was nearly mad. Dick heard her with such amazement as may be
+best imagined, and suddenly, with a cry that rang in her ears for many a
+long day afterwards, ran from her and scaled the stairs to Julia's
+room, led thither by the sound of Mrs. Mountain's weeping. The old woman
+stared, as well she might, at the intrusion, with a wonder which for a
+moment conquered sorrow. He went straight to the bed, and leaned over
+the stark figure upon it.
+
+'She's not dead yet,' he said, more to himself than to the
+grief-stricken mother. Mrs. Mountain heard the words, and clutched his
+arm. He turned to her. 'Trust me,' he said, 'and I'll save her.' The
+wild hope in the mother's eyes was terrible to see. 'I love her,' said
+Dick. 'You will trust me? Do as I bid you, and you shall have Julia back
+in an hour.'
+
+Samson Mountain meanwhile wandered in the same purposeless fashion
+about the farm, and held dumb converse with himself. He was a rough man,
+something of a brute--a good deal of an animal--but animals have their
+affections, and he loved Julia as well as it was in his nature to love
+anything. It was ingrained in him by nature and by years of unquestioned
+domination to bully and browbeat all defenceless people; but Julia, the
+most defenceless of his surroundings, had been treated always with a
+lighter hand. Childlike, she had taken advantyage of her immunity in
+many little ways, and though Samson had never forborne to bluster at her
+girlish insubordination, he rather liked it than not, and relished his
+daughter's independence and spirit. Julia was the only creature in the
+household who dared to hold her own against him. He was proud of her
+beauty and what he called her 'lurning,' and, more or less grumblingly,
+petted her a good deal, and would have spoiled her had she been of
+spoilable material. But till this heavy blow fell he had never sounded
+the depths of his own affection for her. The suddenness of the blow
+stunned and bewildered him. He remembered his words to Dick during their
+stormy interview in the road, when he had said that he would rather see
+Julia dead than married to him. Had Providence taken him at his word? He
+did not say it, he did not even think it consciously, but he would have
+submitted to almost any conceivable indignity at the hands of Abel Eeddy
+himself, to have felt his daughter's arms about his neck again. Little
+incidents of Julia's past life were fresh and vivid in his memory. He
+had forgotten many of them, years ago, but they sprang up in his mind
+now, like things of yesterday.
+
+He had wandered back to the front of the house, and sat upon the rustic
+bench beside the porch, with his elbows propped upon his knees, and his
+eyes hidden in his shaking hands, when a voice fell on his ear.
+
+'Neighbour!'
+
+He raised his head. Abel Reddy stood before him.
+
+With something of the old instinct of hatred he had believed to be
+unconquerable he rose and straightened himself before the hereditary
+enemy.
+
+'Neighbour,' said Reddy again. The word was pacific, but Mountain's
+blurred eyes, dim with pain and dazzled by the sunlight, could not see
+the pity in his old enemy's face, and he waited doggedly. 'It's come to
+my ears as you're i' sore trouble. So am I. Your trouble's mine, though
+not so great for me as it is for you, I was wi' Dick when he heard o'
+your daughter's danger, an' what I'd suspected a long time I know now to
+be the truth. I did my best to keep 'em apart--it was that as Dick was
+going to London for. It seemed to behove me to come to you and offer you
+my hand i' your affliction. I take shame to myself that I didn't mek
+an effort to end our quarrel long ago. We're gettin' on in life, Mr.
+Mountain, and we've got th' excuse o' hot blood no longer.'
+
+Therewith he held out his hand, and Samson, with hanging head, took it
+with a growl, which might have been anathema or blessing. And as the
+life-long enemies stood so linked, a window was suddenly opened above,
+and Mrs. Mountain's voice screamed to her husband,
+
+'Samson! Her's alive! Her's awake! 'Both men looked up, and beheld an
+unexpected picture framed by the open window, Dick violently embraced
+by Mrs. Mountain, and submitting to the furious assault with obvious
+goodwill.
+
+'When the liquor's out, why clink the cannikin?' The story of Julia
+and her Romeo, like all other stories, had found its end, and merged a
+little later into the history of Mr. and Mrs. Richard Reddy. The family
+feud was buried, and Samson and Abel made very passable grandfathers and
+dwelt in peace one with another. Dick never told a living soul, not even
+Julia herself, of the stratagem by which Mrs. Jenny had succeeded in
+uniting them, and Mrs. Jenny, by complete reticence on the subject,
+disproved the time-worn calumny which declares woman's inability to keep
+a secret.
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Julia And Her Romeo: A Chronicle Of
+Castle Barfield, by David Christie Murray
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+  <head>
+    <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" />
+    <title>
+      Julia and Her Romeo: a Chronicle of Castle Barfield, by David Christie
+      Murray
+    </title>
+    <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve">
+
+    body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify}
+    P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; }
+    H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; }
+    hr  { width: 50%; text-align: center;}
+    .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; }
+    blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;}
+    .mynote    {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;}
+    .toc       { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;}
+    .toc2      { margin-left: 20%;}
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+    .pagenum   {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal;
+               margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%;
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+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Julia And Her Romeo: A Chronicle Of Castle
+Barfield, by David Christie Murray
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Julia And Her Romeo: A Chronicle Of Castle Barfield
+       From "Schwartz" by David Christie Murray
+
+Author: David Christie Murray
+
+Release Date: August 8, 2007 [EBook #22274]
+Last Updated: September 16, 2016
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JULIA AND HER ROMEO ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <h1>
+      JULIA AND HER ROMEO:<br /> A CHRONICLE OF CASTLE BARFIELD
+    </h1>
+    <h2>
+      By David Christie Murray
+    </h2>
+    <h4>
+      Author Of &lsquo;Aunt Rachel,&rsquo; &lsquo;The Weaker Vessel,&rsquo; Etc.
+    </h4>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      Contents
+    </h2>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> I </a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> II </a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> III </a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> IV </a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> V </a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> VI </a>
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      I
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      In the year eighteen hundred and twenty, and for many years before and
+      after, Abel Reddy farmed his own land at Perry Hall End, on the western
+      boundaries of Castle Barfield. He lived at Perry Hall, a ripe-coloured old
+      tenement of Elizabethan design, which crowned a gentle eminence and looked
+      out picturesquely on all sides from amongst its neighbouring trees. It had
+      a sturdier aspect in its age than it could have worn when younger, for its
+      strength had the sign-manual of time upon it, and even its hoary lichens
+      looked as much like a prophecy as a record.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A mile away, but also within the boundaries of Castle Barfield parish,
+      there stood another house upon another eminence: a house of older date
+      than Perry Hall, though of less pleasing and picturesque an air. The long
+      low building was of a darkish stone, and had been altered and added to so
+      often that it had at last arrived at a complex ugliness which was not
+      altogether displeasing. The materials for its structure had all been drawn
+      at different periods from the same stone quarry, and the chequered look of
+      new bits and old bits had a hint of the chess-board. Here Samson Mountain
+      dwelt on his own land in the midst of his own people.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Mountain Farm, as it was called, and had been called time out of mind,
+      was separated from the Perry Hall Farm by a very shallow and narrow brook.
+      The two houses were built as far apart from each other as they could be,
+      whilst remaining in their own boundaries, as if the builder of the later
+      one had determined to set as great a distance as he could between his
+      neighbour and himself. And as a matter of fact the Reddys and the
+      Mountains were a sort of Capulets and Montagues, and had hated each other
+      for generations. Samson and Abel kept up the ancient grudge in all its
+      ancient force. They were of the same age within a week or two, had studied
+      at the same school, and had fought there; had at one time courted the same
+      girl, had sat within sight of each other Sunday after Sunday and year
+      after year in the parish church, had each buried father and mother in the
+      parish churchyard, and in the mind of each the thought of the other
+      rankled like a sore.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The manner of their surrendering their common courtship was characteristic
+      of their common hatred. Somewhere about the beginning of this century a
+      certain Miss Jenny Rusker, of Castle Barfield, was surrounded by quite a
+      swarm of lovers. She was pretty, she was well-to-do, for her time and
+      station, she was accomplished&mdash;playing the harp (execrably), working
+      samplers in silk and wool with great diligence and exactitude, and having
+      read a prodigious number of plays, poems, and romances. What this lady&rsquo;s
+      heart forged that her mouth did vent, but no pretty young woman ever
+      looked or sounded foolish to the eyes or ears of her lovers. Mountain and
+      Eeddy were among her solicitors. She liked them both, and had not quite
+      made up her mind as to which, if either of them, she would choose, when
+      suddenly the knowledge of the other&rsquo;s occasional presence in her
+      sitting-room made the house odious to each, and they surrendered the chase
+      almost at the same hour. Miss Jenny satisfied herself with a cousin of her
+      own, married without changing her name, had children, was passably happy,
+      as the world goes, and lived to be a profoundly sentimental but inveterate
+      widow. Mountain and Eeddy married girls they would not otherwise have
+      chosen, and were passably happy also, except when the sore of ancient
+      hatred was inflamed by a chance meeting on the corn exchange or an
+      accidental passage of the eyes at church. They had no better authority for
+      hating each other than that their fathers had hated each other before
+      them. The fathers had the authority of the grandfathers, and they, that of
+      the greatgrandfathers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was Saturday afternoon. There was a bleak frost abroad, and even the
+      waters of the brook which divided the two farms were hard frozen. The sun
+      hung low in the western sky, lustreless as a wafer, but ruddy. The fields
+      were powdered with thin snow, and the earth was black by contrast with it.
+      Now and then a shot sounded far away, but clear and sharp, from where the
+      guests of my lord of Barfield were killing time in the warren.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A labouring man, smock-frocked, billy-cocked, gaitered, and hob-nailed,
+      was clamping down the frozen lane, the earth ringing like iron under iron
+      as he walked. By his side was a fair-haired lad of nine or ten years of
+      age, a boy of frank and engaging countenance, carefully and even daintily
+      dressed, and holding up his head as if he were a lord of the soil and knew
+      it. The boy and the labourer were talking, and on the frosty silence of
+      the fields the clear treble of the boy&rsquo;s speech rang out clearly and
+      carried far. A burly man, with a surly red face, who had stooped to button
+      a gaiter, in a meadow just beyond the brook, and had laid down his gun
+      beside him the while, heard both voice and words whilst the speaker was a
+      hundred yards away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;But don&rsquo;t you think it&rsquo;s very wicked, Ichabod?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The labourer&rsquo;s voice only reached the listener in the meadow. He spoke
+      with the Barfield drawl, and his features, which were stiffened by the
+      frozen wind, were twisted into a look of habitual waggery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said he, in answer to his young companion, &lsquo;maybe, Master Richard,
+      it might be wicked, but it&rsquo;s main like natur.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I shan&rsquo;t hate Joe Mountain when I&rsquo;m a man,&rsquo; said the boy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The surly man in the field, hearing these words, looked on a sudden
+      surlier still, and throwing up his head with a listening air, and holding
+      his ankle with both hands, crouched and craned his neck to listen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;May&rsquo;st have to change thy mind, Master Richard,&rsquo; said the labourer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Why should I change my mind, Ichabod?&rsquo; asked the boy, looking up at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Why?&rsquo; answered Ichabod, &lsquo;thee&rsquo;lt niver have it said as thee wast afraid
+      of any o&rsquo; the Mountain lot.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I&rsquo;m not afraid of him,&rsquo; piped the engaging young cockerel &lsquo;We had a fight
+      in the coppice last holidays, and I beat him. The squire caught us, and we
+      were going to stop, but he made us go on, and he saw fair. Then he made us
+      shake hands after. Joe Mountain wouldn&rsquo;t say he&rsquo;d had enough, but the
+      squire threw up the sponge for him. And he gave us two half-crowns apiece,
+      and said we were both good plucked uns.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Ah! &lsquo;said Ichabod, with warmth, &lsquo;he&rsquo;s the right sort is the squire. And
+      there&rsquo;s no sort or kind o&rsquo; sport as comes amiss to him. A gentleman after
+      my own heart.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;He made us shake hands and promise we&rsquo;d be friends,&rsquo; said Master Richard,
+      &lsquo;and we&rsquo;re going to be.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Make him turn the brook back first, Master Richard,&rsquo; said Ichabod. The
+      two were almost at the bridge by this time, and the listener could hear
+      distinctly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Turn the brook back?&rsquo; the boy asked. &lsquo;What do you mean, Ichabod?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Ax thy feyther, when thee gettest home,&rsquo; answered Ichabod. &lsquo;He&rsquo;ll tell
+      thee all the rights on it. So fur as I can make out&mdash;and it was the
+      talk o&rsquo; the country i&rsquo; my grandfeyther&rsquo;s daysen&mdash;it amounts to this.
+      Look here! &lsquo;He and the boy arrested their steps on the bridge, and Ichabod
+      pointed along the frozen track of the brook. &lsquo;Seest that hollow ten rods
+      off? It was in the time o&rsquo; Cromwell Hast heard tell o&rsquo; Cromwell, I mek no
+      doubt?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Oliver Cromwell,&rsquo; said Master Richard. &lsquo;He was Lord Protector of England.
+      He fought King Charles.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Like enough,&rsquo; said Ichabod. &lsquo;In his daysen, many &lsquo;ears ago, there was the
+      Reddys here and the Mountains there&rsquo;&mdash;indicating either house in turn
+      by pointing with his thumb&mdash;&lsquo;just as they be now. The Reddy o&rsquo; that
+      day&mdash;he was thy grandfeyther&rsquo;s grand-feyther as like as not&mdash;maybe
+      he was <i>his</i> grandfeyther for aught as I can tell, for it&rsquo;s a
+      deadly-dreadful heap o&rsquo; time long past&mdash;the Reddy o&rsquo; that day went to
+      the wars, and fowt for Cromwell. The Mountain o&rsquo; that time stopped at hum.
+      Up to then they&rsquo;d niver been misfriended as fur as I know. That&rsquo;s how it&rsquo;s
+      put about, anyway. But whilst the Reddy was away what&rsquo;s the Mountain do?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy was looking at Ichabod, and Ichabod, stooping a little to be the
+      more impressive, was looking at him. The surly-faced man with the gun had
+      hitherto been concealed by the hedge beside which he had knelt to fasten
+      his gaiter, and neither of the two had suspected his presence. It was
+      natural, therefore, that both of them should start a little when his voice
+      reached them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Well?&rsquo; The voice was sour and surly, like the face, and the word was
+      rapped out sharp and clear. Master Richard and Ichabod turned with one
+      accord. &lsquo;Well?&rsquo; says the surly man, &lsquo;what does the Mountain do?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ichabod, less discomfited by the suddenness of the interruption than might
+      have been expected of him, rubbed the frozen base of his nose with a cold
+      forefinger and grinned. Master Richard looked from one to the other with a
+      frank and fearless interest and inquiry which became him very prettily.
+      The surly man bestowed a passing scowl upon him, and turned his angry
+      regard again upon Ichabod.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Come, now,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;you backbiting, scandal-mongering old liar! What
+      does the Mountain do? Out with it!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Why, nayther thee nor me was there at the time, gaffer,&rsquo; responded
+      Ichabod, his frosty features still creased with a grin. &lsquo;So nayther thee
+      nor me can talk for certain. Can us?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I suppose,&rsquo; said the surly, burly man, &lsquo;you&rsquo;re going to stuff that young
+      monkey with the old lie about the stream being turned?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ichabod made no verbal response, but continued to rub his nose with his
+      forefinger, and to grin with an aspect of uncertain humour. The surly man
+      stooped for his gun, threw it over his arm, and stared at Ichabod and his
+      young companion with eyes of hatred and disdain. Then, having somewhat
+      relieved his feelings by a curse or two, he turned his back and went off
+      with a long, heavy, dogged-looking stride, his feet crunching noisily
+      through the frosty grasses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;It eeat for me to talk about my betters, and them as the Lord has put in
+      authority over us,&rsquo; said Ichabod, with an expression which belied these
+      words of humility; &lsquo;but I put it to thee, Master Richard. Dost think that
+      old Mountain theer looks like a likeable un? No, no. Might as well expect
+      cat an&rsquo; dog t&rsquo; agree as Reddy and Mountain.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This speech was made in a carefully modulated tone, when he and the boy
+      were at some distance from the surly man, who was still visible, three or
+      four fields away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;What was it about the brook, Ichabod?&rsquo; asked Master Richard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Why,&rsquo; said Ichabod, &lsquo;when that old longaway grandfeyther o&rsquo; thine was
+      away a-fighting for Cromwell, &lsquo;tis said his neighbour turned the brook so
+      as to bring in four-score acres o&rsquo; land as ud niver have been his by
+      right. The Reddy o&rsquo; that day died in the wars, and his widder could mek no
+      head again the Mountain lot; but her taught her son to hate &lsquo;em and look
+      down upon &lsquo;em, and hated an&rsquo; looked down upon is the name on &lsquo;em from that
+      day to this.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;But Joe Mountain didn&rsquo;t do it,&rsquo; said Master Richard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;No, no,&rsquo; assented Ichabod. &lsquo;But it&rsquo;s i&rsquo; this way. It&rsquo;s i&rsquo; the blood.
+      What&rsquo;s bred i&rsquo; the bone will come out i&rsquo; the flesh. Afore thee makest
+      friends with young Joe Mountain, Master Richard, thee ax thy feyther.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Master Richard, lapsing into silence, thought things over.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Ichabod,&rsquo; he said at last, &lsquo;is a boy <i>bound</i> to be bad if he has a
+      bad grandfather?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Sure!&rsquo; said Ichabod, who was not going to be worsted in argument for want
+      of corroborative fact if he could help it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Master Richard thought things over a little while longer, and returned to
+      the charge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Suppose the boy with the bad grandfather had a good grandmother,
+      Ichabod?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;None of the Mountain lot ever had,&rsquo; Ichabod replied. There was no item in
+      Ichabod&rsquo;s creed more fixed than this&mdash;the Mountains of Mountain Farm
+      were hateful and contemptible. He had imbibed the belief with his mother&rsquo;s
+      milk and his father&rsquo;s counsel. His grandfather had known it for the one
+      cardinal certainty of nature.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Just as the serving-men of Capulet hated the serving-men of Montague, so
+      the oldest servants of the Mountains hated the older servants of the
+      Reddys. The men made the masters&rsquo; quarrel their own. There was a feudal
+      spirit in the matter, and half the fights of this outlying district of the
+      parish were provoked by that ancient history of the brook. At this time of
+      day it mattered very little indeed if the history was true or false, for
+      neither proof nor disproof was possible, and the real mischief was done
+      past remedy in any case.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Are you sure our side fought for Cromwell, Ichabod?&rsquo; Master Richard.
+      asked, after another long and thoughtful silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;To be sure,&rsquo; said Ichabod.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I don&rsquo;t think it can be true, then, about the brook,&rsquo; said the boy,
+      &lsquo;because Cromwell won, and everybody who was on his side had their own
+      way. Mr. Greenfell teaches history at school, and he says so.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This was nothing to Ichabod, whose intellect was not constructed for the
+      reception of historical evidences.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Then ax thy feyther, Master Richard,&rsquo; he answered; &lsquo;he&rsquo;ll tell thee the
+      rights on it.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy walked on pondering, as children of his age will do. The seniors
+      would be surprised pretty often if they could guess how deep and far the
+      young thoughts go, but, then, the seniors have forgotten their own young
+      days, or were never of a thinking habit. Ichabod clamped along with his
+      mind on beer. The boy thought his own thoughts, and each was indifferent
+      for a while to outer signs and sounds. But suddenly a little girl ran
+      round a corner of the devious lane with a brace of young savages in
+      pursuit. The youthful savages had each an armful of snowballs, and they
+      were pelting the child with more animus than seemed befitting. The very
+      tightness with which the balls were pressed seemed to say that they were
+      bent less on sport than mischief, and they came whooping and dancing round
+      the corner with such rejoicing cruelty as only boys or uncivilised men can
+      feel. The little girl was sobbing, half in distress, and half because of
+      the haste she had made, and Master Richard&rsquo;s juvenile soul burnt within
+      him at the sight like that of a knight-errant. He had read a great deal
+      about knights-errant for the time which had been as yet allowed him for
+      the pursuit of literature, and he was by nature a boy of much fire and
+      gentleness, and a very sympathetic imagination. So the big heart in the
+      small body swelled with pity and grew hot with valour, and, without
+      parley, he smote the foremost boy, who happened to be the bigger of the
+      two, and went headlong into fight with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ichabod followed the young master&rsquo;s lead without knowing, or in the
+      smallest degree caring, why, and tried to seize the smaller savage, who
+      skilfully evaded him and ran. The little maiden stood and trembled with
+      clasped hands as she looked upon the fray. Ichabod lifted his smock-frock
+      to get his hands into the pockets of his corduroys, and watched with the
+      air of an old artist standing behind a young one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;You shouldn&rsquo;t work at it so much, Master Richard,&rsquo; said Ichabod. &lsquo;Tek it
+      easier, and wait for him. That&rsquo;s it!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The combat was brief and decisive. The youthful savage carried the heavier
+      metal, but he was slow with it; but suddenly, as if to show that he was
+      not altogether without activity, he turned and ran his hardest Master
+      Richard, with blue-gray eyes still glistening and hands still clenched in
+      the ardour of battle, turned upon the little girl, who was some two years
+      younger than himself At the sight of her he turned shy and blushed, and
+      the little girl turned shy and blushed also. She looked at the ground, and
+      then she looked at Richard, and then she looked at the ground again. She
+      was slender and delicate, and had very beautiful soft brown eyes, and the
+      hero of a minute back was abashed before her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;You &lsquo;m a Mountain, baint you?&rsquo; said Ichabod, looking at her with
+      disfavour. She looked shyly at him, but did not answer. &lsquo;What&rsquo;s your
+      name?&rsquo; he asked, stooping towards her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Julia Mountain,&rsquo; said the child, in a trembling treble.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; said Ichabod, &lsquo;I thought so. Come along, Master Richard, or else we
+      shall niver get hum again afore dark.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Master Richard walked away with backward glances, shyly directed at the
+      little girl, and the little girl stood with her cheek inclining to her
+      shoulder, and the shoulder drawn up a little, as if to shelter her, and
+      looked after him. This exchange went on until Ichabod and the boy had
+      turned the corner of the lane, when Miss Julia Mountain ran home as fast
+      as her small legs would take her, and Master Richard Reddy, with a vision
+      in his mind, walked alongside his companion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;You should tek a lesson or two, Master Richard,&rsquo; said Ichabod, &lsquo;and then
+      thee&rsquo;dst do a heap better. I&rsquo;m rusty nowadaysen, but I used to love it
+      when I was a young un.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Master Eichard heard nothing of this or of the advice which followed it.
+      He enacted many times over the small adventure of the last five minutes,
+      and at the end of every mental history he traced, the little figure stood
+      in the lane looking shyly at him over one shoulder as he turned the
+      corner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      II
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Samson Mountain went home in an ill-temper, and, as was usual with him
+      when in that condition, did everything he had to do with a sulky and noisy
+      emphasis, bursting open doors with unnecessary violence, slamming them
+      with needless force behind him, and clamping heavily from room to room.
+      His wife, who was submissive at the surface, but unconquerable at bottom,
+      knew these signs, and accepted them with outer show of meekness. Samson
+      tramped into the sitting-room, and there found his wife alone. He flung to
+      the door behind him with a crash which would have been startling if it had
+      been unexpected, and fell heavily into a roomy arm-chair by the fireside.
+      Mrs. Mountain took no notice of this, but went on placidly with her
+      sewing. Samson threw his heavily-booted feet noisily into the fender, and
+      still Mrs. Mountain went on placidly, without so much as looking at him.
+      Stung by this disregard of his obvious ill-humour, Samson made a lunge
+      with his foot at the fire-irons, and brought them down with a bang.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Lawk a daisy me, Samson,&rsquo; said his wife mildly. &lsquo;What&rsquo;s the matter with
+      the man?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Matter!&rsquo; growled Samson. &lsquo;It&rsquo;s a thing as ud get a saint to set his back
+      up. I was down i&rsquo; the bridge leasowe bare an hour ago, and who should I
+      see but that young imp of a Reddy along wi&rsquo; that old viper of a Bubb. Thee
+      know&rsquo;st the chap&mdash;that Ichabod.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I know him, Samson,&rsquo; answered Mrs. Mountain. &lsquo;He&rsquo;s the most impudent of
+      all of &lsquo;em.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;They stood atop o&rsquo; the bridge,&rsquo; pursued Samson, &lsquo;and I could hear &lsquo;em
+      talkin&rsquo;. Th&rsquo; ode rip was tellin&rsquo; the young un that outworn lie about the
+      brook. I&rsquo;d got a shot i&rsquo; the barrel, and I&rsquo;d more than half a mind to ha&rsquo; 
+      peppered him. I&rsquo;d ha&rsquo; done it if it had been worth while.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;There&rsquo;s no end to their malice and oncharitable-ness,&rsquo; said Mrs.
+      Mountain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I heard the young imp say he&rsquo;d fowt our Joe and licked him,&rsquo; pursued
+      Samson. &lsquo;If ever it should come to my knowledge as a truth I&rsquo;d put Master
+      Joe in such fettle he wouldn&rsquo;t sit down for the best side a month o&rsquo; 
+      Sundays.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;They &lsquo;m giving the child such airs,&rsquo; said his wife, &lsquo;it&rsquo;s enough to turn
+      the bread o&rsquo; life which nourishes.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Mountain had an object in view, and, after her own fashion, had held
+      it long in view in silence. The moment seemed to her propitious, and she
+      determined to approach it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Young toad!&rsquo; said Samson, rising to kick at the coals with his
+      heavy-heeled boot, and plunging backward into the chair again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;To hear him talk&mdash;that fine an&rsquo; mincin&rsquo;&mdash;you&rsquo;d think he was one
+      o&rsquo; my lord&rsquo;s grandchildren or a son o&rsquo; the squire&rsquo;s at least,&rsquo; said Mrs.
+      Mountain, approaching her theme with circuitous caution.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Ay!&rsquo; Samson assented &lsquo;It&rsquo;s enough to turn your stomach to listen to him.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;If they go on as they&rsquo;re goings pursued his wife, circling a little
+      nearer, &lsquo;we shall live to see fine things.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;We shall, indeed,&rsquo; said Samson, a little mollified to find his wife so
+      unusually warm in the quarrel. &lsquo;There&rsquo;s no such a thing as contentment to
+      be found amongst &lsquo;em. They settle up to be looked upon as gentlefolks.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Yes; fine things we shall live to see, no doubt, if we don&rsquo;t tek care.
+      But thanks be, Samson, it&rsquo;s left in our own hands.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;What be&rsquo;st hoverin&rsquo; at?&rsquo; demanded Samson, turning upon her with his surly
+      red face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Things ain&rsquo;t what they used to be when you an&rsquo; me was younger,&rsquo; said Mrs.
+      Mountain. &lsquo;The plain ode-fashioned Barfield talk as you and me was bred up
+      to, Samson, ain&rsquo;t good enough nowadays for the very kitchen wenches and
+      the labourers on the farm. Everybody&rsquo;s gettin&rsquo; that new-fangled!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Barfield&rsquo;s good enough for me, and good enough for mine,&rsquo; said Samson,
+      with sulky wrath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;It&rsquo;s good enough for we, to be sure, but whether it&rsquo;s good enough for
+      ourn is another churnin&rsquo; o&rsquo; butter altogether,&rsquo; his wife answered. &lsquo;It ud
+      seem as if ivery generation talked different from one another. My mother,
+      as was a very well-spoken woman for her day, used to call a cup o&rsquo; tay a
+      dish o&rsquo; tay, and that&rsquo;s a thing as only the very ignorant ud stoop to
+      nowadays.&rsquo; Samson growled, and wallowed discontentedly in the big
+      arm-chair. &lsquo;A mother&rsquo;s got her natural feelings, Samson,&rsquo; Mrs. Mountain
+      continued, with an air and tone of mildest resignation. &lsquo;I don&rsquo;t scruple
+      to allow as it&rsquo;ll hurt me if I should live to see our Joe looked down upon
+      by a Reddy.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Looked down upon!&rsquo; cried Samson. &lsquo;Where&rsquo;s the Reddy as can count acre for
+      acre agen us, or guinea for guinea?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;The Reddy&rsquo;s is fairly well-to-do, Samson,&rsquo; said Mrs. Mountain; &lsquo;very nigh
+      as well-to-do as we be.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Pooh!&rsquo; returned Samson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Oh, but they be, though,&rsquo; his wife insisted. &lsquo;Pretty near. There&rsquo;s
+      nothing so much between us as&rsquo;d prevent &lsquo;em from taking airs with us if
+      they could find out anything to do it for.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;If they could!&rsquo; Samson assented. &lsquo;Abel Eeddy was a bragger and a boaster
+      from his cradle days.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;That&rsquo;s where it is,&rsquo; cried Mrs. Mountain, in a tone which implied that
+      Samson had made a discovery of the first importance, and that this
+      discovery unexpectedly confirmed her own argument. &lsquo;Let &lsquo;em have the least
+      little bit of a chance for a brag, and where be you?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;You might trust &lsquo;em to tek advantage on it if they had it,&rsquo; said her
+      husband.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Of course you might,&rsquo; said she, with warmth, &lsquo;and that&rsquo;s why I&rsquo;m fearful
+      on it.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Fearful o&rsquo; what?&rsquo; demanded Samson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;O&rsquo; these here scornful fine-gentleman ways as&rsquo;ll be a thorn in our Joe&rsquo;s
+      side as long as he lives, poor little chap, unless we put him in the way
+      to combat again &lsquo;em.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; Samson growled, suddenly enlightened. &lsquo;I see now what thee beest
+      drivin&rsquo; at. Now, you take a straight sayin&rsquo; from me, Mary Ann. I&rsquo;ll have
+      no fine-mouthed, false-natur&rsquo;d corruption i&rsquo; my household. If the Reddys
+      choose to breed up that young imp of theirn to drawl fine and to talk
+      smooth above his station&mdash;let &lsquo;em.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Well, Samson,&rsquo; returned Mrs. Mountain, who knew by long experience when
+      her husband was malleable, &lsquo;you know best, and you&rsquo;re the master here, as
+      it&rsquo;s on&rsquo;y fit and becomin&rsquo; an&rsquo; in the rightful nature o&rsquo; things as you
+      should be.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The first effect of the oil of flattery seemed to be to harden him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I be, and I mean to be,&rsquo; he answered, with added surliness. &lsquo;If the
+      speech and the clothes and the vittles as have been good enough for me
+      ain&rsquo;t good enough for any young upstart as may follow after me, it <i>is</i>
+      a pity.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mary Ann kept silence and looked meek. Samson growled and bullied a
+      little, and wore the airs of a dictator. By and by a serving-maid came in
+      and began to arrange the table for tea, and a little later a boy and a
+      girl stole noiselessly into the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Joe,&rsquo; said Samson sternly, &lsquo;come here!&rsquo; The boy approached him with
+      evident dread. &lsquo;What&rsquo;s this I hear about thee and that young villin of a
+      Reddy?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I don&rsquo;t know, father,&rsquo; the boy answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I heard him makin&rsquo; a boast this afternoon,&rsquo; said Samson, rolling
+      bullyingly in his arm-chair, &lsquo;as you and him had fowt last holidays, and
+      as he gi&rsquo;en you a hiding.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Joe said nothing, but looked as if he expected the experience to be
+      repeated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Now, what ha&rsquo; you got to say to that?&rsquo; demanded his father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Why,&rsquo; began Joe, edging back a little, &lsquo;he&rsquo;s bigger nor I be, an&rsquo; six
+      months o&rsquo;der.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Do you mean to tell me,&rsquo; cried Samson, reaching out a hand and seizing
+      the little fellow by the jacket, &lsquo;do you mean to tell me as you allowed to
+      have enough to that young villin?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;No,&rsquo; Joe protested. &lsquo;That I niver did. It was the squire as parted us.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;You remember this,&rsquo; said his father, shaking him to emphasise the
+      promise. &lsquo;If ever you agree to tek a hiding from a Reddy you&rsquo;ve got one to
+      follow on from me. D&rsquo;ye hear?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Yes, father.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Tek heed as well as hear. D&rsquo;ye hear?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Yes, father.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;And here&rsquo;s another thing, mind you. It&rsquo;s brought to me as you and him
+      shook hands and took on to be friends with one another. Is that trew?&rsquo; Joe
+      looked guilty, but made no answer. &lsquo;Is it trew?&rsquo; Still Joe returned no
+      answer, and his father changing the hand with which he held him, for his
+      own greater convenience, knocked him off his feet, restored him to his
+      balance, knocked him off his feet again, and again settled him. &lsquo;Now,&rsquo; 
+      said Samson, &lsquo;is it trew?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy tried to recoil from the uplifted threatening hand, and cried out
+      &lsquo;No!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Now,&rsquo; said Samson, rising with a grim satisfaction, &lsquo;that&rsquo;s a lie.
+      There&rsquo;s nothin&rsquo; i&rsquo; the world as I abhor from like a lie I&rsquo;ll teach thee to
+      tell me lies. Goo into the brewus and tek thy shirt off; March!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little girl clung to her mother&rsquo;s skirts crying and trembling. The
+      mother herself was trembling, and had turned pale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Hush, hush, my pretty,&rsquo; she said, caressing the child, and averting her
+      eyes from Joe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;March!&rsquo; said Samson, and Joe slunk out of the room, hardening his heart
+      as well as might be for endurance. But when he was once out of sight of
+      the huge bullying figure and threatening eye and hand, the sight of his
+      cap lying upon a chair in the hall supplied him with an inspiration. He
+      seized the cap, slipped out at the front door, and ran.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The early winter night was falling fast by this time. Half a dozen stars
+      twinkled intermittently in the black-blue waste of sky, and when the lad
+      paused to listen for possible sounds of pursuit the hollow moaning of the
+      wind and the clang of bare wintry poles mingled with the noise of his own
+      suppressed breathing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The runaway fancied himself bound (as all British runaway boys seem bound)
+      for sea, and he set out without delay to walk to Liverpool. He got as far
+      as the brook which formed the limit to his father&rsquo;s farm, and lingering
+      before he set foot upon the bridge, began to cry a little, and to bemoan
+      his chances and the dear ones left behind. His father came in for none of
+      Joe&rsquo;s regrets. It was in the nature of things to the boy&rsquo;s mind that his
+      father should administer to him periodical thrashings, whether he had
+      earned them or not. It was the one social relationship which existed
+      between them. It was only quite of late that Joe had begun to discern
+      injustice in his father&rsquo;s bullyings. Children take things as they come,
+      and to the mind of a child&mdash;in a modified sense, of course&mdash;whatever
+      is, is right. That a thing exists is its own best justification. There is
+      no reason to seek reasons for it. But Joe Mountain, having nearly outgrown
+      this state of juvenile acquiescence, had begun to make inquiry of himself,
+      and, as a result, had familiarised himself with many mental pictures in
+      which he figured as an adventurer rich in adventures. In his day the youth
+      of England were less instructed than they are now, but the immortal Defoe
+      existed, and Lemuel Gulliver was as real as he is to-day. Perhaps the
+      Board schools may have made that great mariner a little less real than he
+      used to be. Joe believed in him with all his heart, had never had the
+      shadow of a doubt about him, and meant to sail straight from Liverpool to
+      Lilliput. He would defer his voyage to Brobdingnagia until he had grown
+      bigger, and should be something of a match for its inhabitants.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it was cold, it was darkening fast, it was past his ordinary tea-time.
+      Liverpool and Lilliput were far away, pretty nearly equidistant to the
+      juvenile mind, and but for Samson&rsquo;s shadow the tea-table would have looked
+      alluring. To be sure of tea, and a bed to sleep in afterwards, it seemed
+      almost worth while to go back to the brewhouse and obey the paternal
+      command to take his shirt off. To do the child justice, it was less the
+      fear of the thrashing than the hot sense of rebellion at unfairness which
+      kept him from returning. His father had beaten him into that untrue cry of
+      &lsquo;No,&rsquo; and had meant to force him to it, and then to beat him anew for it.
+      Joe knew that better than Samson, for Samson, like the rest of us, liked
+      to stand well with himself, and kept self-opinion in blinkers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Joe set foot on the bridge. He had crossed the boundary brook hundreds of
+      times in his brief life, and it had generally come into his mind, with a
+      boyish sense of adventure, that when he did so he was putting foot into
+      the enemy&rsquo;s country. But the feeling had never been so strong as now. The
+      Mountain Farm was home, and beyond it lay the wide, wide world, looking
+      wide indeed, and bleak and cold. What with hot rebellion at injustice and
+      cold fear of the vast and friendless expanse, Joe&rsquo;s tears multiplied, and
+      leaning his arms upon the low coping of the bridge, with his head between
+      them and his nose touching the frozen stone, he began to cry
+      unrestrainedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly he heard a footstep, and it struck a new terror into his soul.
+      Freebooters, footpads, kidnappers, <i>et hoc genus omne</i>, roamed those
+      fields by night, in course of nature. To the snug security of the home
+      fireside and bed their images came with a delightful thrill of fear, but
+      to be here alone and in the midst of them was altogether another thing. He
+      crept crouching across the bridge, and stowed himself into the smallest
+      possible compass between the end of the stonework and the neighbouring
+      hedgerow, and there waited trembling. His pulses beat so fast and made
+      such a noise in his ears that he was ready to take the sound of footsteps
+      for the tread of a whole ogreish army, when he heard a voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Hode on a minute, while I shift the sack.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sack? It was easy&mdash;it was inevitable&mdash;to know that the sack
+      contained a goblin supper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I shall be late for tea, Ichabod,&rsquo; said another voice, &lsquo;and then I shall
+      get a blowing-up for coming.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     Let him who sighs in sadness here,
+     Rejoice, and know a friend is near.
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      Joe sprang from his hiding-place, and startled Master Richard and Ichabod
+      more than a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;That thee, Dick?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He knew it well enough, but it was quite delightful to be able to ask it
+      with certainty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Hillo,&rsquo; said Master Richard, recognising his sworn friend. &lsquo;What are you
+      doing? Are you trapping anything?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;No,&rsquo; the hereditary enemy answered. He had been crying, the poor little
+      chap, until he had been frightened into quiet, and now on a sudden he was
+      as brave and as glad again as ever he had been in his life. Once more
+      adventures loomed ahead for the adventurous, and he shone within and grew
+      warm with the sweet reflux of courage as he whispered, &lsquo;I&rsquo;m running away
+      from home!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once again, the feat was glorious.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;No?&rsquo; said Master Richard, smitten with envy and admiration. &lsquo;Are you?
+      Really?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; Joe answered. &lsquo;I&rsquo;m agooin&rsquo; to Liverpool, to begin wi&rsquo;.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This was exquisitely large and vague, and Master Richard began to yearn
+      for a share in the high enterprise upon which his friend had entered. He
+      had half a mind to run away from home himself, though, to be sure, there
+      was nothing else to run away from. In Joe&rsquo;s case there was a difference.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Where are you going to stay to-night?&rsquo; asked Master Richard. The question
+      sounded practical, but at bottom it was nothing of the sort. It was part
+      of the romance of the thing, and yet it threw cold water on Joe&rsquo;s
+      newly-lighted courage, and put it out again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I don&rsquo;t know,&rsquo; said Joe, somewhat forlornly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I say,&rsquo; interjected Ichabod, &lsquo;is that young Mountain, Master Richard?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said Master Richard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Thee know&rsquo;st thy feyther is again thy speakin&rsquo; to him, and his feyther is
+      again his speakin&rsquo; to thee.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;You mind your own business, Ichabod,&rsquo; said the young autocrat, who was a
+      little spoiled perhaps, and had been accustomed to have his own way in
+      quite a princely fashion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I&rsquo;m mindin&rsquo; it,&rsquo; returned Ichabod. &lsquo;It&rsquo;s a part o&rsquo; my business to keep
+      thee out o&rsquo; mischief.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; piped Master Richard, &lsquo;you needn&rsquo;t mind that part of your business
+      to-night.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;All right,&rsquo; said Ichabod, reshouldering the sack he had meanwhile
+      balanced on the coping of the bridge. &lsquo;See as thee beesn&rsquo;t late for
+      tay-time.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With that, having discharged his conscience, he went on again, and the two
+      boys stayed behind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;What are you running away for?&rsquo; asked Eichard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Why, feyther said it was brought to him as you and me had shook hands and
+      had took on to be friends with one another, and he told me to go into the
+      brewus and take my shirt off.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Take your shirt off?&rsquo; inquired the other. In Joe&rsquo;s lifetime, short as it
+      was, he had had opportunity to grow familiar with this fatherly formula,
+      but it was strange to Master Richard. &lsquo;What for?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;What for! Why, to get a hidin&rsquo;, to be sure.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Look here!&rsquo; said Richard, having digested this, &lsquo;you come and stop in one
+      of our barns. Have you had your tea?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;No,&rsquo; returned Joe, &lsquo;I shouldn&rsquo;t ha&rsquo; minded so much if I had.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I&rsquo;ll bring something out to you,&rsquo; said the protector.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So the two lads set out together, and to evade Ichabod, struck off at a
+      run across the fields, Joe pantingly setting forth, in answer to his
+      comrade&rsquo;s questions, how he was going to be a sailor or a pirate, &lsquo;or
+      summat,&rsquo; or to have a desert island like Crusoe. Of course, it was all
+      admirable to both of them, and, of course, it was all a great deal more
+      real than the fields they ran over.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The runaway was safely deposited in a roomy barn, and left there alone,
+      when once again a life of adventures began to assume a darkish complexion.
+      It was cold, it was anxious, it seemed to drag interminably, and it was
+      abominably lonely. If it were to be all like this, even the prospect of an
+      occasional taking off of one&rsquo;s shirt in the brewhouse looked less
+      oppressive than it had done.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The hidden Joe, bound for piracy on the high seas, or a Crusoe&rsquo;s island
+      somewhere, gave a wonderful zest to Master Richard&rsquo;s meal But an hour,
+      which seemed like a year to the less fortunate of the two, went by before
+      a raid upon the well-furnished larder of Perry Hall could be effected.
+      When the opportunity came, Master Richard, with no remonstrance from
+      conscience, laid hands upon a loaf and a dish of delicious little cakes of
+      fried pork fat, from which the lard had that day been &lsquo;rendered,&rsquo; and thus
+      supplied, stole out to his hereditary enemy and fed him. The hereditary
+      enemy complained of cold, and his host groped the dark place for sacks,
+      and, having found them, brought them to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I say,&rsquo; said Joe, when he had tasted the provender, &lsquo;them&rsquo;s scratchings.
+      That&rsquo;s gay and fine. I never had as many as I should like afore. Mother
+      says they&rsquo;re too rich, but that&rsquo;s all rubbish.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He made oily feast in the dark, with the sacks heaped about him. With
+      Master Richard to help him, he began to swim in adventure, and the pair
+      were so fascinated and absorbed that one of the farm-servants went bawling
+      &lsquo;Master Richard&rsquo; about the outlying buildings for two or three minutes
+      before they heard him. When at last the call reached their ears they had
+      to wait until it died away again before the surreptitious host dare leave
+      the barn, lest his being seen should draw attention to the place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Joe, who had been hunting wild beasts of all sorts with the greatest
+      possible gusto, began in turn to be hunted by them. The rattlesnake,
+      hitherto unknown to Castle Barfield, became a common object; the lion and
+      the polar bear met on common ground in the menagerie of Joe&rsquo;s imagination.
+      Whatever poor blessings and hopes he had, and whatever schoolboy wealth he
+      owned, he would have surrendered all of them to be in the brewhouse of the
+      Mountain Farm, even though he were there to take his shirt off But the
+      empty, impassable, awful night stood between him and any refuge, and he
+      must need stay where he was, and sweat with terror under his sacks,
+      through all the prodigious tracts of time which lay between the evening
+      and the morning. He was to have been up and afoot for Liverpool before
+      dawn, but tired nature chose the time he had fixed for starting to send
+      him to sleep, and when Master Richard stole into the barn with intent to
+      disperse the sacks and clear away any sign of Joe&rsquo;s occupancy, he found
+      him slumbering soundly, with a tear-stained cheek resting on a dirty brown
+      hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There had been the wildest sort of hubbub and disorder at the Mountain
+      Farm all night. Mrs. Mountain had wept and wrung her hands, and rocking
+      herself to and fro, had poured forth doleful prophecy. Samson, who had
+      begun with bluster, had fallen into anxiety, and had himself traced the
+      course of the brook for a full mile by lanthorn-light. The farm hands had
+      been sent abroad, and had tracked every road without result. Of course the
+      one place where nobody so much as thought of making inquiry was the house
+      of the hereditary foe, but pretty early, in the course of the morning, the
+      news of Joe Mountain&rsquo;s disappearance, and something of the reasons for it,
+      reached Perry Hall. Everybody at Perry Hall knew already what a terrible
+      personage Samson Mountain was, and his behaviour on this occasion was the
+      theme of scathing comment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Master Richard was guilty at heart, but exultant. Being a boy of lively
+      imagination, he took to a secrecy so profound, and became so strikingly
+      stealthy, as to excite observation and remark. He was watched and tracked
+      to the barn, and then the discovery came about as a matter of course. The
+      Reddys made much of Joe&mdash;they had no quarrel with an innocent
+      persecuted child&mdash;but their kindness and commiseration were simply
+      darts to throw at Samson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was noon when Reddy put the trembling adventurer into his trap, and
+      with his own hands drove him home. The two enemies met and glowered at
+      each other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I&rsquo;ve found your lad and brought him home,&rsquo; said Reddy; &lsquo;though I doubt
+      it&rsquo;s a cruel kindness to him.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Samson, with all the gall in his nature burning at his heart, lifted Joe
+      from the trap and set him on the ground in silence. Reddy, in silence,
+      turned his horse&rsquo;s head, touched him with the whip, and drove away. Joe
+      was welcomed home by a thrashing, which he remembers in old age.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The episode bore fruit in several ways. To begin with, Master Joe was
+      packed off to a distant school, far from that to which young Reddy was
+      sent. But the boys found each other out in the holidays, and became firm
+      friends on the sly, and Joe was so loyal and admiring that he never ceased
+      to talk to his one confidante of the courage, the friendliness, the
+      generosity, the agility, and skill of his secret hero. The confidante was
+      his sister Julia, to whom the young hereditary enemy became a synonym for
+      whatever is lovely and of good report. She used to look at him in church&mdash;she
+      had little other opportunity of observing him&mdash;and would think in her
+      childish innocent mind how handsome and noble he looked. He did not speak
+      like the Barfield boys, or look like them, or walk like them. He was a
+      young prince, heir to vast estates, and a royal title in fairyland. If
+      story-books were few and far between, the sentimental foolish widow, Jenny
+      Busker, was a mine of narrative, and a single fairy tale is enough to open
+      all other fairy lore to a child&rsquo;s imagination. If the little girl
+      worshipped the boy, he, in his turn, looked kindly down on her. He had
+      fought for her once at odds of two to one, and he gave her a smile now and
+      then. It happened that in this wise began the curious, half-laughable, and
+      half-pathetic little history which buried the hatreds of the Castle
+      Barfield Capulet and Montague for ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      III
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      In this Castle Barfield version of Romeo and Juliet the parody would have
+      been impossible without the aid and intervention of some sort of Friar
+      Laurence. He was a notability of those parts in those days, and he was
+      known as the Dudley Devil. In these enlightened times he would have been
+      dealt with as a rogue and vagabond, and, not to bear too hardly upon an
+      historical personage, whom there is nobody (even with all our wealth of
+      historical charity-mongers) to whitewash, he deserved richly in his own
+      day the treatment he would have experienced in ours. He discovered stolen
+      property&mdash;when his confederates aided him; he put the eye on people
+      obnoxious to his clients, for a consideration; he overlooked milch cows,
+      and they yielded blood; he went about in the guise of a great gray
+      tom-cat. It was historically true in my childhood&mdash;though, like other
+      things, it may have ceased to be historically true since then&mdash;that
+      it was in this disguise of the great gray tom-cat that he met his death.
+      He was fired at by a farmer, the wounded cat crawled into the wizard&rsquo;s
+      cottage, and the demon restored to human form was found dying later on
+      with a gun-shot charge in his ribs. There were people alive a dozen&mdash;nay,
+      half a dozen&mdash;years ago, who <i>knew</i> these things, to whom it was
+      blasphemous to dispute them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The demon&rsquo;s earthly name was Rufus Smith, and he lived &lsquo;by Dudley Wood
+      side, where the wind blows cold,&rsquo; as the local ballad puts it His mother
+      had dealt in the black art before him, and was ducked to death in the
+      Severn by the bridge in the ancient town of Bewdley. He was a lean man,
+      with a look of surly fear. It is likely enough that he half expected some
+      of his invocations to come true one fine day or other, with consequences
+      painful to himselt The old notions are dying out fast, but it used to be
+      said in that region that when a man talked to himself he was talking with
+      the universal enemy. Rufus and his mother were great chatterers in
+      solitude, and what possible companion could they have but one?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It is not to be supposed that all the ministrations for which the people
+      of the country-side relied upon Rufus were mischievous. If he had done
+      nothing but overlook cattle and curse crops, and so forth, he would have
+      been hunted out. Some passably good people have been said, upon occasions,
+      to hold a candle to the devil. With a similar diversion from general
+      principle, Rufus was known occasionally to perform acts of harmless
+      utility. He charmed away warts and corns, he prepared love philtres, and
+      sold lucky stones. He foreran the societies which insure against accident,
+      and would guarantee whole bones for a year or a lifetime, according to the
+      insurer&rsquo;s purse or fancy. He told fortunes by the palm and by the cards,
+      and was the sole proprietor and vendor of a noted heal-all salve of magic
+      properties.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He and his mother had gathered together between them a respectable handful
+      of ghastly trifles, which were of substantial service alike to him and to
+      his clients. A gentleman coming to have his corns or warts charmed away
+      would be naturally assisted towards faith by the aspect of the polecat&rsquo;s
+      skeleton, the skulls of two or three local criminals, and the shrivelled,
+      mummified dead things which hung about the walls or depended head
+      downwards from the ceiling. These decorations apart, the wizard&rsquo;s home was
+      a little commonplace. It stood by itself in a bare hollow, an
+      unpicturesque and barn-like cottage, not altogether weather-proof.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It fell upon a day that Mrs. Jenny Rusker drove over from Castle Barfield
+      to pay Rufus a visit. She rode in a smart little trap, the kind of thing
+      employed by the better sort of rustic tradesmen, and drove a smart little
+      pony. She was a motherly, foolish, good creature, who, next to the reading
+      of plays and romances, loved to have children about her and to make them
+      happy. On this particular day she had Master Richard with her. She kept up
+      her acquaintance with both her old lovers, and was on terms of rather
+      coolish friendship with them. But she adored their children, and would
+      every now and again make a descent on the house of one or other of her old
+      admirers and ravish away a child for a day or two.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Jenny had consoled herself elsewhere for the loss of lovers for whom
+      she had never cared a halfpenny, but she had never ceased to hold a sort
+      of liking for both her old suitors. Their claims had formerly been pretty
+      evenly balanced in her mind, and even now, when the affair was ancient
+      enough in all conscience to have been naturally and quietly buried long
+      ago, she never met either of her quondam lovers without some touch of
+      old-world coquetry in her manner. The faintest and most far-away touch of
+      anything she could call romance was precious to the old woman, and having
+      a rare good heart of her own under all her superannuated follies, she
+      adored the children. Dick was her especial favourite, as was only natural,
+      for he was pretty enough and regal enough with his childish airs of <i>petit
+      grand seigneur</i> to make him beloved of most women who met him. Women
+      admire the frank masterfulness of a generous and half-spoiled boy, and
+      Mrs. Jenny saw in the child the prophecy of all she had thought well of in
+      his father, refined by the grace of childhood and by a better breeding
+      than the father had ever had.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So she and Dick were great allies, and there was always cake and
+      elderberry wine and an occasional half-crown for him at Laburnum Cottage.
+      It was only natural that, so fostered, Dick&rsquo;s affection for the old lady
+      should be considerable. She was his counsellor and confidante from his
+      earliest years, and the little parlour, with its antiquated furniture and
+      works of art-in wool, its haunting odour of pot-pourri emanating from the
+      big china jar upon the mantelshelf, and its moist warm atmosphere dimly
+      filtered through the drooping green and gold of the laburnum tree, whose
+      leaves tapped incessantly against the lozenged panes of its barred
+      windows, was almost as familiar in his memory in after years as the
+      sitting-room at home at the farm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dick conferred upon its kindly and garrulous old tenant the brevet rank of
+      &lsquo;Aunt&rsquo; Jenny, and loved her, telling her, in open-hearted childish
+      fashion, his thoughts, experiences, and secrets. Naturally, the story of
+      the fight with the paynim oppressors of beauty came out in his talk soon
+      after its occurrence, and lost nothing in the telling. Mrs. Jenny would
+      have found a romance in circumstances much less easily usable to that end
+      than those of the scion of one house rescuing the daughter of a rival and
+      inimical line, and here was material enough for foolish fancy. She cast a
+      prophetic eye into the future, and saw Dick and Julia, man and maid,
+      reuniting their severed houses in the bonds of love, or doubly embittering
+      their mutual hatred and perishing&mdash;young and lovely victims to
+      clannish hatred and parental rigour&mdash;like Romeo and Juliet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy&rsquo;s account of the fight was given as he sat by her side in her
+      little pony-trap in the cheerfully frosty morning. Dick chatted gaily as
+      the shaggy-backed pony trotted along the resounding road with a clatter of
+      hoofs and a jingle of harness, and an occasional sneeze at the frosty air.
+      They passed the field of battle on the road, and Dick pointed it out.
+      Then, as was natural, he turned to the family feud, and retailed all he
+      had heard from Ichabod, supplemented by information from other quarters
+      and such additions of fancy as imaginative children and savages are sure
+      to weave about the fabric of any story which comes in their way to make
+      tradition generally the trustworthy thing it is.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Busker was strong on the family quarrel. A family quarrel was a great
+      thing in her estimation, almost as good as a family ghost, and she gave
+      Dick the whole history of the incident of the brook and of many others
+      which had grown out of it, among them one concerning the death of a
+      certain Reddy which had tragically come to pass a year or two before his
+      birth. The said Reddy had been found one November evening stark and cold
+      at the corner of the parson&rsquo;s spinney, with an empty gun grasped in his
+      stiffened hand, and a whole charge of small shot in his breast. Crowner&rsquo;s
+      quest had resulted in a verdict of death by misadventure, and the
+      generally received explanation was that the young fellow&rsquo;s own gun had
+      worked the mischief by careless handling in passing through stiff
+      undergrowth. But a certain ne&rsquo;er-do-well Mountain, a noted striker and
+      tosspot of the district, had mysteriously disappeared about that date, and
+      had never since come within scope of Castle Barfield knowledge. Ugly
+      rumours had got afloat, vague and formless, and soon to die out of general
+      memory. Dick listened open-mouthed to all this, and when the narrative was
+      concluded, held his peace for at least two minutes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;<i>She</i> isn&rsquo;t wicked, is she, Aunt Jenny?&rsquo; he suddenly demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;She? Who? &lsquo;asked Mrs. Eusker in return. &lsquo;The little girl, Julia.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Wicked? Sakes alive, whativer is the boy talking about? Wicked? O&rsquo; course
+      not. She&rsquo;s a dear good little thing as iver lived.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Ichabod said that all the Mountains were wicked. But I know Joe isn&rsquo;t&mdash;at
+      least, not very. He promised me a monkey and a parrot&mdash;a green
+      parrot, when he came back from running away. But he didn&rsquo;t run away,
+      because father found him and took him home. His father gave him an awful
+      thrashing. He often thrashes him, Joe says. Father never thrashes me. What
+      does his father thrash him for?&rsquo; &lsquo;Mr. Mountain&rsquo;s a harder man than your
+      father, my dear. An&rsquo; I fear as Joe&rsquo;s a bit wild, like his father when he
+      was a boy, and obstinit. Theer niver was a obstinater man i&rsquo; this earth
+      than Samson Mountain, I do believe, an&rsquo; Joe&rsquo;s got a bit on it in him.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;She&rsquo;s pretty,&rsquo; said Dick, returning with sudden childish inconsequence to
+      the subject uppermost in his thoughts. &lsquo;Joe isn&rsquo;t Why is it that the girls
+      are always prettier than the boys?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I used to think it was the other way about when I was a gell,&rsquo; said Aunt
+      Jenny, with perfect simplicity. &lsquo;But she is pretty, that&rsquo;s true. But then
+      her mother was a likely lass, an&rsquo; Samson warn&rsquo;t bad lookin&rsquo;, if he hadn&rsquo;t
+      ha&rsquo; been so fierce an&rsquo; cussid. An&rsquo; to think as it should be you, of all
+      the lads i&rsquo; Barfield, as should save a Mountain. An&rsquo; a gell too.. I
+      suppose as you&rsquo;ll be a settin&rsquo; up to fall in love wi&rsquo; her now, like Romeo
+      and Juliet?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;What was that? &lsquo;asked the boy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;It&rsquo;s a play, my dear, wrote by a clever man as has been dead iver so many
+      &lsquo;ears, William Shaakespeare.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Shakespeare?&rsquo; said Dick. &lsquo;I know. It&rsquo;s a big book on one of the shelves
+      at home, full of poetry. But what&rsquo;s Romeo and Juliet?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Romeo and Juliet was two lovers, as lived a long time ago in a place
+      called Verona. I don&rsquo;t know where it is,&rsquo; she added quickly, to stave off
+      the imminent question already on the boy&rsquo;s lips. &lsquo;Somewhere abroad, wheer
+      Bonyparty is. Juliet&rsquo;s name was Capulet, an&rsquo; Romeo&rsquo;s was Montague, an&rsquo; the
+      Capilets and the Montagues hated each other so as they could niver meet
+      wi&rsquo;out havin&rsquo; a bit of a turn-up one with another. They was as bad as the
+      Reddys an&rsquo; the Mountains, only i&rsquo; them daysen folks allays wore swords an&rsquo; 
+      daggers, so&rsquo;s when they fowt they mostly killed each other. Well, one
+      night old Capilet gi&rsquo;en a party, an&rsquo; asked all his friends, an&rsquo; everybody
+      wore masks, so&rsquo;s they didn&rsquo;t know half the time who they was a-talkin&rsquo; 
+      tew, as was the fashion i&rsquo; them times, an&rsquo; Romeo, he goes, just for
+      divilment, an&rsquo; he puts on a mask tew, so as they didn&rsquo;t know him, else
+      they&rsquo;d ha&rsquo; killed him, sure an&rsquo; certain. An&rsquo; theer he sees Juliet, an&rsquo; she
+      was beautiful, an&rsquo; he falls plump in love wi&rsquo; her, an&rsquo; she falls in love
+      wi&rsquo; him, an&rsquo; they meets o&rsquo; nights, i&rsquo; the moonlight, on the window-ledge
+      outside her room, but they had to meet i&rsquo; secret, &lsquo;cause the two fam&rsquo;lies
+      was like cat an&rsquo; dog, an&rsquo; there&rsquo;d ha&rsquo; been awful doin&rsquo;s if they&rsquo;d been
+      found out. Well, old Capilet&mdash;that was Juliet&rsquo;s feyther&mdash;he
+      finds a husband for Juliet, a nice chap enough, a count, like Lord
+      Barfield, on&rsquo;y younger an&rsquo; likelier. An&rsquo; Juliet, she gets welly mad,
+      because she wants to marry Romeo. And then, to mek matters wuss, Romeo
+      meets one o&rsquo; Juliet&rsquo;s relations, a young man named Tybalt, as hates him
+      like pison, an&rsquo; they fowt, an&rsquo; Romeo killed him. Well, the Capilets was
+      powerful wi&rsquo; the king as ruled in Verona, like Joseph used to be with
+      Pharaoh in the Holy Land, my dear, an&rsquo; Romeo, he has to run away an&rsquo; hide
+      himself, else p&rsquo;raps they&rsquo;d ha&rsquo; hung him for killin&rsquo; Tybalt, though it was
+      Tybalt as begun the fight, so poor Juliet&rsquo;s left all alone. An&rsquo; her
+      marriage day&rsquo;s a-gettin&rsquo; near, and old Capilet, he&rsquo;s stuck on her marryin&rsquo; 
+      the count, an&rsquo; the day&rsquo;s been named, and everything provided for the
+      weddin&rsquo;. Well, Romeo takes a thought, an&rsquo; goes to a friar, a kind o&rsquo; 
+      priest, as was a very book-learned man, and asks if he can help him. And
+      at first he says no, he can&rsquo;t, an&rsquo; Romeo gets that crazed, he&rsquo;s goin&rsquo; to
+      kill himself, but by an&rsquo; by he thinks of a plan. He gives Juliet a bottle
+      o&rsquo; physic stuff to send her to sleep, and make her look as if she was
+      dead. Then her relations &lsquo;ll be sure to bury her i&rsquo; the family vault, an&rsquo; 
+      he&rsquo;ll write to Romeo to come back to Verona i&rsquo; the night-time an&rsquo; take her
+      out o&rsquo; the vault, an&rsquo; goo away quiet wi&rsquo; her till things have blown over,
+      an&rsquo; they can come back again. An&rsquo; Juliet takes the physic, an&rsquo; everybody
+      thinks her dead, her father, an&rsquo; her mother, an&rsquo; her old nuss, an&rsquo; Paris&mdash;that&rsquo;s
+      the name of the gentleman as they wanted her to marry&mdash;an&rsquo; there&rsquo;s
+      such a hullabaloo an&rsquo; racket as niver was. An&rsquo; they buried her i&rsquo; the
+      vault, wi&rsquo; all her relations, an&rsquo; the old friar thinks as it&rsquo;s all
+      a-comin&rsquo; straight. But the letter as he&rsquo;d writ to Romeo niver reaches him,
+      an&rsquo; Romeo hears as how Juliet&rsquo;s really dead, and he buys a bottle o&rsquo; 
+      pison, an&rsquo; comes to Juliet&rsquo;s grave i&rsquo; the night-time, an&rsquo; there he meets
+      Paris, as has come to put flowers there an&rsquo; pray for Juliet&rsquo;s soul,
+      knowin&rsquo; no better and lovin&rsquo; her very dear. An&rsquo; him an&rsquo; Romeo fights, and
+      Romeo kills him, an&rsquo; opens the vault, an&rsquo; go&rsquo;s in, an&rsquo; theer&rsquo;s Juliet,
+      lyin&rsquo; stiff an&rsquo; stark, because the physic ain&rsquo;t had time to work itself
+      off yit. An&rsquo; he kisses her, an&rsquo; cries over her, and then he teks the
+      pison, and dies. An&rsquo; just as he&rsquo;s done it, Juliet wakes up, and finds him
+      dead, and she takes his knife, an&rsquo; kills herself, poor thing, an&rsquo; that&rsquo;s
+      the hend on &lsquo;em.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old sentimentalist&rsquo;s eyes were moist, and her voice choked, as she
+      concluded her legend. It was the first love-story Dick had ever heard, and
+      in pity at the beautiful narrative, which no clumsiness of narration could
+      altogether rob of its pathos, he was crying too. There is no audience like
+      an impressionable child, and the immortal story of love and misfortune
+      seemed very pitiful to his small and tender heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Why, theer! theer! Dick! It&rsquo;s only a story, my dear, wrote in a book,&rsquo; 
+      said Mrs Jenny. &lsquo;It most likely ain&rsquo;t true, an&rsquo; if it is, it all happened
+      sich a time ago as it&rsquo;s no good a-frettin&rsquo; about it. Why, wheeriver did
+      you get all them warts? &lsquo;She took one of the hands with which Dick was
+      rubbing his eyes. &lsquo;You should have &lsquo;em looked tew, they quite spile your
+      hands. I must get Rufus Smith to have a look at &lsquo;em. You know who we&rsquo;m
+      agoin&rsquo; to see, don&rsquo;t you? You&rsquo;ve heard tell o&rsquo; the Dudley Devil, Dick?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said Dick. &lsquo;Ichabod goes to him for his rheumatism.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;It&rsquo;s on&rsquo;y a step away. That&rsquo;s his cottage, over there. We&rsquo;ll get him to
+      charm the warts away.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A hundred yards farther on Mrs. Jenny checked the pony, and, dismounting
+      from the vehicle, bade Dick tie him to an elder-shoot and follow her. They
+      went through a gap in a ruinous hedge, and traversed a furzy field, at the
+      farther side of which stood the wizard&rsquo;s hut, a wretched place of a single
+      story, with a shuttered window and a thatched roof full of holes and
+      overgrown with weeds. As they approached the door a mighty clatter was
+      audible within, and Mrs. Jenny held the boy&rsquo;s hand in a tightened grasp,
+      fearful of devilry. As they stood irresolute to advance or retreat, a big
+      cat dashed out at the doorway with a feline imprecation, and the wizard
+      appeared, revengefully waving a stick, and swearing furiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Cuss the brute,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;the divil&rsquo;s in her, sure an&rsquo; sartin&rsquo;.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It seemed not unlikely to the onlookers, the cat being the wizard&rsquo;s
+      property, and therefore, by all rule and prescription, his prompter and
+      familiar. She was not of the received colour, however, her fur being of a
+      rusty red. But as she raised her back, and spat at her master&rsquo;s visitors
+      from under her chubbed tail, she looked demoniac enough for anything. And
+      from the fashion in which, her anathema once launched, she sat down and
+      betook herself to the rearrangement of her ruffled coat, it might have
+      been conjectured that it was not purely personal to them, but that they
+      were attacked merely as types of the human race, whose society she and her
+      master had forsworn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Cuss her!&rsquo; reiterated the wizard. &lsquo;Where&rsquo;s her got tew? My soul, what&rsquo;s
+      this?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He peered with a short-sighted terror-stricken scowl on Mrs. Jenny and her
+      charge, as if for a moment the fancy had crossed him that his refractory
+      familiar had taken their shapes. His gray lips muttered something, and his
+      fingers worked oddly as he took a step or two forward, clearly outlined in
+      the cold winter sunshine against the black void beyond his open door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Why, Rufus, what&rsquo;s the matter?&rsquo; asked Mrs. Jenny. &lsquo;Don&rsquo;t look like that
+      at a body.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;It&rsquo;s you, mum?&rsquo; said the necromancer. A look of relief came into his
+      wizened face. &lsquo;I didn&rsquo;t know but what it might be&mdash;&mdash;&rsquo; His voice
+      trailed off into an indistinct murmur, and he smeared his hand heavily
+      across his face, and looked at it, mistrustfully, as if he rather expected
+      to find something else in its place. &lsquo;Cuss her!&rsquo; he said again, looking
+      round for the cat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;What&rsquo;s she done?&rsquo; demanded Mrs. Jenny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Done? Ate up all my brekfus, that&rsquo;s what she&rsquo;s done,&rsquo; rejoined the
+      wizard. The familiar grinned with a relish of the situation so fiendishly
+      human that Dick clung closer to Mrs. Rusker&rsquo;s hand, and devoutly wished
+      himself back in the trap. To his childish sense the incongruity of one
+      gifted with demoniac powers being helpless to prevent the depredations of
+      his own domestic animal did not appeal. As for Mrs. Jenny, she had piously
+      believed in witchcraft all her life, and was quite as insensible to the
+      absurdity as he.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I want you to look at this young gentleman&rsquo;s hands,&rsquo; said Mrs. Busker.
+      &lsquo;He&rsquo;s got warts that bad. I suppose you can charm &lsquo;em away for him?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Appealed to on a point of his art, the wizard&rsquo;s air changed altogether. He
+      assumed an aspect of wooden majesty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Why, yis,&rsquo; he said. &lsquo;I think I&rsquo;m equal to that Step inside, mum, and
+      bring the young gentleman with you.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Couldn&rsquo;t you&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;-&rsquo; Mrs. Busker hesitatingly began,
+      &lsquo;couldn&rsquo;t you do it outside?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;The forms and ceremonies,&rsquo; said the necromancer, with an increase of
+      woodenness in his manner, &lsquo;cannot be applied out o&rsquo; doors. Arter you,
+      mum.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He ushered them into the one room of his hut, and the cat, with her tail
+      floating above her like a banner, entered too, evading a kick, and sprang
+      upon a rotten deal shelf, which apparently acted as both dresser and
+      table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Rufus closed the ruinous door, thereby intensifying the gloom which
+      reigned within the place. The floor was of simple earth, unboarded, and
+      the air smelt of it Here and there a fine spear of ghostly sunlight
+      pierced a crack in roof or wall. By the time their eyes had become
+      accustomed to the gloom they saw that Rufus, on his knees on the floor,
+      was scratching a circle about himself with a scrap of a broken pot, and
+      the indistinct rhythmic murmur of the spell he muttered reached their
+      ears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The cat, perched upon the dresser, purred as if her internal machinery
+      were running down to final collapse, and her contracting and dilating eyes
+      borrowed infernal fires from the chance ray of sunshine in which she sat.
+      The brute&rsquo;s rusty red head, so lit, fascinated Dick, and the mingled
+      rhythms of her purring and the wizard&rsquo;s mounted and mounted, until to his
+      bewildered mind the whole world seemed filled with their murmur, and the
+      demoniac head seemed to dilate as he gazed at it. Suddenly, Rufus paused
+      in his sing-song, and the cat&rsquo;s purr ceased with it, as though her share
+      of the charm was done.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Come into the ring,&rsquo; said Rufus. His voice was shaky, and if there had
+      been light enough to see it, his face was gray with terror of his own
+      hocus-pocus. The cat&rsquo;s head had dropped out of the line of sunlight, and
+      she had coiled herself up on the dresser among a disorderly litter of
+      crockery ware. Dick, relieved from the fascination of her too-visible
+      presence, obeyed the summons, and Rufus, seating himself upon a broken
+      stool, took his hand in moist and quivering fingers, and touching the
+      warts one by one, recommenced his mumble. It had proceeded for a minute or
+      so, when a crash, which, following as it did on the dead stillness, an
+      earthquake could scarce have equalled, elicited a scream from Mrs. Jenny
+      and brought the wizard to his knees with a yell of terror.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;My blessid!&rsquo; he cried, with clacking jaws, &lsquo;I&rsquo;ve done it at last! Get
+      thee behind me, Satan!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In terror-stricken earnest he believed that the Great Personage he had
+      passed all his life in trying to raise had answered to his call at last.
+      So, though it was unquestionably a relief to him to find that the
+      appalling clatter had merely been caused by his familiar&rsquo;s pursuit of a
+      mouse among the crockery, a shade of disappointment may have followed the
+      discovery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Cuss her!&rsquo; he said, for the third time that morning, and with additional
+      unction. &lsquo;Her&rsquo;ll be the death of me some day, I know her will!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      IV
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      A summer sunset filled all the sky above Castle Barfield and its
+      encircling fields. The sun had disappeared, leaving behind him a broad
+      reflected track of glory where, here and there, a star was faintly
+      visible. A light wind was blowing from the hollow which sheltered the town
+      towards the higher land whereon the rival houses of Eeddy and Mountain
+      faced each other. Below, it was already almost night, and as the wind blew
+      the shadow mounted, as if the wind carried it. The rose and gold left by
+      the departing sun faded down the sky, and settled at the horizon into a
+      broad band of deep-toned fire, which, to one facing it in ascending from
+      the lower ground, seemed to bind the two houses together. Some such fancy
+      might have been in the head of Mrs. Jenny Rusker, as she went in the warm
+      evening air towards the little eminence on which stood the long low-built
+      house of Samson Mountain, already a-twinkle with occasional lights in the
+      gloom, its own bulk cast against the fast-fading band of sunset.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Jenny, hale and vigorous yet, and still a widow, was older by fifteen
+      years than on the day when she unfolded to Dick Reddy the story of Romeo
+      and Juliet. Fifteen years was a good slice out of a lifetime, even in
+      Castle Barfield in the first half of the century, when time slipped by so
+      quietly and left so little trace to mark his flight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She passed the gate which opened on the public road, and entered the
+      Mountain domain. The air was so still that the bubble of the boundary
+      brook was clearly audible a hundred yards away, with nothing to accent it
+      but the slow heavy flap of a late crow, winging his reluctant flight
+      homewards, and save for him, sky and earth alike seemed empty of life, and
+      delivered wholly to the clinging peace of evening. So that when Mrs. Jenny
+      came to the only clump of trees in her line of progress between the gate
+      and the house the little scream of surprise with which she found herself
+      suddenly face to face with an unexpected human figure was justified.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Sh-h-h! &lsquo;said the figure&rsquo;s owner. &lsquo;Don&rsquo;t you know me, Aunt Jenny?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Dick!&rsquo; said Mrs. Jenny, peering at him. &lsquo;So it is. You welly frightened
+      the life out o&rsquo; me. What brings you here, of all places in the world?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Can&rsquo;t you guess?&rsquo; asked Dick. He was tall and broad-shouldered now, an
+      admirable fulfilment of the physical promise of his boyhood, and far
+      overtopped Mrs. Rusker. &lsquo;It isn&rsquo;t for the first time.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I feared not,&rsquo; said the old woman. &lsquo;You was allays main venturesome.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;It will be for the last, for some time, Aunt Jenny. I leave Castle
+      Barfield to-morrow.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Leave Barfield?&rsquo; cried the old woman. &lsquo;Why, Dick, wheer are ye goin&rsquo;? You
+      ain&rsquo;t agoin&rsquo; to do nothin&rsquo; rash, that I do hope.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I am going to London,&rsquo; said Dick, &lsquo;and I must see Julia before I go. You
+      must help me. You are going to the house now, aren&rsquo;t you?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Going to London?&rsquo; repeated Mrs. Eusker, who had no ears for the last
+      words after that announcement. &lsquo;What&rsquo;s made you so hot foot to go to
+      London all of a minute like?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;It was decided to-day. My father suspects what is going on. I feel sure
+      of it, though he has never said a word about it. You know he always meant
+      to make a doctor of me&mdash;it was my own choice when I was quite a
+      little fellow, and it has always been understood. Last month he asked me
+      if I was of the same mind still, and to-day he told me that my seat is
+      taken in the coach from Birmingham. You know my father, Aunt Jenny, as
+      well as I do. He has been a very good father to me, and I would not give
+      him pain or trouble for the world. I could not refuse. Indeed, it is my
+      last chance of ever doing anything for myself and making a home for
+      Julia.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;My dear, they&rsquo;ll never hear on it, nayther of &lsquo;em. Samson Mountain &lsquo;d
+      rather see his daughter in her coffin than married to any kin of Abel
+      Reddy&rsquo;s. Though he loves her, too, in a kind o&rsquo; way. An&rsquo; your father&rsquo;s
+      jist as hard; he&rsquo;s on&rsquo;y quieter with it, that&rsquo;s all They&rsquo;ll niver consent
+      Niver, i&rsquo; this world.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Then we must do without their consent, that&rsquo;s all. I must see Julia
+      to-night, and you must help me. Tell her that I am here and must see her.
+      Oh, Aunt Jenny, you are surely not going to desert us now, after helping
+      us so often.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I&rsquo;m dub&rsquo;ous, my dear. I hope good may come of it, but I&rsquo;m dub&rsquo;ous. I&rsquo;m
+      doubtful if I did right in helping you, again your father&rsquo;s will, an&rsquo; Mr.
+      Mountain&rsquo;s, too.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;You won&rsquo;t refuse to do so little, after doing so much,&rsquo; pleaded the young
+      man. &lsquo;Why, it was at your house that I used to meet her, when we were
+      children together, and you first christened us Romeo and Juliet.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;A name o&rsquo; bad omen, my dear. I wish I hadn&rsquo;t gi&rsquo;en it to you now.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;For niver was a story o&rsquo; more woe, Than this o&rsquo; Jewliet an&rsquo; her Romeo.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I don&rsquo;t believe much in omens,&rsquo; said Dick. &lsquo;But you will tell Julia that
+      I am here, won&rsquo;t you? It&rsquo;s the last time, for ever so long.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I&rsquo;ll tell her,&rsquo; said Mrs. Rusker. &lsquo;But don&rsquo;t stay here; goo down to the
+      Five Ash. Mr. Mountain&rsquo;s gone to Burmungem, an&rsquo; he&rsquo;ll come across this way
+      when he comes back. You must tek a bit o&rsquo; care, Dick, for the gell&rsquo;s
+      sake.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I&rsquo;ll take care, dear. It&rsquo;s good-bye this time, Aunt. You&rsquo;ve been very
+      good to me always, and I shan&rsquo;t forget your kindness while I&rsquo;m away. And
+      you&rsquo;ll be good to Julia, too, while&mdash;while I&rsquo;m away, won&rsquo;t you?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Rusker&rsquo;s objections had never had any heart in them, and had been
+      merely perfunctory, and such as she conceived her age and semi-maternal
+      authority compelled her to make. She was wholly given over to Dick and
+      Julia, and all her simple craft was for their service. She kissed him, and
+      cried over him, and so they parted, he bound for the Five Ash field, and
+      she for the farmhouse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Why, lacsaday, Jenny, whativer is the matter?&rsquo; asked Mrs. Mountain, when
+      her visitor entered her sitting-room, and gave her tear-stained cheek to
+      her old friend&rsquo;s embrace. Julia, a lithe, graceful girl, rose at the query
+      from the other side of the little table, and came to Mrs. Rusker&rsquo;s side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Why, you&rsquo;re cryin&rsquo;,&rsquo; continued the elder woman. &lsquo;What is it, my dear, as
+      has upset you i&rsquo; this wise?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Well, my dear,&rsquo; said Mrs. Rusker, wiping her eyes and smoothing her
+      dress, as if her grief was done with and put away, &lsquo;it ain&rsquo;t a trouble as
+      I expects sympathy from you in.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mother and daughter exchanged glances.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;It must be a queer sort o&rsquo; trouble, then,&rsquo; said Mrs. Mountain; &lsquo;an&rsquo; you
+      might tell me what it is afore you say that, Mrs. Rusker, arter all these
+      &lsquo;ears as we&rsquo;n knowed each other.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Well, if you must know, I&rsquo;ve jist sin young Reddy, i&rsquo; the road, jist
+      outside the Five Ash.&rsquo; Julia&rsquo;s hand was on her shoulder as she spoke, and
+      she felt the soft touch tremble. &lsquo;He&rsquo;s a-leavin&rsquo; Barfield, agoin&rsquo; to
+      London, for a long time.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Oh, that&rsquo;s the matter, is it? Well, I don&rsquo;t know anythin&rsquo; agin the young
+      man, barrin&rsquo; as he is a Reddy. An&rsquo; for the matter o&rsquo; that, though o&rsquo; 
+      course a woman has no ch&rsquo;ice but to stand by the kin as her marries into,
+      I niver found much harm in &lsquo;em, unless it is as they&rsquo;re a bit stuck up. I
+      know as you was allays fond on him, an&rsquo; I hope the young man &lsquo;ll do well.
+      I&rsquo;ve often said to Samson as it was all rubbidge, a-keepin&rsquo; up a old
+      quarrel like that, as keeps two dacent fam&rsquo;lys at daggers drawn. Theer,
+      theer, let Julia get you a cup o&rsquo; tay, an&rsquo; let&rsquo;s talk o&rsquo; somethin&rsquo; 
+      cheerful.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I&rsquo;ll go and send it in to you,&rsquo; said Julia. She exchanged one quick
+      glance of intelligence with the widow as she left the room. The old woman
+      had done her errand, and Julia knew where to seek her lover. She found her
+      hat in the hall, and slipped out by the back way, after directing the
+      servant to take in the required refreshment to Mrs. Busker. It was bright
+      moonlight now, and as she ran lightly across the Five Ash field in her
+      white summer dress, Dick, waiting in the shelter of the hedge, saw her
+      plainly, and advanced to meet her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Oh, Dick, is it true?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He took her in his arms and kissed her before he answered. &lsquo;Yes, dear,
+      it&rsquo;s true. I am going to London.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;But why so suddenly, so soon?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I must, dear. It is my own choice. I am going to study, to fit myself to
+      take my place in the world, and to find a home for you. Be brave, dear. It
+      is only for a little time.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;It is all so sudden.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Yes. I had hoped to stay a little longer, to see more of you, to get used
+      to my happiness before I lost it. But my father suspects, I am sure, if he
+      does not know, and I dared not refuse. It hurts me to go, but what can I
+      do? You know the man he is. And there is only one thing in the world that
+      your father would help him to do&mdash;to separate us. I must go away and
+      make a home for you with my own hands; we can expect no help from them. If
+      we are true to each other we shall be happy yet. Our love may end the
+      ridiculous family squabble which has lasted all these generations. But it
+      would be madness to speak yet.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;It is that which makes me so unhappy, Dick. Why am I not like other
+      girls? Why can&rsquo;t you come to the farm and ask my father&rsquo;s leave to court
+      me, as other girls&rsquo; sweethearts do, and as you would like to do? I can&rsquo;t
+      help feeling that this is wrong, meeting you in secret, and being engaged
+      to you against my father&rsquo;s will, without his knowledge.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;The quarrel is not of our making, Julia. We only suffer by it. I hope we
+      shall bring it to an end, and teach two honest men to live at peace
+      together, as they ought. Why, you&rsquo;re crying.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her tears had been running quietly for some minutes past, but at this she
+      began to sob unrestrainedly. Dick comforted her in the orthodox fashion,
+      and in that sweet employment almost succeeded in forgetting his own
+      sorrow. He drew bright pictures of the future: youth held the palette, and
+      hope laid on the colour. Two or three years of partial separation&mdash;so
+      little&mdash;and he would have a livelihood in his hand, and could offer
+      her a safe asylum from parental tyranny, and bid his own people either to
+      accept the situation or renounce him, as they might choose. He was quite
+      heroic internally about the whole business. He felt the promise of the
+      coming struggle brace his nerves, and he was more than ready for the test.
+      Young love is selfish at the best, and the heroic likeness of himself
+      doing battle with the world of London half obliterated the pitiful figure
+      of the poor girl, left at home, with nothing to fill her heart but dreams.
+      For him, the delight of battle; for her, long months of weary waiting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was no doubt of him, but only the rooted longing for assurance of his
+      love, that made her ask,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;You won&rsquo;t forget me, Dick, in London?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Forget her! His repetition of the word, his little laugh of loving scorn,
+      were answer enough, though he found others, and arguments unanswerable, to
+      clinch them. How could he forget the sweetest, dearest girl that ever drew
+      the breath of life, the prettiest and the bravest? She spoke treason
+      against herself in asking such a question. He could no more forget her in
+      London than Romeo, Juliet in Mantua. She laughed a little at his recalling
+      the old story, from which Mrs. Jenny had drawn so many illustrations of
+      the course of their love since they were children. It recalled the old
+      woman to their minds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I shall write to you every week, and send the letters under cover to
+      her,&rsquo; said Dick. &lsquo;And you may be sure that I shall find&mdash;or make&mdash;plenty
+      of opportunities to run down here from time to time. There is a coach
+      every day to Birmingham.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They had been walking slowly all this time. It was night now, the last
+      gleam of sunset had faded, the stars were lustrous overhead, and a yellow
+      moonlight flooded the surrounding country. A long distance off, faint but
+      clear in the dead hush of the summer night, they heard, but did not mark,
+      the beat of horses&rsquo; hoofs approaching them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I must go, Dick,&rsquo; said Julia. &lsquo;It is late, and they will wonder where I
+      am No, let me go now, while I have the strength.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He took her in his arms again, and her head dropped on his shoulder, and
+      the tears began to run afresh. He held her close, but in that last moment
+      of parting could find no word of comfort, only dumb caresses. The
+      hoof-beats were near at hand now, just beyond the bend of the road. They
+      rounded the corner, and broke on the lovers&rsquo; ears with a loud and
+      startling suddenness. The girl broke away, and ran through the gate into
+      the field with a stifled sob. Dick turned, and walked down the road in the
+      direction of the approaching horseman. The moon was at the full, and shone
+      broadly upon his face and figure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Hullo!&rsquo; cried the rider, in gruff challenge, and pulling his horse into
+      Dick&rsquo;s path, reined in. The young man looked up and recognised Samson
+      Mountain. Flight would have been as useless as ignominious, and it had
+      never been Dick&rsquo;s way out of any difficulty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Well?&rsquo; he asked curtly, and stood his ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Is that my daughter?&rsquo; demanded Mountain, pointing with his heavy whip
+      after the white figure glinting across the field. &lsquo;Spake the truth for
+      once, though you be a Reddy.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;It&rsquo;s a habit we have,&rsquo; said Dick quietly. His calm almost surprised
+      himself. &lsquo;Yes.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mountain had always been of a heavy build, and of late years had increased
+      enormously in girth and weight. But his wrath at this confirmation of his
+      half guess stirred him so, that before the sound of the word had well died
+      out on the air he had dismounted, and came at the young man with his
+      riding-whip flourished above his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Don&rsquo;t do that, sir.&rsquo; Dick spoke in a low voice, though quickly; and there
+      was something in his tone which brought the weapon harmlessly to the
+      farmer&rsquo;s side again. &lsquo;It is your daughter. We love each other, and she has
+      promised to be my wife.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mountain staggered, as if the words had been a pistol bullet or a stab,
+      and struck furiously. Quick as was Dick&rsquo;s parry, he only half saved
+      himself, his hat spun into the road, and the whip whistled within an inch
+      of his ear. He made a step back, and stopped a second furious stroke. The
+      whip broke in the old man&rsquo;s hand, and he flung the remaining fragment from
+      him with a curse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I can&rsquo;t strike you, sir,&rsquo; said Dick. &lsquo;You&rsquo;re her father.&rsquo; Mountain&rsquo;s
+      choking breath filled in the pause, and Dick went on: &lsquo;You know well
+      enough there&rsquo;s not another man in England I&rsquo;d take that from.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;You&rsquo;re a coward, like all your tribe,&rsquo; said Mountain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Not at all, I assure you, sir,&rsquo; said Dick calmly. &lsquo;If you like to send
+      anybody else with that message, I&rsquo;ll talk to him. Let us talk sensibly.
+      What harm have I ever done you? Or my father either? Why should two honest
+      families keep up this ridiculous story, which ought to have been buried
+      ages back? Why not let bygones be bygones? I love your daughter. I am a
+      young man yet, sir, with my way to make in the world, and I am going away
+      to London to study. I met your daughter to-night to say goodbye to her,
+      and if you had not come I should have gone away and said nothing until I
+      could come and claim her, with a home worthy of her to take her to.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But since you know, I speak now. We love each other, and intend to marry.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Oh!&rsquo; said Mountain. He had gone all on a sudden as cool as Dick, and
+      nothing but his stertorous breathing hinted of the rage which filled him.
+      &lsquo;That&rsquo;s it, is it? Then, if you&rsquo;re finished, hear me. I ain&rsquo;t got the gift
+      o&rsquo; the gab as free as you, but I can mek plain my meanin&rsquo;, p&rsquo;raps. I&rsquo;d
+      rather see her a-layin&rsquo; theer &lsquo;(he pointed with a trembling hand at the
+      ground between them); &lsquo;I&rsquo;d rather lay her there, dead afore my eyes, an&rsquo; 
+      screw her in her coffin a&rsquo;terwards, than you or any o&rsquo; your kin should as
+      much as look at her, wi&rsquo; my goodwill. And now you&rsquo;ve got your answer, Mr.
+      Fair an&rsquo; Fine. Remember it, an&rsquo; look out for yourself. For, by the Lord!
+      &lsquo;he went on, with a solemn malignity doubly terrible in a man whose
+      passion was ordinarily so violent, &lsquo;if iver I ketch you round my house
+      again, I&rsquo;ll put a bullet atween thy ribs as sure as my naame&rsquo;s Samson
+      Mountain.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With this, he took his horse by the bridle, and passed through the gate,
+      leaving the young man to his own reflections. He took the beast to the
+      stable, delivered him into the care of a servant, and made straight for
+      the parlour, where his wife and Mrs. Rusker were seated at an early
+      supper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;You&rsquo;re back early, Sam,&rsquo; said the former, rising to draw an additional
+      chair to the table. &lsquo;Wilt have some tay, or shall Liza draw you a jug o&rsquo; 
+      beer?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Samson returned no answer, either to this or to Mrs. Rusker&rsquo;s greeting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Lawk a mussy, what ails the man? &lsquo;asked Mrs. Mountain, as Samson stood
+      looking round the room. She had never seen such an expression on her
+      husband&rsquo;s face before. The skin was livid under its rude bronze, and his
+      lips twitched strangely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Wheer&rsquo;s that wench of ourn?&rsquo; he asked, after a second glance round the
+      room, Mrs. Busker&rsquo;s heart jumped, and she held on tight to the arm-pieces
+      of her chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Julia?&rsquo; said Mrs. Mountain. &lsquo;Her&rsquo;s about the house, I reckon.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Call her here,&rsquo; said Samson; and his wife wondering, but not daring to
+      question, went to the door of the sitting-room and screamed &lsquo;Julia!&rsquo; A
+      servant girl came running downstairs at the call, and said that Miss Julia
+      did not feel well, and had gone to bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Fatch her down,&rsquo; said Samson from the sitting-room, and the girl, on
+      receipt of a confirmatory nod from Mrs. Mountain, went upstairs again.
+      Samson took a chair and sat with his head bent forward and his arms
+      folded, staring at the paper ornaments in the grate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Samson!&rsquo; said his wife appealingly, &lsquo;don&rsquo;t skeer a body i&rsquo; thisnin.
+      Whativer <i>is</i> the matter?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Hold thy chat,&rsquo; said Samson. &lsquo;Thee&rsquo;st know soon enough,&rsquo; and the trio sat
+      in silence until Julia entered the room. She was pale, and there were
+      traces of tears on her cheeks, and Samson, as he glanced at her askance
+      from under his heavy eyebrows before he rose, saw that she was struggling
+      to repress some strong emotion. She advanced to kiss him, but he repelled
+      her&mdash;not roughly&mdash;with his heavy hand upon her shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;You wanted to see me, father,&rsquo; she asked, trembling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I sent for you.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Rusker was in a state of pitiable excitement, if anybody had had the
+      leisure to notice her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Theer&rsquo;s some&rsquo;at happened to-day as it&rsquo;s fit an&rsquo; right as yo&rsquo; should know.
+      I met ode Raybould today i&rsquo; th&rsquo; Exchange, an&rsquo; he tode me some&rsquo;at as I&rsquo;d
+      long suspected, about his son Tom. I reckon you know what it was.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Julia knew well enough. Tom Raybould was a young farmer, a year or two
+      older than herself. She had known him all her life, and he had been a
+      schoolfellow and chosen chum of her brother&rsquo;s. He had shown unmistakable
+      signs of affection for her, but had never spoken. He was a good fellow,
+      according to common report, and she had a good deal of liking and respect
+      for him, and a little pity, being a good girl, and no coquette.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I see thee understandest,&rsquo; said Samson. &lsquo;I told th&rsquo; ode man as he might
+      look on it as settled, an&rsquo; Tom &lsquo;ll be here to-morrow. He&rsquo;s a likely lad,
+      an&rsquo; he&rsquo;ll have all the Bush Farm when his father goes, as must be afore
+      long, i&rsquo; the course o&rsquo; nature. The two farms &lsquo;ll goo very well in a ring
+      fence. Theer&rsquo;s no partic&rsquo;lar hurry, as I know on, an&rsquo; we&rsquo;ll ha&rsquo; the
+      weddin&rsquo; next wik, or the wik after.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl&rsquo;s breast was labouring cruelly, in spite of the hand that strove
+      to still it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Father!&rsquo; she said. &lsquo;You don&rsquo;t mean it!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Eh?&rsquo; said Samson. &lsquo;I ginerally mean what I say, my wench. I should ha&rsquo; 
+      thout as yo&rsquo;d ha&rsquo; known that by this time.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stopped there, for Julia, but for her mother&rsquo;s arm, would have fallen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;You great oaf!&rsquo; cried Mrs. Mountain, irritated for once into open
+      rebellion. &lsquo;Oh, it&rsquo;s like a man, the stupid hulkin&rsquo; creeturs as they are,
+      to come an&rsquo; frighten the life out of a poor maid i&rsquo; that style.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Theer, theer!&rsquo; said Samson, with the same heavy and threatening
+      tranquillity he had borne throughout the interview. &lsquo;Tek her upstairs.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He sat down again, and without another word filled and lit his
+      churchwarden, and stared through the smoke-wreaths at the grate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      V
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Jenny Rusker, who was half dead with fear of an <i>exposé</i> of her
+      part in this unlucky love-affair, was additionally prostrated by the dire
+      reversal of all her hopes by Samson Mountain&rsquo;s ultimatum. Mrs. Mountain,
+      with the aid of a female servant, supported Julia upstairs, and Samson
+      smoked on stolidly, taking no note whatever of the visitor&rsquo;s presence.
+      Still in doubt of what Samson might or might not know, and fearing almost
+      to breathe, lest any reminder of her presence should call down his wrath
+      upon her, she listened to the tramping and the muffled noises overhead
+      until they ceased, and then, gathering courage from his continued apathy,
+      slipped from the room and left the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She got home and went to bed and passed an interminable night in tossing
+      to and fro, and bewailing the untoward fate of the two children. Dawn came
+      at last, though it had seemed as if it never would break again, and, for
+      the first time for many a year, the first gleam of sunlight saw her
+      dressed and downstairs. She felt feverous and ill, and having brewed for
+      herself a huge jorum of tansy tea, sat down over this inspiring beverage,
+      and tried to pull her scattered wits together and think out some way of
+      untangling the skein of difficulty with which she had to deal. The danger
+      was pressing, and if she had been herself the poor lovesick girl who lay a
+      mile away, stifling her sobs lest they should reach her father&rsquo;s ears, and
+      vainly calling on her lover&rsquo;s name, she would scarcely have been more
+      miserable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One thing was clear. Dick must be warned, and his journey to London
+      postponed by some device. He might lie hidden for a day or two in
+      Birmingham, and Julia be smuggled there and secretly married. It was no
+      time for half measures, and whatever was done should be done quickly and
+      decisively. At this idea, at once romantic and practical, Mrs. Jenny&rsquo;s
+      spirits revived.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Samson &lsquo;ll disown Julia, I know. Her &lsquo;ll never see a penny o&rsquo; his money.
+      An&rsquo; I doubt as Abel Reddy &lsquo;ll do the same wi&rsquo; Dick. He&rsquo;s just as hard and
+      bitter as th&rsquo; other, on&rsquo;y quieter wi&rsquo; it. Well, they shan&rsquo;t want while I&rsquo;m
+      alive, nor after my death neither, and Dick ud make his own way with
+      nobody&rsquo;s help. I&rsquo;ll write to him, and find somebody to take the letter. I
+      won&rsquo;t go myself, at this hour o&rsquo; the day.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She concocted a letter and sealed it, and putting on her bonnet sallied
+      out to find a messenger. Fate was so far propitious that scarce a hundred
+      yards from her door she met Ichabod Bubb, bound for his morning&rsquo;s work at
+      Perry Hall Farm. Ichabod was bent and gnarled and twisted now, stiff in
+      all his joints and slow of movement, but his quaint visage bore the same
+      look of uncertain and rather wistful humour which had marked it in earlier
+      times.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Morning, mum,&rsquo; he said, with a stiff-necked nod at Mrs. Jenny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Good-mornin&rsquo;, Mr. Bubb,&rsquo; said the old lady. Ichabod beamed at this sudden
+      and unexpected ceremonial of title, and straightened his back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;You &lsquo;m afoot early, mum.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Why, yes. But it&rsquo;s such a beautiful morning; it&rsquo;s a shaame to lie abed a
+      time like this.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;So many folks, so many ways o&rsquo; thinkin&rsquo;,&rsquo; said the ancient one; &lsquo;not as
+      it&rsquo;s a sin as I often commits, nayther, &lsquo;cos why, I don&rsquo;t get the chance.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I&rsquo;ve got a bit o&rsquo; business as I want done, Mr. Bubb,&rsquo; said Mrs. Busker,
+      &lsquo;if ye don&rsquo;t mind earnin&rsquo; a shillin&rsquo;.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Why,&rsquo; returned Ichabod, &lsquo;I don&rsquo;t know as I&rsquo;ve got any, not to say rewted,
+      objection to makin&rsquo; a shillin&rsquo;.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;You&rsquo;re goin&rsquo; to the farm?&rsquo; Ichabod nodded. &lsquo;Then I want you to take this
+      note to Mr. Richard. But mind, you must get it to him private. Nobody else
+      must know. D&rsquo;you understand?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I&rsquo;m all theer, missus,&rsquo; responded Ichabod.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Then there&rsquo;s the note, an&rsquo; there&rsquo;s the shillin&rsquo;. An&rsquo; if you&rsquo;re back in
+      two hours you shall have a pint o&rsquo; beer.&rsquo; Ichabod took the note and the
+      shilling, and clattered off with a ludicrous show of despatch, and the old
+      lady returned to her sitting-room to await the result of his message. It
+      came in less than the appointed time, and disappointed her terribly.
+      Ichabod had ascertained that Dick had started half an hour before his
+      arrival at the farm for Birmingham, and would only return to-morrow night
+      to sleep and take away his luggage on the following morning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;And you come to me w&rsquo; a message like that, y&rsquo; ode gone-off!&rsquo; said the
+      exasperated old woman. &lsquo;You might ha&rsquo; caught him up i&rsquo; the time as you&rsquo;ve
+      wasted comin&rsquo; back here.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Caught him up,&rsquo; said Ichabod, with a glance at his legs. &lsquo;Yis, likely,
+      like a cow might ketch a race-hoss. I&rsquo;m a gay fine figure, missus, to
+      ketch up the best walker i&rsquo; the country-side.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Jenny was a woman, and therefore to offer her reason as an antidote
+      to unreasoning anger was merely to heap fuel on flame.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; she said, reasonably enraged with the whole masculine half of her
+      species,&rsquo; you&rsquo;re like the rest on &lsquo;em.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Then I&rsquo;m sorry for the rest on &lsquo;em,&rsquo; said Ichabod, &lsquo;whoever they may be.&rsquo; 
+      Here Mrs. Jenny shut the door upon him, leaving him in the street, and
+      retired to her sitting-room. But with beer to be gained by boldness,
+      Ichabod was leonine in courage. He knocked, and the summons brought the
+      old lady to the door again. Ichabod spoke no word, but writhed his twisted
+      features into a grin which expressed at once humorous deprecation and
+      expectancy, and rabbed the back of his veiny hand across his bristly lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Go round to the brewus,&rsquo; said Mrs. Jenny; &lsquo;you&rsquo;ll find the maid there.
+      It&rsquo;s all you&rsquo;re fit for, ye guzzlin&rsquo; old idiot.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ichabod retired, elate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Her tongue&rsquo;s a stinger; but, Lord bless thee, Ichabod, her bark&rsquo;s a long
+      sight worse than her bite. An&rsquo; her beer&rsquo;s main good.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Jenny, meanwhile, retired to the sitting-room, and there sat immersed
+      in gloom. Things looked black for her young protégés, and fate was against
+      them. With that curious interest in familiar trifles which comes with any
+      fit of hopelessness or despondency, she sat looking at the furniture of
+      the room and the pictures which decorated the walls. Among these latter
+      was a work of her own hands, her masterpiece, a reproduction in coloured
+      wool of a German engraving of the last scene of <i>Romeo and Juliet</i>.
+      There was a pea-green Capulet paralytically embracing a sky-blue Montague
+      in the foreground, with a dissolving view of impossibly-constructed
+      servitors of both houses and the County Paris, with six strongly accented
+      bridges to his nose and a worsted tear upon his cheek, in the background.
+      Under this production was worked in white, upon a black ground, the legend
+      which Mrs. Rusker mournfully repeated as she gazed on it&mdash;
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &lsquo;For never was a story of more woe,
+     Than this of Juliet and her Romeo&rsquo;;
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      and as she spoke the words an inspiration flashed into her mind. She had
+      her plan.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The new-born idea so possessed her that she could not sit or rest. It
+      drove her out, as the gad-fly drove lo, to devious wanderings in the
+      neighbouring lanes, and as she walked and walked, finding some little ease
+      in the unusual and incessant exercise, she drew nearer and nearer to the
+      Mountain Farm. As she paused on a little eminence and looked towards it,
+      the distant church bell struck clear across the intervening fields,
+      proclaiming nine o&rsquo;clock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Thank the Lord,&rsquo; said the old woman. &lsquo;I can go now. I dussent go too
+      early. They might suspect.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She made straight for the house, and found Mrs. Mountain alone. Samson was
+      afield, and in answer to Mrs. Busker&rsquo;s inquiries regarding Julia, Mrs.
+      Mountain tearfully informed her that the poor girl was too ill to come
+      downstairs, and had not eaten a crumb of the tempting breakfast prepared
+      and sent to her room for her. Mrs. Mountain was voluble in condemnation of
+      her husband&rsquo;s lack of wit in his announcement of the matrimonial scheme he
+      had formed for the girl, and Mrs. Jenny was fluent and honest in sympathy.
+      Might she see the girl? Julia was fond of her, and her counsels might
+      bring some comfort. Mrs. Mountain yielded a ready assent, and the old lady
+      went up to the girl&rsquo;s room, and entering on the languid summons which
+      followed her knock, saw Julia seated at the window, listless, dejected,
+      and tearful The tears flowed even more freely at the sight of her, and the
+      girl sobbed on her old friend&rsquo;s breast in full abandonment to the first
+      great grief of her life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;My dear,&rsquo; said Mrs. Jenny, when this gush of sorrow was over, &lsquo;take a bit
+      o&rsquo; heart. Things is rarely as bad as they seem; an&rsquo; there&rsquo;s help at hand
+      always if we on&rsquo;y know where to look for it.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was more meaning, to Julia&rsquo;s thinking, in the tone in which this
+      commonplace condolence was delivered than in the words themselves. Mrs.
+      Rusker&rsquo;s manner was big with mystery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Now, my darlin&rsquo;, I know you &lsquo;m a brave gal, and can act accordin&rsquo; when
+      there&rsquo;s rayson for it. I&rsquo;ve got a plan as &lsquo;ll save you yet, if on&rsquo;y you&rsquo;ve
+      got the courage.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Julia&rsquo;s clasped hands and eager look encouraged her to proceed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;My dear, you remember <i>Romeo and Juliet?</i> You remember how Juliet
+      got the sleepin&rsquo; draught an&rsquo; took it? &lsquo;Julia&rsquo;s look was one of wonder,
+      pure and simple, now. &lsquo;That&rsquo;s my plan, my dear, an&rsquo; the Dudley Divil can
+      do it for us, if on&rsquo;y you&rsquo;ll ha&rsquo; the courage to tek it. Not as I mean as
+      you need be buried afore Dick comes to you. We shouldn&rsquo;t go as far as
+      that. But I&rsquo;ll get the stuff, an&rsquo; it&rsquo;ll send you to sleep, an&rsquo; they&rsquo;ll
+      think as you&rsquo;re dead, an&rsquo; then I&rsquo;ll tell &lsquo;em how you an&rsquo; Dick loved each
+      other so&rsquo;s you couldn&rsquo;t bear to part wi&rsquo; him, an&rsquo; the fear of it&rsquo;s killed
+      you. That&rsquo;ll soften their hard hearts, my dear. Old Reddy knows all about
+      it&mdash;that&rsquo;s why he&rsquo;s sendin&rsquo; Dick away to London an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll get him
+      fetched back to see the last o&rsquo; you, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll mek your father an&rsquo; his
+      father shaake hands, an&rsquo; then you&rsquo;ll come to, an&rsquo; after that what can they
+      do but marry you to Dick, an&rsquo; forget all that rubbidge about the brook,
+      an&rsquo; live in peace together, as decent folk should do.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Julia&rsquo;s reception of this brilliant scheme, which Mrs. Rusker developed
+      with a volubility which left no opportunity for detailed objection, was to
+      fall back in her chair and begin to cry anew at the sheer hopeless
+      absurdity of it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;What&rsquo;s the matter wi&rsquo; the wench?&rsquo; demanded Mrs. Rusker, almost sternly.
+      &lsquo;Come, come,&rsquo; she continued, her brief anger fading at the sight of
+      Julia&rsquo;s distress, &lsquo;have a bit o&rsquo; sperrit. Now, will you try it? Spake the
+      word, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll goo to the Divil this minute.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This wholesale self-abandonment in the cause of love produced no effect on
+      Julia, except to frighten her. Mrs. Rusker argued and reasoned, but
+      finding her fears too obdurate to be moved by any such means, left the
+      house in dudgeon, whereat poor Julia only cried the more. But Mrs.
+      Rusker&rsquo;s confidence in her plan was unshaken, and her persistency
+      unchecked. She would save the silly girl against her will, since it must
+      be so, and half an hour after she had crossed the Mountain threshold she
+      was in her trap, <i>en route</i> for the dwelling of the wizard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She found that celebrity alone, and opened fire on him at once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Ruffis, I want thy help, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;m willin&rsquo; to pay fur it.&rsquo; The
+      necromancer&rsquo;s fishy eye brightened. Things were going poorly with him, the
+      rising generation followed newer lights unevident in his earlier days, and
+      his visitors were mostly of Mrs. Rusker&rsquo;s age, and were getting fewer day
+      by day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;My skill&rsquo;s at your service, ma&rsquo;am, such as it is,&rsquo; he answered, with
+      gravity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I want some&rsquo;at as &lsquo;d send a body to sleep&mdash;mek &lsquo;em sleep for a long
+      time, wi&rsquo;out hurtin&rsquo; &lsquo;em. Can you doit?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Why, yis; I could do that much, I think.&rsquo; His tone and manner intimated
+      vaguely how much more he could have done, and his disappointment at the
+      facility of his task. &lsquo;But,&rsquo; he added prudently, &lsquo;it&rsquo;s a job as ain&rsquo;t s&rsquo; 
+      easy as you might fancy.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Busker laid a sovereign on the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Wilt do it for that?&rsquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The wizard stole a look at her. She was obviously very much in earnest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;The hingredients,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;is hard to find, and harder to mix in doo
+      perportions.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I must have it now, and at once,&rsquo; said Mrs. Busker.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;That,&rsquo; said Rufus, &lsquo;ain&rsquo;t possible.&rsquo; Mrs. Jenny laid a second piece of
+      gold beside the first &lsquo;It&rsquo;s a dangerous bisness, missus,&rsquo; he went on.
+      &lsquo;Theer&rsquo;s noofangled laws about. &lsquo;Twas only last wik as that young upstart,
+      Doctor Hodges, comes an&rsquo; threatens me with persecution as a rogue an&rsquo; 
+      vagabond, a-obtainin&rsquo; money under false pertences for practisin&rsquo; my lawful
+      an&rsquo; necessary art. Why, it ain&rsquo;t so long since I cured his mother o&rsquo; the
+      rheumatiz, as is more nor he can dew, wi&rsquo; all his drugs, an&rsquo; the pestle
+      an&rsquo; mortar o&rsquo;er his door.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;You ought to know as you&rsquo;re safe wi&rsquo; me, Rufus,&rsquo; said Mrs. Rusker. &lsquo;Who
+      should I tell? Why, I should tell o&rsquo; myself tew, at that raate; an&rsquo; is
+      that likely?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;It&rsquo;s dangerous, missus,&rsquo; repeated the wizard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Well, if yo&rsquo; won&rsquo;t, I must try them as wull,&rsquo; said Mrs. Jenny, rising and
+      taking up the coins.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I didn&rsquo;t say as I wouldn&rsquo;t,&rsquo; returned Rufus. &lsquo;Theer&rsquo;s no call to be so
+      uppish But if I tek a chance like that I expect to be paid for it.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Two pound ud mek it wuth your while to do more than that.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I&rsquo;ll dew it,&rsquo; said the wizard. &lsquo;Give us the money?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Wheer&rsquo;s the stuff?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Why, it ain&rsquo;t made yet. D&rsquo;you think as I can percure a precious hessence
+      like that all of a minute?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Then mek it, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll gie you the money.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Gi&rsquo; me a pound in advance, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll bring it to you.&rsquo; And on that
+      understanding the bargain was made, and the time fixed for the delivery of
+      the potion. The intervening time was filled in by the astute wizard
+      journeying to a neighbouring town and procuring from a chemist a sleeping
+      draught, which he paid for out of Mrs. Busker&rsquo;s sovereign. He turned up at
+      Laburnum Cottage at the stipulated hour, handed over the draught (having
+      previously washed off the chemist&rsquo;s label), received his second sovereign,
+      and departed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Rusker, with the fateful bottle in the bosom of her dress, betook
+      herself again to Mountain Farm. Her unfeigned interest in the patient, and
+      the intimacy she had so long enjoyed with the whole family, made the house
+      almost as free to her as was her own, and when she took possession of
+      Julia in the capacity of nurse she was made welcome, and the poor girl&rsquo;s
+      other attendants hoped much from her ministration. Julia was undoubtedly
+      very ill, so ill that even Samson Mountain forbore to force her to descend
+      to the parlour in which Mr. Tom Raybould nervously awaited her coming, and
+      where, on Samson&rsquo;s return from his daughter&rsquo;s chamber, the pair sat and
+      drank their beer together in miserable silence, broken by spasmodic
+      attempts at conversation regarding crops and politics. The doctor had been
+      called in, and, knowing nothing of the grief which was the poor girl&rsquo;s
+      only ailment, had been too puzzled by the symptoms of her malady to be of
+      any great service. She was feverish, excited, with a furred tongue and a
+      hot skin. He had prescribed a mild tonic and departed. Mrs. Jenny, intent
+      on the execution of her plan, gained solitary charge of her patient by
+      telling Mrs. Mountain that her attendance on her daughter had already told
+      upon her, and advising a few hours&rsquo; rest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I don&rsquo;t feel very well,&rsquo; Mrs. Mountain confessed. &lsquo;Not a wink o&rsquo; sleep
+      have I had iver since Samson came home last night. Nor him nayther, for
+      the matter o&rsquo; that, though he tried to desave me by snorin&rsquo;, whinever I
+      spoke to him; an&rsquo; as for any sympathy&mdash;well, you know him aforetime,
+      Jenny&mdash;I might as well talk to that theer poker.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Jenny was fluent in condolence, and at last got the old lady out of
+      the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;When did you take your medicine last, my dear?&rsquo; she asked the patient
+      &lsquo;Ain&rsquo;t it time as you had another drop?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;It doesn&rsquo;t do me any good,&rsquo; said the patient fretfully. She knew better
+      herself what was wrong with her than anybody else could guess, and only
+      longed passionately to be alone and free to think and cry over her lost
+      love and broken hopes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Why, my dear, you&rsquo;ve on&rsquo;y took one dose yit,&rsquo; said Machiavel. &lsquo;You must
+      give it time. I&rsquo;ll pour you out another.&rsquo; Her back was towards the patient
+      as she clattered about among the glasses on the table with a shaking hand.
+      She poured out the wizard&rsquo;s potion, the phial clinking against the edge of
+      the glass like a castanet, and her heart beating so that she almost feared
+      Julia would hear it The girl at first pettishly refused the draught, but
+      Mrs. Jenny, in her guilty agitation, made short work of her objections,
+      and poured it down her throat almost by main force.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Maids must do as their elders bid &lsquo;em,&rsquo; she said, as she returned the
+      glass to its place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;It doesn&rsquo;t taste the same,&rsquo; moaned the patient
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;You&rsquo;re like all th&rsquo; other sick folk I iver nursed. As fall o&rsquo; fancies as
+      you can stick,&rsquo; said Mrs. Jenny. &lsquo;Lie quiet, and try an&rsquo; go to sleep.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl lay silent, and Mrs. Jenny, more than half wishing the whole
+      business had never been begun, sat and listened to her breathing. She
+      stirred and sighed once or twice, but after a while lay so utterly still
+      that the old lady ventured to approach the bed. Julia&rsquo;s face was almost as
+      white as her pillow, and her breath was so light that it hardly stirred
+      the coverlet above her bosom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;It&rsquo;s a-workin,&rsquo; said Mrs. Rusker.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      VI
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Jenny&rsquo;s simple faith in the talents of Rufus Smith underwent a severe
+      trial during the ensuing night. She had left Julia still sleeping, and the
+      memory of the last glance she had bestowed upon the white face in the
+      light of the carefully-shaded candle haunted her all night, and roused a
+      foreboding too dismal to be expressed, or even formulated in definite
+      thought. The matchmaker lay and trembled all night at that terrible idea,
+      and again the pale-faced dawn visited a sleepless pillow, and found her
+      haggard with anxiety and lack of sleep. Juliet&rsquo;s query to the Friar had
+      been, &lsquo;What if the potion should not work?&rsquo; but Mrs. Jenny&rsquo;s terrified
+      inquiry of her own soul was, &lsquo;What if it had worked too well?&rsquo; What if it
+      had killed Julia in very deed? It was too horrible to happen, Mrs. Jenny
+      said to herself. Too horrible to think of. But, if it had happened, she
+      would have nothing else to think of all her life, and the fancy drove her
+      nearly mad.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was dressed and afoot even earlier than on the preceding morning. She
+      crept out and encircled the Mountain Farm in a radius of a mile or
+      thereabouts, looking anxiously towards it at every step, as if its silent
+      walls might speak comfort or confirm her fears, even at that distance. The
+      house looked peaceful enough amid its surrounding trees under the
+      tranquilly broadening light of dawn, but Mrs. Rusker knew how ghastly
+      white the face of the poor child she loved as her own might look in that
+      roseate glow. Presently a thin line of smoke curled from a chimney on the
+      noiseless air. The farm was waking to its daily round of life. A burly
+      figure on horseback came towards her as she stood on a little eminence.
+      She waited long enough to identify Samson Mountain, and hid among the
+      ferns and bushes until the horse&rsquo;s hoof-beats had clattered swiftly by on
+      the stony road below her, and faded in the distance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Time crept on, slow but inexorable. She longed, as she had never longed
+      before for anything, for the courage to go to the farmhouse and ask
+      tidings of Julia. But her fear was greater than her longing, and she
+      roamed at random in a circle, never losing sight of the house, but not
+      daring to approach it or be seen from its windows. She dreaded what might
+      be the news to greet her there. She feared her own face, with its haggard
+      lines of sleeplessness and anxious watching. At last, from the very depths
+      of her misery, she plucked the heart of despairing hope, and made for the
+      farm. The farm labourers and country folk she met stared after her. Even
+      their bovine understandings were troubled by her scared face. She scarcely
+      saw them, or anything but the farmhouse, which drew her now with an
+      influence as strong as its repulsion had been an hour ago. She entered the
+      house by the back door, and made straight for the sitting-room. Mrs.
+      Mountain was there, arranging a tray, on which were tea and jam and other
+      homely luxuries. She wore her ordinary look of placid contentment, and at
+      the sight of her quiet face Mrs. Rusker dropped panting, with a vague
+      unformulated feeling of relief, into a chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Sakes alive! Whativer is the matter?&rsquo; demanded Mrs. Mountain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Julia!&rsquo; panted the visitor. &lsquo;How&rsquo;s Julia?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Why,&rsquo; said Mrs. Mountain, &lsquo;how should her be?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Is she awake yet?&rsquo; asked Mrs. Jenny, more calmly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;No. Her was sleepin&rsquo; when I seed her, jist for a minute, a hour ago. I&rsquo;m
+      jist goin&rsquo; upstairs wi&rsquo; some breakfast for her. Well, I declare, yo&rsquo; look
+      as pale as a ghost. What&rsquo;s the matter with you?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Oh, I&rsquo;ve passed a miserable night,&rsquo; said Mrs. Jenny, in unconscious
+      quotation from her favourite poet. &lsquo;I couldn&rsquo;t sleep a-thinkin&rsquo; o&rsquo; Julia.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Well, then, you do look poorly,&rsquo; said her hostess, with all her motherly
+      heart warmed by this solicitude for her daughter. &lsquo;Why, theer&rsquo;s no cause
+      to fret i&rsquo; that way. To be sure, Samson might ha&rsquo; knowed better than to
+      blunder such a thing as that right out, but, then, he&rsquo;s a man, and that&rsquo;d
+      account for a&rsquo;most anything. Married life might teach &lsquo;em better, you&rsquo;d
+      think, and yet after nigh on forty year on it he knows no more about women
+      folk than any bachelor i&rsquo; Barfield. Theer, tek your bonnet off, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll
+      gi&rsquo; ye a cup o&rsquo; tay, an&rsquo; then you can goo upstairs wi&rsquo; me and see the
+      wench.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Jenny gratefully accepted the proffered tea, and, having drunk it,
+      much to her inward refreshment, accompanied Mrs. Mountain upstairs. As the
+      latter had said, the girl was sleeping still, and Mrs. Busker saw that her
+      position had not changed by a hair&rsquo;s breadth. She lay like a carven
+      statue, her face marble white in the clear morning light.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I&rsquo;m a&rsquo;most doubtful about wakin&rsquo; her,&rsquo; said her mother. &lsquo;Theer&rsquo;s no doubt
+      as Samson gi&rsquo;en her a shock, an&rsquo; sleep&rsquo;s good for her. But her&rsquo;s had welly
+      fifteen hours of it now, if she&rsquo;s been asleep all the tima Julia, my
+      love,&rsquo; she said softly, almost in the sleeper&rsquo;s ear. &lsquo;My sakes, how pale
+      her is. Jenny! come here!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They both bent above her. Mrs. Rusker&rsquo;s heart was beating like a muffled
+      drum, and seemed, to her own ears, to fill the house with its pulsation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Julia!&rsquo; said Mrs. Mountain again, in a louder voice, and shook the girl
+      with a tremulous hand, &lsquo;Julia!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The white eyelids did not even stir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;My blessid! Julia! Don&rsquo;t skeer a body i&rsquo; this way!&rsquo; She shook the girl
+      again. &lsquo;Jenny! whativer&rsquo;s come to the silly wench?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Jenny was more frightened, and with better reason, than her
+      companion. Julia&rsquo;s marble pallor, and the awful stillness of her form&mdash;the
+      keenest glance could not detect a quiver in the face or a heave of the
+      bosom&mdash;almost stilled that exigent pulse within her own breast with a
+      sudden anguish of despair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Oh, Jenny, she&rsquo;s a-dyin&rsquo;!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Mountain&rsquo;s scream rang through the house, and startled every soul
+      within it, except that marble figure on the bed. Hurried steps came up the
+      stairs, the heavy tread of a man, the light patter of women&rsquo;s feet, and
+      the room filled as if by magic.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Fetch a doctor,&rsquo; screamed Mrs. Jenny; &lsquo;Julia&rsquo;s a-dyin&rsquo;!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Samson Mountain stood for one moment with his hands aloft and his eyes
+      glaring at his daughter. Then he dropped with a sobbing groan into a
+      chair, with his head in his hands. There was a general scream from the
+      women. One, more serviceable than the rest, called from the window to a
+      gaping yokel below in the yard, and bade him ride for help. Her face and
+      voice froze him for a moment, but he caught the words &lsquo;Miss Julia,&rsquo; and
+      two minutes after he was astride a broad-backed plough-horse, making for
+      the distant village.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Samson Mountain sat with his face hidden and spoke no word; at the sight
+      of him his wife&rsquo;s face had turned to sudden rage, and she stood over him
+      like a ruffled hen, and clacked commination of masculine imbecility,
+      intermixed with wild plaints for her child.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Julia slept through the tumult as she had slept through the calm, and Mrs.
+      Jenny, kneeling beside her with her face in the bedclothes, moaned love
+      and penitent despair. Samson raised his head at last, and looked with a
+      dazed stare first at his daughter and then at his wife, and left the room
+      without a word, pursued by a hailstorm of reproach. He went into the yard
+      and pottered aimlessly about, looking old and broken on a sudden. The
+      sound of horses&rsquo; hoofs roused him; it was the rustic messenger returning.
+      &lsquo;Where&rsquo;s the doctor?&rsquo; demanded Samson. &lsquo;Gone to Heydon Hey. What am I to
+      dew?&rsquo; &lsquo;Follow him an&rsquo; fetch him back. Hast not gumption enough to know
+      that?&rsquo; asked Samson wearily. The man started again, and Samson began once
+      more his purposeless wanderings about the yard. He had no sense of time or
+      place, only a leaden weight on heart and limb, which in all his life he
+      had never known before. He leaned his elbows on the fence of the fold
+      yard, and became conscious of a running figure which neared him rapidly.
+      He watched it stupidly, and it was within twenty yards of him before he
+      recognised it&mdash;Dick Reddy, dust and mud to the collar, hatless, and
+      panting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Julia!&rsquo; he gasped. &lsquo;Tell me, is it true?&rsquo; &lsquo;Julia&rsquo;s dyin,&rsquo; said Samson.
+      &lsquo;My God!&rsquo; he cried, with sudden passion, as if his own voice had unlocked
+      the sealed fountain of his grief, &lsquo;my little gell&rsquo;s a-dyin&rsquo;!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Mr. Mountain,&rsquo; said Dick, &lsquo;I love her, you know I love her. Let me see
+      her.&rsquo; His voice, broken with fatigue and emotion, his streaming eyes, his
+      outstretched hands, all pleaded with his words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;It&rsquo;s all one who sees her now,&rsquo; said Samson, and leaned his elbows on the
+      fence again. Dick took the despairing speech for a permission, and entered
+      the house. At the bottom of the stairs, in the otherwise deserted hall, he
+      met Mrs. Jenny, a very moving statue of terror.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Dick,&rsquo; she said, clutching the young man by the arm, &lsquo;I can&rsquo;t abear it
+      any longer. Come in here wi&rsquo; me.&rsquo; She pulled him into a side room, and
+      sitting down, abandoned herself to weeping, wringing her hands, and
+      moaning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I can&rsquo;t abear it any longer,&rsquo; she repeated. &lsquo;I must tell somebody, an&rsquo; 
+      I&rsquo;ll tell you. It&rsquo;s all my wicked cruel fault.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old woman was so crazed with her secret that she would have spoken in
+      the shadow of the gibbet. Ramblingly and incoherently, with many breaks
+      for tears and protestations and self-accusation, she told her story.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I&rsquo;ve killed her, Dick. But it was for your sake and hers as I done it. I
+      reckon they&rsquo;ll hang me, an&rsquo; it&rsquo;ll serve me right.&rsquo; She besought him not to
+      betray her, and, in the same breath, announced her intention to surrender
+      herself at once to the parish constable; and, indeed, between fear and
+      remorse and sorrow for the hopeless love she had striven to befriend, was
+      nearly mad. Dick heard her with such amazement as may be best imagined,
+      and suddenly, with a cry that rang in her ears for many a long day
+      afterwards, ran from her and scaled the stairs to Julia&rsquo;s room, led
+      thither by the sound of Mrs. Mountain&rsquo;s weeping. The old woman stared, as
+      well she might, at the intrusion, with a wonder which for a moment
+      conquered sorrow. He went straight to the bed, and leaned over the stark
+      figure upon it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;She&rsquo;s not dead yet,&rsquo; he said, more to himself than to the grief-stricken
+      mother. Mrs. Mountain heard the words, and clutched his arm. He turned to
+      her. &lsquo;Trust me,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;and I&rsquo;ll save her.&rsquo; The wild hope in the
+      mother&rsquo;s eyes was terrible to see. &lsquo;I love her,&rsquo; said Dick. &lsquo;You will
+      trust me? Do as I bid you, and you shall have Julia back in an hour.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Samson Mountain meanwhile wandered in the same purposeless fashion about
+      the farm, and held dumb converse with himself. He was a rough man,
+      something of a brute&mdash;a good deal of an animal&mdash;but animals have
+      their affections, and he loved Julia as well as it was in his nature to
+      love anything. It was ingrained in him by nature and by years of
+      unquestioned domination to bully and browbeat all defenceless people; but
+      Julia, the most defenceless of his surroundings, had been treated always
+      with a lighter hand. Childlike, she had taken advantyage of her immunity
+      in many little ways, and though Samson had never forborne to bluster at
+      her girlish insubordination, he rather liked it than not, and relished his
+      daughter&rsquo;s independence and spirit. Julia was the only creature in the
+      household who dared to hold her own against him. He was proud of her
+      beauty and what he called her &lsquo;lurning,&rsquo; and, more or less grumblingly,
+      petted her a good deal, and would have spoiled her had she been of
+      spoilable material. But till this heavy blow fell he had never sounded the
+      depths of his own affection for her. The suddenness of the blow stunned
+      and bewildered him. He remembered his words to Dick during their stormy
+      interview in the road, when he had said that he would rather see Julia
+      dead than married to him. Had Providence taken him at his word? He did not
+      say it, he did not even think it consciously, but he would have submitted
+      to almost any conceivable indignity at the hands of Abel Eeddy himself, to
+      have felt his daughter&rsquo;s arms about his neck again. Little incidents of
+      Julia&rsquo;s past life were fresh and vivid in his memory. He had forgotten
+      many of them, years ago, but they sprang up in his mind now, like things
+      of yesterday.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had wandered back to the front of the house, and sat upon the rustic
+      bench beside the porch, with his elbows propped upon his knees, and his
+      eyes hidden in his shaking hands, when a voice fell on his ear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Neighbour!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He raised his head. Abel Reddy stood before him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With something of the old instinct of hatred he had believed to be
+      unconquerable he rose and straightened himself before the hereditary
+      enemy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Neighbour,&rsquo; said Reddy again. The word was pacific, but Mountain&rsquo;s
+      blurred eyes, dim with pain and dazzled by the sunlight, could not see the
+      pity in his old enemy&rsquo;s face, and he waited doggedly. &lsquo;It&rsquo;s come to my
+      ears as you&rsquo;re i&rsquo; sore trouble. So am I. Your trouble&rsquo;s mine, though not
+      so great for me as it is for you, I was wi&rsquo; Dick when he heard o&rsquo; your
+      daughter&rsquo;s danger, an&rsquo; what I&rsquo;d suspected a long time I know now to be the
+      truth. I did my best to keep &lsquo;em apart&mdash;it was that as Dick was going
+      to London for. It seemed to behove me to come to you and offer you my hand
+      i&rsquo; your affliction. I take shame to myself that I didn&rsquo;t mek an effort to
+      end our quarrel long ago. We&rsquo;re gettin&rsquo; on in life, Mr. Mountain, and
+      we&rsquo;ve got th&rsquo; excuse o&rsquo; hot blood no longer.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Therewith he held out his hand, and Samson, with hanging head, took it
+      with a growl, which might have been anathema or blessing. And as the
+      life-long enemies stood so linked, a window was suddenly opened above, and
+      Mrs. Mountain&rsquo;s voice screamed to her husband,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Samson! Her&rsquo;s alive! Her&rsquo;s awake! &lsquo;Both men looked up, and beheld an
+      unexpected picture framed by the open window, Dick violently embraced by
+      Mrs. Mountain, and submitting to the furious assault with obvious
+      goodwill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;When the liquor&rsquo;s out, why clink the cannikin?&rsquo; The story of Julia and
+      her Romeo, like all other stories, had found its end, and merged a little
+      later into the history of Mr. and Mrs. Richard Reddy. The family feud was
+      buried, and Samson and Abel made very passable grandfathers and dwelt in
+      peace one with another. Dick never told a living soul, not even Julia
+      herself, of the stratagem by which Mrs. Jenny had succeeded in uniting
+      them, and Mrs. Jenny, by complete reticence on the subject, disproved the
+      time-worn calumny which declares woman&rsquo;s inability to keep a secret.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      THE END <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Julia And Her Romeo: A Chronicle Of
+Castle Barfield, by David Christie Murray
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+  </body>
+</html>
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@@ -0,0 +1,2618 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Julia And Her Romeo: A Chronicle Of Castle
+Barfield, by David Christie Murray
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Julia And Her Romeo: A Chronicle Of Castle Barfield
+       From "Schwartz" by David Christie Murray
+
+Author: David Christie Murray
+
+Release Date: August 8, 2007 [EBook #22274]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JULIA AND HER ROMEO ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+JULIA AND HER ROMEO: A CHRONICLE OF CASTLE BARFIELD
+
+By David Christie Murray
+
+Author Of 'Aunt Rachel,' 'The Weaker Vessel,' Etc.
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+In the year eighteen hundred and twenty, and for many years before and
+after, Abel Reddy farmed his own land at Perry Hall End, on the western
+boundaries of Castle Barfield. He lived at Perry Hall, a ripe-coloured
+old tenement of Elizabethan design, which crowned a gentle eminence
+and looked out picturesquely on all sides from amongst its neighbouring
+trees. It had a sturdier aspect in its age than it could have worn when
+younger, for its strength had the sign-manual of time upon it, and even
+its hoary lichens looked as much like a prophecy as a record.
+
+A mile away, but also within the boundaries of Castle Barfield parish,
+there stood another house upon another eminence: a house of older date
+than Perry Hall, though of less pleasing and picturesque an air. The
+long low building was of a darkish stone, and had been altered and added
+to so often that it had at last arrived at a complex ugliness which was
+not altogether displeasing. The materials for its structure had all been
+drawn at different periods from the same stone quarry, and the chequered
+look of new bits and old bits had a hint of the chess-board. Here Samson
+Mountain dwelt on his own land in the midst of his own people.
+
+The Mountain Farm, as it was called, and had been called time out of
+mind, was separated from the Perry Hall Farm by a very shallow and
+narrow brook. The two houses were built as far apart from each other
+as they could be, whilst remaining in their own boundaries, as if the
+builder of the later one had determined to set as great a distance as
+he could between his neighbour and himself. And as a matter of fact the
+Reddys and the Mountains were a sort of Capulets and Montagues, and had
+hated each other for generations. Samson and Abel kept up the ancient
+grudge in all its ancient force. They were of the same age within a week
+or two, had studied at the same school, and had fought there; had at one
+time courted the same girl, had sat within sight of each other Sunday
+after Sunday and year after year in the parish church, had each buried
+father and mother in the parish churchyard, and in the mind of each the
+thought of the other rankled like a sore.
+
+The manner of their surrendering their common courtship was
+characteristic of their common hatred. Somewhere about the beginning
+of this century a certain Miss Jenny Rusker, of Castle Barfield,
+was surrounded by quite a swarm of lovers. She was pretty, she was
+well-to-do, for her time and station, she was accomplished--playing the
+harp (execrably), working samplers in silk and wool with great diligence
+and exactitude, and having read a prodigious number of plays, poems, and
+romances. What this lady's heart forged that her mouth did vent, but no
+pretty young woman ever looked or sounded foolish to the eyes or ears of
+her lovers. Mountain and Eeddy were among her solicitors. She liked them
+both, and had not quite made up her mind as to which, if either of them,
+she would choose, when suddenly the knowledge of the other's occasional
+presence in her sitting-room made the house odious to each, and they
+surrendered the chase almost at the same hour. Miss Jenny satisfied
+herself with a cousin of her own, married without changing her name,
+had children, was passably happy, as the world goes, and lived to be a
+profoundly sentimental but inveterate widow. Mountain and Eeddy married
+girls they would not otherwise have chosen, and were passably happy
+also, except when the sore of ancient hatred was inflamed by a chance
+meeting on the corn exchange or an accidental passage of the eyes at
+church. They had no better authority for hating each other than that
+their fathers had hated each other before them. The fathers had the
+authority of the grandfathers, and they, that of the greatgrandfathers.
+
+It was Saturday afternoon. There was a bleak frost abroad, and even the
+waters of the brook which divided the two farms were hard frozen. The
+sun hung low in the western sky, lustreless as a wafer, but ruddy. The
+fields were powdered with thin snow, and the earth was black by contrast
+with it. Now and then a shot sounded far away, but clear and sharp, from
+where the guests of my lord of Barfield were killing time in the warren.
+
+A labouring man, smock-frocked, billy-cocked, gaitered, and hob-nailed,
+was clamping down the frozen lane, the earth ringing like iron under
+iron as he walked. By his side was a fair-haired lad of nine or ten
+years of age, a boy of frank and engaging countenance, carefully and
+even daintily dressed, and holding up his head as if he were a lord of
+the soil and knew it. The boy and the labourer were talking, and on the
+frosty silence of the fields the clear treble of the boy's speech rang
+out clearly and carried far. A burly man, with a surly red face, who had
+stooped to button a gaiter, in a meadow just beyond the brook, and
+had laid down his gun beside him the while, heard both voice and words
+whilst the speaker was a hundred yards away.
+
+'But don't you think it's very wicked, Ichabod?'
+
+The labourer's voice only reached the listener in the meadow. He spoke
+with the Barfield drawl, and his features, which were stiffened by the
+frozen wind, were twisted into a look of habitual waggery.
+
+'Well,' said he, in answer to his young companion, 'maybe, Master
+Richard, it might be wicked, but it's main like natur.'
+
+'I shan't hate Joe Mountain when I'm a man,' said the boy.
+
+The surly man in the field, hearing these words, looked on a sudden
+surlier still, and throwing up his head with a listening air, and
+holding his ankle with both hands, crouched and craned his neck to
+listen.
+
+'May'st have to change thy mind, Master Richard,' said the labourer.
+
+'Why should I change my mind, Ichabod?' asked the boy, looking up at
+him.
+
+'Why?' answered Ichabod, 'thee'lt niver have it said as thee wast afraid
+of any o' the Mountain lot.'
+
+'I'm not afraid of him,' piped the engaging young cockerel 'We had a
+fight in the coppice last holidays, and I beat him. The squire caught
+us, and we were going to stop, but he made us go on, and he saw fair.
+Then he made us shake hands after. Joe Mountain wouldn't say he'd had
+enough, but the squire threw up the sponge for him. And he gave us two
+half-crowns apiece, and said we were both good plucked uns.'
+
+'Ah! 'said Ichabod, with warmth, 'he's the right sort is the squire.
+And there's no sort or kind o' sport as comes amiss to him. A gentleman
+after my own heart.'
+
+'He made us shake hands and promise we'd be friends,' said Master
+Richard, 'and we're going to be.'
+
+'Make him turn the brook back first, Master Richard,' said Ichabod. The
+two were almost at the bridge by this time, and the listener could hear
+distinctly.
+
+'Turn the brook back?' the boy asked. 'What do you mean, Ichabod?'
+
+'Ax thy feyther, when thee gettest home,' answered Ichabod. 'He'll tell
+thee all the rights on it. So fur as I can make out--and it was the talk
+o' the country i' my grandfeyther's daysen--it amounts to this. Look
+here! 'He and the boy arrested their steps on the bridge, and Ichabod
+pointed along the frozen track of the brook. 'Seest that hollow ten rods
+off? It was in the time o' Cromwell Hast heard tell o' Cromwell, I mek
+no doubt?'
+
+'Oliver Cromwell,' said Master Richard. 'He was Lord Protector of
+England. He fought King Charles.'
+
+'Like enough,' said Ichabod. 'In his daysen, many 'ears ago, there was
+the Reddys here and the Mountains there'--indicating either house in
+turn by pointing with his thumb--'just as they be now. The Reddy o' that
+day--he was thy grandfeyther's grand-feyther as like as not--maybe
+he was _his_ grandfeyther for aught as I can tell, for it's a
+deadly-dreadful heap o' time long past--the Reddy o' that day went to
+the wars, and fowt for Cromwell. The Mountain o' that time stopped at
+hum. Up to then they'd niver been misfriended as fur as I know. That's
+how it's put about, anyway. But whilst the Reddy was away what's the
+Mountain do?'
+
+The boy was looking at Ichabod, and Ichabod, stooping a little to be the
+more impressive, was looking at him. The surly-faced man with the gun
+had hitherto been concealed by the hedge beside which he had knelt to
+fasten his gaiter, and neither of the two had suspected his presence. It
+was natural, therefore, that both of them should start a little when his
+voice reached them.
+
+'Well?' The voice was sour and surly, like the face, and the word was
+rapped out sharp and clear. Master Richard and Ichabod turned with one
+accord. 'Well?' says the surly man, 'what does the Mountain do?'
+
+Ichabod, less discomfited by the suddenness of the interruption than
+might have been expected of him, rubbed the frozen base of his nose with
+a cold forefinger and grinned. Master Richard looked from one to the
+other with a frank and fearless interest and inquiry which became him
+very prettily. The surly man bestowed a passing scowl upon him, and
+turned his angry regard again upon Ichabod.
+
+'Come, now,' he said, 'you backbiting, scandal-mongering old liar! What
+does the Mountain do? Out with it!'
+
+'Why, nayther thee nor me was there at the time, gaffer,' responded
+Ichabod, his frosty features still creased with a grin. 'So nayther thee
+nor me can talk for certain. Can us?'
+
+'I suppose,' said the surly, burly man, 'you're going to stuff that
+young monkey with the old lie about the stream being turned?'
+
+Ichabod made no verbal response, but continued to rub his nose with his
+forefinger, and to grin with an aspect of uncertain humour. The surly
+man stooped for his gun, threw it over his arm, and stared at Ichabod
+and his young companion with eyes of hatred and disdain. Then, having
+somewhat relieved his feelings by a curse or two, he turned his back and
+went off with a long, heavy, dogged-looking stride, his feet crunching
+noisily through the frosty grasses.
+
+'It eeat for me to talk about my betters, and them as the Lord has put
+in authority over us,' said Ichabod, with an expression which belied
+these words of humility; 'but I put it to thee, Master Richard. Dost
+think that old Mountain theer looks like a likeable un? No, no. Might as
+well expect cat an' dog t' agree as Reddy and Mountain.'
+
+This speech was made in a carefully modulated tone, when he and the boy
+were at some distance from the surly man, who was still visible, three
+or four fields away.
+
+'What was it about the brook, Ichabod?' asked Master Richard.
+
+'Why,' said Ichabod, 'when that old longaway grandfeyther o' thine was
+away a-fighting for Cromwell, 'tis said his neighbour turned the brook
+so as to bring in four-score acres o' land as ud niver have been his by
+right. The Reddy o' that day died in the wars, and his widder could mek
+no head again the Mountain lot; but her taught her son to hate 'em and
+look down upon 'em, and hated an' looked down upon is the name on 'em
+from that day to this.'
+
+'But Joe Mountain didn't do it,' said Master Richard.
+
+'No, no,' assented Ichabod. 'But it's i' this way. It's i' the blood.
+What's bred i' the bone will come out i' the flesh. Afore thee makest
+friends with young Joe Mountain, Master Richard, thee ax thy feyther.'
+
+Master Richard, lapsing into silence, thought things over.
+
+'Ichabod,' he said at last, 'is a boy _bound_ to be bad if he has a bad
+grandfather?'
+
+'Sure!' said Ichabod, who was not going to be worsted in argument for
+want of corroborative fact if he could help it.
+
+Master Richard thought things over a little while longer, and returned
+to the charge.
+
+'Suppose the boy with the bad grandfather had a good grandmother,
+Ichabod?'
+
+'None of the Mountain lot ever had,' Ichabod replied. There was no item
+in Ichabod's creed more fixed than this--the Mountains of Mountain
+Farm were hateful and contemptible. He had imbibed the belief with his
+mother's milk and his father's counsel. His grandfather had known it for
+the one cardinal certainty of nature.
+
+Just as the serving-men of Capulet hated the serving-men of Montague,
+so the oldest servants of the Mountains hated the older servants of the
+Reddys. The men made the masters' quarrel their own. There was a feudal
+spirit in the matter, and half the fights of this outlying district of
+the parish were provoked by that ancient history of the brook. At this
+time of day it mattered very little indeed if the history was true
+or false, for neither proof nor disproof was possible, and the real
+mischief was done past remedy in any case.
+
+'Are you sure our side fought for Cromwell, Ichabod?' Master Richard.
+asked, after another long and thoughtful silence.
+
+'To be sure,' said Ichabod.
+
+'I don't think it can be true, then, about the brook,' said the boy,
+'because Cromwell won, and everybody who was on his side had their own
+way. Mr. Greenfell teaches history at school, and he says so.'
+
+This was nothing to Ichabod, whose intellect was not constructed for the
+reception of historical evidences.
+
+'Then ax thy feyther, Master Richard,' he answered; 'he'll tell thee the
+rights on it.'
+
+The boy walked on pondering, as children of his age will do. The seniors
+would be surprised pretty often if they could guess how deep and far the
+young thoughts go, but, then, the seniors have forgotten their own young
+days, or were never of a thinking habit. Ichabod clamped along with
+his mind on beer. The boy thought his own thoughts, and each was
+indifferent for a while to outer signs and sounds. But suddenly a
+little girl ran round a corner of the devious lane with a brace of
+young savages in pursuit. The youthful savages had each an armful of
+snowballs, and they were pelting the child with more animus than seemed
+befitting. The very tightness with which the balls were pressed seemed
+to say that they were bent less on sport than mischief, and they came
+whooping and dancing round the corner with such rejoicing cruelty as
+only boys or uncivilised men can feel. The little girl was sobbing,
+half in distress, and half because of the haste she had made, and Master
+Richard's juvenile soul burnt within him at the sight like that of a
+knight-errant. He had read a great deal about knights-errant for the
+time which had been as yet allowed him for the pursuit of literature,
+and he was by nature a boy of much fire and gentleness, and a very
+sympathetic imagination. So the big heart in the small body swelled
+with pity and grew hot with valour, and, without parley, he smote
+the foremost boy, who happened to be the bigger of the two, and went
+headlong into fight with him.
+
+Ichabod followed the young master's lead without knowing, or in the
+smallest degree caring, why, and tried to seize the smaller savage, who
+skilfully evaded him and ran. The little maiden stood and trembled
+with clasped hands as she looked upon the fray. Ichabod lifted his
+smock-frock to get his hands into the pockets of his corduroys, and
+watched with the air of an old artist standing behind a young one.
+
+'You shouldn't work at it so much, Master Richard,' said Ichabod. 'Tek
+it easier, and wait for him. That's it!'
+
+The combat was brief and decisive. The youthful savage carried the
+heavier metal, but he was slow with it; but suddenly, as if to show that
+he was not altogether without activity, he turned and ran his hardest
+Master Richard, with blue-gray eyes still glistening and hands still
+clenched in the ardour of battle, turned upon the little girl, who was
+some two years younger than himself At the sight of her he turned shy
+and blushed, and the little girl turned shy and blushed also. She looked
+at the ground, and then she looked at Richard, and then she looked at
+the ground again. She was slender and delicate, and had very beautiful
+soft brown eyes, and the hero of a minute back was abashed before her.
+
+'You 'm a Mountain, baint you?' said Ichabod, looking at her with
+disfavour. She looked shyly at him, but did not answer. 'What's your
+name?' he asked, stooping towards her.
+
+'Julia Mountain,' said the child, in a trembling treble.
+
+'Ah!' said Ichabod, 'I thought so. Come along, Master Richard, or else
+we shall niver get hum again afore dark.'
+
+Master Richard walked away with backward glances, shyly directed at the
+little girl, and the little girl stood with her cheek inclining to her
+shoulder, and the shoulder drawn up a little, as if to shelter her, and
+looked after him. This exchange went on until Ichabod and the boy had
+turned the corner of the lane, when Miss Julia Mountain ran home as
+fast as her small legs would take her, and Master Richard Reddy, with a
+vision in his mind, walked alongside his companion.
+
+'You should tek a lesson or two, Master Richard,' said Ichabod, 'and
+then thee'dst do a heap better. I'm rusty nowadaysen, but I used to love
+it when I was a young un.'
+
+Master Eichard heard nothing of this or of the advice which followed it.
+He enacted many times over the small adventure of the last five minutes,
+and at the end of every mental history he traced, the little figure
+stood in the lane looking shyly at him over one shoulder as he turned
+the corner.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+Samson Mountain went home in an ill-temper, and, as was usual with him
+when in that condition, did everything he had to do with a sulky and
+noisy emphasis, bursting open doors with unnecessary violence, slamming
+them with needless force behind him, and clamping heavily from room to
+room. His wife, who was submissive at the surface, but unconquerable at
+bottom, knew these signs, and accepted them with outer show of meekness.
+Samson tramped into the sitting-room, and there found his wife alone.
+He flung to the door behind him with a crash which would have been
+startling if it had been unexpected, and fell heavily into a roomy
+arm-chair by the fireside. Mrs. Mountain took no notice of this, but
+went on placidly with her sewing. Samson threw his heavily-booted feet
+noisily into the fender, and still Mrs. Mountain went on placidly,
+without so much as looking at him. Stung by this disregard of his
+obvious ill-humour, Samson made a lunge with his foot at the fire-irons,
+and brought them down with a bang.
+
+'Lawk a daisy me, Samson,' said his wife mildly. 'What's the matter with
+the man?'
+
+'Matter!' growled Samson. 'It's a thing as ud get a saint to set his
+back up. I was down i' the bridge leasowe bare an hour ago, and who
+should I see but that young imp of a Reddy along wi' that old viper of a
+Bubb. Thee know'st the chap--that Ichabod.'
+
+'I know him, Samson,' answered Mrs. Mountain. 'He's the most impudent of
+all of 'em.'
+
+'They stood atop o' the bridge,' pursued Samson, 'and I could hear 'em
+talkin'. Th' ode rip was tellin' the young un that outworn lie about the
+brook. I'd got a shot i' the barrel, and I'd more than half a mind to
+ha' peppered him. I'd ha' done it if it had been worth while.'
+
+'There's no end to their malice and oncharitable-ness,' said Mrs.
+Mountain.
+
+'I heard the young imp say he'd fowt our Joe and licked him,' pursued
+Samson. 'If ever it should come to my knowledge as a truth I'd put
+Master Joe in such fettle he wouldn't sit down for the best side a month
+o' Sundays.'
+
+'They 'm giving the child such airs,' said his wife, 'it's enough to
+turn the bread o' life which nourishes.'
+
+Mrs. Mountain had an object in view, and, after her own fashion, had
+held it long in view in silence. The moment seemed to her propitious,
+and she determined to approach it.
+
+'Young toad!' said Samson, rising to kick at the coals with his
+heavy-heeled boot, and plunging backward into the chair again.
+
+'To hear him talk--that fine an' mincin'--you'd think he was one o'
+my lord's grandchildren or a son o' the squire's at least,' said Mrs.
+Mountain, approaching her theme with circuitous caution.
+
+'Ay!' Samson assented 'It's enough to turn your stomach to listen to
+him.'
+
+'If they go on as they're goings pursued his wife, circling a little
+nearer, 'we shall live to see fine things.'
+
+'We shall, indeed,' said Samson, a little mollified to find his wife so
+unusually warm in the quarrel. 'There's no such a thing as contentment
+to be found amongst 'em. They settle up to be looked upon as
+gentlefolks.'
+
+'Yes; fine things we shall live to see, no doubt, if we don't tek care.
+But thanks be, Samson, it's left in our own hands.'
+
+'What be'st hoverin' at?' demanded Samson, turning upon her with his
+surly red face.
+
+'Things ain't what they used to be when you an' me was younger,' said
+Mrs. Mountain. 'The plain ode-fashioned Barfield talk as you and me
+was bred up to, Samson, ain't good enough nowadays for the very
+kitchen wenches and the labourers on the farm. Everybody's gettin' that
+new-fangled!'
+
+'Barfield's good enough for me, and good enough for mine,' said Samson,
+with sulky wrath.
+
+'It's good enough for we, to be sure, but whether it's good enough for
+ourn is another churnin' o' butter altogether,' his wife answered. 'It
+ud seem as if ivery generation talked different from one another. My
+mother, as was a very well-spoken woman for her day, used to call a cup
+o' tay a dish o' tay, and that's a thing as only the very ignorant ud
+stoop to nowadays.' Samson growled, and wallowed discontentedly in
+the big arm-chair. 'A mother's got her natural feelings, Samson,' Mrs.
+Mountain continued, with an air and tone of mildest resignation. 'I
+don't scruple to allow as it'll hurt me if I should live to see our Joe
+looked down upon by a Reddy.'
+
+'Looked down upon!' cried Samson. 'Where's the Reddy as can count acre
+for acre agen us, or guinea for guinea?'
+
+'The Reddy's is fairly well-to-do, Samson,' said Mrs. Mountain; 'very
+nigh as well-to-do as we be.'
+
+'Pooh!' returned Samson.
+
+'Oh, but they be, though,' his wife insisted. 'Pretty near. There's
+nothing so much between us as'd prevent 'em from taking airs with us if
+they could find out anything to do it for.'
+
+'If they could!' Samson assented. 'Abel Eeddy was a bragger and a
+boaster from his cradle days.'
+
+'That's where it is,' cried Mrs. Mountain, in a tone which implied
+that Samson had made a discovery of the first importance, and that this
+discovery unexpectedly confirmed her own argument. 'Let 'em have the
+least little bit of a chance for a brag, and where be you?'
+
+'You might trust 'em to tek advantage on it if they had it,' said her
+husband.
+
+'Of course you might,' said she, with warmth, 'and that's why I'm
+fearful on it.'
+
+'Fearful o' what?' demanded Samson.
+
+'O' these here scornful fine-gentleman ways as'll be a thorn in our
+Joe's side as long as he lives, poor little chap, unless we put him in
+the way to combat again 'em.'
+
+'Ah!' Samson growled, suddenly enlightened. 'I see now what thee beest
+drivin' at. Now, you take a straight sayin' from me, Mary Ann. I'll have
+no fine-mouthed, false-natur'd corruption i' my household. If the Reddys
+choose to breed up that young imp of theirn to drawl fine and to talk
+smooth above his station--let 'em.'
+
+'Well, Samson,' returned Mrs. Mountain, who knew by long experience when
+her husband was malleable, 'you know best, and you're the master here,
+as it's on'y fit and becomin' an' in the rightful nature o' things as
+you should be.'
+
+The first effect of the oil of flattery seemed to be to harden him.
+
+'I be, and I mean to be,' he answered, with added surliness. 'If the
+speech and the clothes and the vittles as have been good enough for me
+ain't good enough for any young upstart as may follow after me, it _is_
+a pity.'
+
+Mary Ann kept silence and looked meek. Samson growled and bullied a
+little, and wore the airs of a dictator. By and by a serving-maid came
+in and began to arrange the table for tea, and a little later a boy and
+a girl stole noiselessly into the room.
+
+'Joe,' said Samson sternly, 'come here!' The boy approached him with
+evident dread. 'What's this I hear about thee and that young villin of a
+Reddy?'
+
+'I don't know, father,' the boy answered.
+
+'I heard him makin' a boast this afternoon,' said Samson, rolling
+bullyingly in his arm-chair, 'as you and him had fowt last holidays, and
+as he gi'en you a hiding.'
+
+Joe said nothing, but looked as if he expected the experience to be
+repeated.
+
+'Now, what ha' you got to say to that?' demanded his father.
+
+'Why,' began Joe, edging back a little, 'he's bigger nor I be, an' six
+months o'der.'
+
+'Do you mean to tell me,' cried Samson, reaching out a hand and seizing
+the little fellow by the jacket, 'do you mean to tell me as you allowed
+to have enough to that young villin?'
+
+'No,' Joe protested. 'That I niver did. It was the squire as parted us.'
+
+'You remember this,' said his father, shaking him to emphasise the
+promise. 'If ever you agree to tek a hiding from a Reddy you've got one
+to follow on from me. D'ye hear?'
+
+'Yes, father.'
+
+'Tek heed as well as hear. D'ye hear?'
+
+'Yes, father.'
+
+'And here's another thing, mind you. It's brought to me as you and him
+shook hands and took on to be friends with one another. Is that trew?'
+Joe looked guilty, but made no answer. 'Is it trew?' Still Joe returned
+no answer, and his father changing the hand with which he held him, for
+his own greater convenience, knocked him off his feet, restored him
+to his balance, knocked him off his feet again, and again settled him.
+'Now,' said Samson, 'is it trew?'
+
+The boy tried to recoil from the uplifted threatening hand, and cried
+out 'No!'
+
+'Now,' said Samson, rising with a grim satisfaction, 'that's a lie.
+There's nothin' i' the world as I abhor from like a lie I'll teach thee
+to tell me lies. Goo into the brewus and tek thy shirt off; March!'
+
+The little girl clung to her mother's skirts crying and trembling. The
+mother herself was trembling, and had turned pale.
+
+'Hush, hush, my pretty,' she said, caressing the child, and averting her
+eyes from Joe.
+
+'March!' said Samson, and Joe slunk out of the room, hardening his heart
+as well as might be for endurance. But when he was once out of sight of
+the huge bullying figure and threatening eye and hand, the sight of his
+cap lying upon a chair in the hall supplied him with an inspiration. He
+seized the cap, slipped out at the front door, and ran.
+
+The early winter night was falling fast by this time. Half a dozen stars
+twinkled intermittently in the black-blue waste of sky, and when the lad
+paused to listen for possible sounds of pursuit the hollow moaning of
+the wind and the clang of bare wintry poles mingled with the noise of
+his own suppressed breathing.
+
+The runaway fancied himself bound (as all British runaway boys seem
+bound) for sea, and he set out without delay to walk to Liverpool. He
+got as far as the brook which formed the limit to his father's farm, and
+lingering before he set foot upon the bridge, began to cry a little, and
+to bemoan his chances and the dear ones left behind. His father came in
+for none of Joe's regrets. It was in the nature of things to the boy's
+mind that his father should administer to him periodical thrashings,
+whether he had earned them or not. It was the one social relationship
+which existed between them. It was only quite of late that Joe had begun
+to discern injustice in his father's bullyings. Children take things
+as they come, and to the mind of a child--in a modified sense, of
+course--whatever is, is right. That a thing exists is its own best
+justification. There is no reason to seek reasons for it. But Joe
+Mountain, having nearly outgrown this state of juvenile acquiescence,
+had begun to make inquiry of himself, and, as a result, had familiarised
+himself with many mental pictures in which he figured as an adventurer
+rich in adventures. In his day the youth of England were less instructed
+than they are now, but the immortal Defoe existed, and Lemuel Gulliver
+was as real as he is to-day. Perhaps the Board schools may have made
+that great mariner a little less real than he used to be. Joe believed
+in him with all his heart, had never had the shadow of a doubt about
+him, and meant to sail straight from Liverpool to Lilliput. He would
+defer his voyage to Brobdingnagia until he had grown bigger, and should
+be something of a match for its inhabitants.
+
+But it was cold, it was darkening fast, it was past his ordinary
+tea-time. Liverpool and Lilliput were far away, pretty nearly
+equidistant to the juvenile mind, and but for Samson's shadow the
+tea-table would have looked alluring. To be sure of tea, and a bed to
+sleep in afterwards, it seemed almost worth while to go back to the
+brewhouse and obey the paternal command to take his shirt off. To do the
+child justice, it was less the fear of the thrashing than the hot sense
+of rebellion at unfairness which kept him from returning. His father had
+beaten him into that untrue cry of 'No,' and had meant to force him to
+it, and then to beat him anew for it. Joe knew that better than Samson,
+for Samson, like the rest of us, liked to stand well with himself, and
+kept self-opinion in blinkers.
+
+Joe set foot on the bridge. He had crossed the boundary brook hundreds
+of times in his brief life, and it had generally come into his mind,
+with a boyish sense of adventure, that when he did so he was putting
+foot into the enemy's country. But the feeling had never been so strong
+as now. The Mountain Farm was home, and beyond it lay the wide, wide
+world, looking wide indeed, and bleak and cold. What with hot rebellion
+at injustice and cold fear of the vast and friendless expanse, Joe's
+tears multiplied, and leaning his arms upon the low coping of the
+bridge, with his head between them and his nose touching the frozen
+stone, he began to cry unrestrainedly.
+
+Suddenly he heard a footstep, and it struck a new terror into his soul.
+Freebooters, footpads, kidnappers, _et hoc genus omne_, roamed those
+fields by night, in course of nature. To the snug security of the home
+fireside and bed their images came with a delightful thrill of fear, but
+to be here alone and in the midst of them was altogether another thing.
+He crept crouching across the bridge, and stowed himself into the
+smallest possible compass between the end of the stonework and the
+neighbouring hedgerow, and there waited trembling. His pulses beat so
+fast and made such a noise in his ears that he was ready to take the
+sound of footsteps for the tread of a whole ogreish army, when he heard
+a voice.
+
+'Hode on a minute, while I shift the sack.'
+
+The sack? It was easy--it was inevitable--to know that the sack
+contained a goblin supper.
+
+'I shall be late for tea, Ichabod,' said another voice, 'and then I
+shall get a blowing-up for coming.'
+
+     Let him who sighs in sadness here,
+     Rejoice, and know a friend is near.
+
+Joe sprang from his hiding-place, and startled Master Richard and
+Ichabod more than a little.
+
+'That thee, Dick?'
+
+He knew it well enough, but it was quite delightful to be able to ask it
+with certainty.
+
+'Hillo,' said Master Richard, recognising his sworn friend. 'What are
+you doing? Are you trapping anything?'
+
+'No,' the hereditary enemy answered. He had been crying, the poor little
+chap, until he had been frightened into quiet, and now on a sudden he
+was as brave and as glad again as ever he had been in his life. Once
+more adventures loomed ahead for the adventurous, and he shone within
+and grew warm with the sweet reflux of courage as he whispered, 'I'm
+running away from home!'
+
+Once again, the feat was glorious.
+
+'No?' said Master Richard, smitten with envy and admiration. 'Are you?
+Really?'
+
+'Yes,' Joe answered. 'I'm agooin' to Liverpool, to begin wi'.'
+
+This was exquisitely large and vague, and Master Richard began to yearn
+for a share in the high enterprise upon which his friend had entered. He
+had half a mind to run away from home himself, though, to be sure, there
+was nothing else to run away from. In Joe's case there was a difference.
+
+'Where are you going to stay to-night?' asked Master Richard. The
+question sounded practical, but at bottom it was nothing of the sort.
+It was part of the romance of the thing, and yet it threw cold water on
+Joe's newly-lighted courage, and put it out again.
+
+'I don't know,' said Joe, somewhat forlornly.
+
+'I say,' interjected Ichabod, 'is that young Mountain, Master Richard?'
+
+'Yes,' said Master Richard.
+
+'Thee know'st thy feyther is again thy speakin' to him, and his feyther
+is again his speakin' to thee.'
+
+'You mind your own business, Ichabod,' said the young autocrat, who was
+a little spoiled perhaps, and had been accustomed to have his own way in
+quite a princely fashion.
+
+'I'm mindin' it,' returned Ichabod. 'It's a part o' my business to keep
+thee out o' mischief.'
+
+'Ah!' piped Master Richard, 'you needn't mind that part of your business
+to-night.'
+
+'All right,' said Ichabod, reshouldering the sack he had meanwhile
+balanced on the coping of the bridge. 'See as thee beesn't late for
+tay-time.'
+
+With that, having discharged his conscience, he went on again, and the
+two boys stayed behind.
+
+'What are you running away for?' asked Eichard.
+
+'Why, feyther said it was brought to him as you and me had shook hands
+and had took on to be friends with one another, and he told me to go
+into the brewus and take my shirt off.'
+
+'Take your shirt off?' inquired the other. In Joe's lifetime, short
+as it was, he had had opportunity to grow familiar with this fatherly
+formula, but it was strange to Master Richard. 'What for?'
+
+'What for! Why, to get a hidin', to be sure.'
+
+'Look here!' said Richard, having digested this, 'you come and stop in
+one of our barns. Have you had your tea?'
+
+'No,' returned Joe, 'I shouldn't ha' minded so much if I had.'
+
+'I'll bring something out to you,' said the protector.
+
+So the two lads set out together, and to evade Ichabod, struck off at
+a run across the fields, Joe pantingly setting forth, in answer to his
+comrade's questions, how he was going to be a sailor or a pirate, 'or
+summat,' or to have a desert island like Crusoe. Of course, it was all
+admirable to both of them, and, of course, it was all a great deal more
+real than the fields they ran over.
+
+The runaway was safely deposited in a roomy barn, and left there
+alone, when once again a life of adventures began to assume a darkish
+complexion. It was cold, it was anxious, it seemed to drag interminably,
+and it was abominably lonely. If it were to be all like this, even the
+prospect of an occasional taking off of one's shirt in the brewhouse
+looked less oppressive than it had done.
+
+The hidden Joe, bound for piracy on the high seas, or a Crusoe's island
+somewhere, gave a wonderful zest to Master Richard's meal But an hour,
+which seemed like a year to the less fortunate of the two, went by
+before a raid upon the well-furnished larder of Perry Hall could
+be effected. When the opportunity came, Master Richard, with no
+remonstrance from conscience, laid hands upon a loaf and a dish of
+delicious little cakes of fried pork fat, from which the lard had that
+day been 'rendered,' and thus supplied, stole out to his hereditary
+enemy and fed him. The hereditary enemy complained of cold, and his host
+groped the dark place for sacks, and, having found them, brought them to
+him.
+
+'I say,' said Joe, when he had tasted the provender, 'them's
+scratchings. That's gay and fine. I never had as many as I should like
+afore. Mother says they're too rich, but that's all rubbish.'
+
+He made oily feast in the dark, with the sacks heaped about him. With
+Master Richard to help him, he began to swim in adventure, and the
+pair were so fascinated and absorbed that one of the farm-servants went
+bawling 'Master Richard' about the outlying buildings for two or three
+minutes before they heard him. When at last the call reached their ears
+they had to wait until it died away again before the surreptitious host
+dare leave the barn, lest his being seen should draw attention to the
+place.
+
+Then Joe, who had been hunting wild beasts of all sorts with the
+greatest possible gusto, began in turn to be hunted by them. The
+rattlesnake, hitherto unknown to Castle Barfield, became a common
+object; the lion and the polar bear met on common ground in the
+menagerie of Joe's imagination. Whatever poor blessings and hopes he
+had, and whatever schoolboy wealth he owned, he would have surrendered
+all of them to be in the brewhouse of the Mountain Farm, even though he
+were there to take his shirt off But the empty, impassable, awful night
+stood between him and any refuge, and he must need stay where he was,
+and sweat with terror under his sacks, through all the prodigious tracts
+of time which lay between the evening and the morning. He was to have
+been up and afoot for Liverpool before dawn, but tired nature chose the
+time he had fixed for starting to send him to sleep, and when Master
+Richard stole into the barn with intent to disperse the sacks and clear
+away any sign of Joe's occupancy, he found him slumbering soundly, with
+a tear-stained cheek resting on a dirty brown hand.
+
+There had been the wildest sort of hubbub and disorder at the Mountain
+Farm all night. Mrs. Mountain had wept and wrung her hands, and rocking
+herself to and fro, had poured forth doleful prophecy. Samson, who had
+begun with bluster, had fallen into anxiety, and had himself traced the
+course of the brook for a full mile by lanthorn-light. The farm hands
+had been sent abroad, and had tracked every road without result. Of
+course the one place where nobody so much as thought of making inquiry
+was the house of the hereditary foe, but pretty early, in the course of
+the morning, the news of Joe Mountain's disappearance, and something
+of the reasons for it, reached Perry Hall. Everybody at Perry Hall knew
+already what a terrible personage Samson Mountain was, and his behaviour
+on this occasion was the theme of scathing comment.
+
+Master Richard was guilty at heart, but exultant. Being a boy of lively
+imagination, he took to a secrecy so profound, and became so strikingly
+stealthy, as to excite observation and remark. He was watched and
+tracked to the barn, and then the discovery came about as a matter
+of course. The Reddys made much of Joe--they had no quarrel with an
+innocent persecuted child--but their kindness and commiseration were
+simply darts to throw at Samson.
+
+It was noon when Reddy put the trembling adventurer into his trap, and
+with his own hands drove him home. The two enemies met and glowered at
+each other.
+
+'I've found your lad and brought him home,' said Reddy; 'though I doubt
+it's a cruel kindness to him.'
+
+Samson, with all the gall in his nature burning at his heart, lifted Joe
+from the trap and set him on the ground in silence. Reddy, in silence,
+turned his horse's head, touched him with the whip, and drove away. Joe
+was welcomed home by a thrashing, which he remembers in old age.
+
+The episode bore fruit in several ways. To begin with, Master Joe was
+packed off to a distant school, far from that to which young Reddy was
+sent. But the boys found each other out in the holidays, and became
+firm friends on the sly, and Joe was so loyal and admiring that he never
+ceased to talk to his one confidante of the courage, the friendliness,
+the generosity, the agility, and skill of his secret hero. The
+confidante was his sister Julia, to whom the young hereditary enemy
+became a synonym for whatever is lovely and of good report. She used
+to look at him in church--she had little other opportunity of observing
+him--and would think in her childish innocent mind how handsome and
+noble he looked. He did not speak like the Barfield boys, or look like
+them, or walk like them. He was a young prince, heir to vast estates,
+and a royal title in fairyland. If story-books were few and far between,
+the sentimental foolish widow, Jenny Busker, was a mine of narrative,
+and a single fairy tale is enough to open all other fairy lore to a
+child's imagination. If the little girl worshipped the boy, he, in his
+turn, looked kindly down on her. He had fought for her once at odds of
+two to one, and he gave her a smile now and then. It happened that in
+this wise began the curious, half-laughable, and half-pathetic little
+history which buried the hatreds of the Castle Barfield Capulet and
+Montague for ever.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+In this Castle Barfield version of Romeo and Juliet the parody would
+have been impossible without the aid and intervention of some sort of
+Friar Laurence. He was a notability of those parts in those days, and he
+was known as the Dudley Devil. In these enlightened times he would have
+been dealt with as a rogue and vagabond, and, not to bear too hardly
+upon an historical personage, whom there is nobody (even with all our
+wealth of historical charity-mongers) to whitewash, he deserved richly
+in his own day the treatment he would have experienced in ours. He
+discovered stolen property--when his confederates aided him; he put
+the eye on people obnoxious to his clients, for a consideration; he
+overlooked milch cows, and they yielded blood; he went about in
+the guise of a great gray tom-cat. It was historically true in
+my childhood--though, like other things, it may have ceased to be
+historically true since then--that it was in this disguise of the great
+gray tom-cat that he met his death. He was fired at by a farmer, the
+wounded cat crawled into the wizard's cottage, and the demon restored to
+human form was found dying later on with a gun-shot charge in his ribs.
+There were people alive a dozen--nay, half a dozen--years ago, who
+_knew_ these things, to whom it was blasphemous to dispute them.
+
+The demon's earthly name was Rufus Smith, and he lived 'by Dudley Wood
+side, where the wind blows cold,' as the local ballad puts it His mother
+had dealt in the black art before him, and was ducked to death in the
+Severn by the bridge in the ancient town of Bewdley. He was a lean man,
+with a look of surly fear. It is likely enough that he half expected
+some of his invocations to come true one fine day or other, with
+consequences painful to himselt The old notions are dying out fast, but
+it used to be said in that region that when a man talked to himself he
+was talking with the universal enemy. Rufus and his mother were great
+chatterers in solitude, and what possible companion could they have but
+one?
+
+It is not to be supposed that all the ministrations for which the people
+of the country-side relied upon Rufus were mischievous. If he had done
+nothing but overlook cattle and curse crops, and so forth, he would
+have been hunted out. Some passably good people have been said, upon
+occasions, to hold a candle to the devil. With a similar diversion
+from general principle, Rufus was known occasionally to perform acts
+of harmless utility. He charmed away warts and corns, he prepared love
+philtres, and sold lucky stones. He foreran the societies which insure
+against accident, and would guarantee whole bones for a year or a
+lifetime, according to the insurer's purse or fancy. He told fortunes by
+the palm and by the cards, and was the sole proprietor and vendor of a
+noted heal-all salve of magic properties.
+
+He and his mother had gathered together between them a respectable
+handful of ghastly trifles, which were of substantial service alike to
+him and to his clients. A gentleman coming to have his corns or warts
+charmed away would be naturally assisted towards faith by the aspect of
+the polecat's skeleton, the skulls of two or three local criminals,
+and the shrivelled, mummified dead things which hung about the walls or
+depended head downwards from the ceiling. These decorations apart, the
+wizard's home was a little commonplace. It stood by itself in a
+bare hollow, an unpicturesque and barn-like cottage, not altogether
+weather-proof.
+
+It fell upon a day that Mrs. Jenny Rusker drove over from Castle
+Barfield to pay Rufus a visit. She rode in a smart little trap, the kind
+of thing employed by the better sort of rustic tradesmen, and drove a
+smart little pony. She was a motherly, foolish, good creature, who, next
+to the reading of plays and romances, loved to have children about her
+and to make them happy. On this particular day she had Master Richard
+with her. She kept up her acquaintance with both her old lovers, and was
+on terms of rather coolish friendship with them. But she adored their
+children, and would every now and again make a descent on the house of
+one or other of her old admirers and ravish away a child for a day or
+two.
+
+Mrs. Jenny had consoled herself elsewhere for the loss of lovers for
+whom she had never cared a halfpenny, but she had never ceased to hold a
+sort of liking for both her old suitors. Their claims had formerly been
+pretty evenly balanced in her mind, and even now, when the affair was
+ancient enough in all conscience to have been naturally and quietly
+buried long ago, she never met either of her quondam lovers without
+some touch of old-world coquetry in her manner. The faintest and most
+far-away touch of anything she could call romance was precious to
+the old woman, and having a rare good heart of her own under all her
+superannuated follies, she adored the children. Dick was her especial
+favourite, as was only natural, for he was pretty enough and regal
+enough with his childish airs of _petit grand seigneur_ to make him
+beloved of most women who met him. Women admire the frank masterfulness
+of a generous and half-spoiled boy, and Mrs. Jenny saw in the child the
+prophecy of all she had thought well of in his father, refined by the
+grace of childhood and by a better breeding than the father had ever
+had.
+
+So she and Dick were great allies, and there was always cake and
+elderberry wine and an occasional half-crown for him at Laburnum
+Cottage. It was only natural that, so fostered, Dick's affection for the
+old lady should be considerable. She was his counsellor and confidante
+from his earliest years, and the little parlour, with its antiquated
+furniture and works of art-in wool, its haunting odour of pot-pourri
+emanating from the big china jar upon the mantelshelf, and its moist
+warm atmosphere dimly filtered through the drooping green and gold of
+the laburnum tree, whose leaves tapped incessantly against the lozenged
+panes of its barred windows, was almost as familiar in his memory in
+after years as the sitting-room at home at the farm.
+
+Dick conferred upon its kindly and garrulous old tenant the brevet rank
+of 'Aunt' Jenny, and loved her, telling her, in open-hearted childish
+fashion, his thoughts, experiences, and secrets. Naturally, the story of
+the fight with the paynim oppressors of beauty came out in his talk soon
+after its occurrence, and lost nothing in the telling. Mrs. Jenny would
+have found a romance in circumstances much less easily usable to that
+end than those of the scion of one house rescuing the daughter of a
+rival and inimical line, and here was material enough for foolish fancy.
+She cast a prophetic eye into the future, and saw Dick and Julia, man
+and maid, reuniting their severed houses in the bonds of love, or doubly
+embittering their mutual hatred and perishing--young and lovely victims
+to clannish hatred and parental rigour--like Romeo and Juliet.
+
+The boy's account of the fight was given as he sat by her side in her
+little pony-trap in the cheerfully frosty morning. Dick chatted gaily as
+the shaggy-backed pony trotted along the resounding road with a clatter
+of hoofs and a jingle of harness, and an occasional sneeze at the frosty
+air. They passed the field of battle on the road, and Dick pointed it
+out. Then, as was natural, he turned to the family feud, and retailed
+all he had heard from Ichabod, supplemented by information from other
+quarters and such additions of fancy as imaginative children and savages
+are sure to weave about the fabric of any story which comes in their way
+to make tradition generally the trustworthy thing it is.
+
+Mrs. Busker was strong on the family quarrel. A family quarrel was a
+great thing in her estimation, almost as good as a family ghost, and
+she gave Dick the whole history of the incident of the brook and of many
+others which had grown out of it, among them one concerning the death of
+a certain Reddy which had tragically come to pass a year or two before
+his birth. The said Reddy had been found one November evening stark and
+cold at the corner of the parson's spinney, with an empty gun grasped
+in his stiffened hand, and a whole charge of small shot in his breast.
+Crowner's quest had resulted in a verdict of death by misadventure, and
+the generally received explanation was that the young fellow's own gun
+had worked the mischief by careless handling in passing through stiff
+undergrowth. But a certain ne'er-do-well Mountain, a noted striker and
+tosspot of the district, had mysteriously disappeared about that date,
+and had never since come within scope of Castle Barfield knowledge.
+Ugly rumours had got afloat, vague and formless, and soon to die out
+of general memory. Dick listened open-mouthed to all this, and when the
+narrative was concluded, held his peace for at least two minutes.
+
+'_She_ isn't wicked, is she, Aunt Jenny?' he suddenly demanded.
+
+'She? Who? 'asked Mrs. Eusker in return. 'The little girl, Julia.'
+
+'Wicked? Sakes alive, whativer is the boy talking about? Wicked? O'
+course not. She's a dear good little thing as iver lived.'
+
+'Ichabod said that all the Mountains were wicked. But I know Joe
+isn't--at least, not very. He promised me a monkey and a parrot--a green
+parrot, when he came back from running away. But he didn't run away,
+because father found him and took him home. His father gave him an awful
+thrashing. He often thrashes him, Joe says. Father never thrashes me.
+What does his father thrash him for?' 'Mr. Mountain's a harder man than
+your father, my dear. An' I fear as Joe's a bit wild, like his father
+when he was a boy, and obstinit. Theer niver was a obstinater man i'
+this earth than Samson Mountain, I do believe, an' Joe's got a bit on it
+in him.'
+
+'She's pretty,' said Dick, returning with sudden childish inconsequence
+to the subject uppermost in his thoughts. 'Joe isn't Why is it that the
+girls are always prettier than the boys?'
+
+'I used to think it was the other way about when I was a gell,' said
+Aunt Jenny, with perfect simplicity. 'But she is pretty, that's true.
+But then her mother was a likely lass, an' Samson warn't bad lookin',
+if he hadn't ha' been so fierce an' cussid. An' to think as it should be
+you, of all the lads i' Barfield, as should save a Mountain. An' a gell
+too.. I suppose as you'll be a settin' up to fall in love wi' her now,
+like Romeo and Juliet?'
+
+'What was that? 'asked the boy.
+
+'It's a play, my dear, wrote by a clever man as has been dead iver so
+many 'ears, William Shaakespeare.'
+
+'Shakespeare?' said Dick. 'I know. It's a big book on one of the shelves
+at home, full of poetry. But what's Romeo and Juliet?'
+
+'Romeo and Juliet was two lovers, as lived a long time ago in a place
+called Verona. I don't know where it is,' she added quickly, to stave
+off the imminent question already on the boy's lips. 'Somewhere abroad,
+wheer Bonyparty is. Juliet's name was Capulet, an' Romeo's was Montague,
+an' the Capilets and the Montagues hated each other so as they could
+niver meet wi'out havin' a bit of a turn-up one with another. They was
+as bad as the Reddys an' the Mountains, only i' them daysen folks allays
+wore swords an' daggers, so's when they fowt they mostly killed each
+other. Well, one night old Capilet gi'en a party, an' asked all his
+friends, an' everybody wore masks, so's they didn't know half the time
+who they was a-talkin' tew, as was the fashion i' them times, an' Romeo,
+he goes, just for divilment, an' he puts on a mask tew, so as they
+didn't know him, else they'd ha' killed him, sure an' certain. An' theer
+he sees Juliet, an' she was beautiful, an' he falls plump in love wi'
+her, an' she falls in love wi' him, an' they meets o' nights, i' the
+moonlight, on the window-ledge outside her room, but they had to meet
+i' secret, 'cause the two fam'lies was like cat an' dog, an' there'd ha'
+been awful doin's if they'd been found out. Well, old Capilet--that was
+Juliet's feyther--he finds a husband for Juliet, a nice chap enough, a
+count, like Lord Barfield, on'y younger an' likelier. An' Juliet, she
+gets welly mad, because she wants to marry Romeo. And then, to mek
+matters wuss, Romeo meets one o' Juliet's relations, a young man named
+Tybalt, as hates him like pison, an' they fowt, an' Romeo killed him.
+Well, the Capilets was powerful wi' the king as ruled in Verona, like
+Joseph used to be with Pharaoh in the Holy Land, my dear, an' Romeo, he
+has to run away an' hide himself, else p'raps they'd ha' hung him
+for killin' Tybalt, though it was Tybalt as begun the fight, so poor
+Juliet's left all alone. An' her marriage day's a-gettin' near, and old
+Capilet, he's stuck on her marryin' the count, an' the day's been named,
+and everything provided for the weddin'. Well, Romeo takes a thought,
+an' goes to a friar, a kind o' priest, as was a very book-learned man,
+and asks if he can help him. And at first he says no, he can't, an'
+Romeo gets that crazed, he's goin' to kill himself, but by an' by he
+thinks of a plan. He gives Juliet a bottle o' physic stuff to send her
+to sleep, and make her look as if she was dead. Then her relations 'll
+be sure to bury her i' the family vault, an' he'll write to Romeo to
+come back to Verona i' the night-time an' take her out o' the vault, an'
+goo away quiet wi' her till things have blown over, an' they can come
+back again. An' Juliet takes the physic, an' everybody thinks her dead,
+her father, an' her mother, an' her old nuss, an' Paris--that's the
+name of the gentleman as they wanted her to marry--an' there's such a
+hullabaloo an' racket as niver was. An' they buried her i' the vault,
+wi' all her relations, an' the old friar thinks as it's all a-comin'
+straight. But the letter as he'd writ to Romeo niver reaches him, an'
+Romeo hears as how Juliet's really dead, and he buys a bottle o' pison,
+an' comes to Juliet's grave i' the night-time, an' there he meets Paris,
+as has come to put flowers there an' pray for Juliet's soul, knowin'
+no better and lovin' her very dear. An' him an' Romeo fights, and Romeo
+kills him, an' opens the vault, an' go's in, an' theer's Juliet, lyin'
+stiff an' stark, because the physic ain't had time to work itself off
+yit. An' he kisses her, an' cries over her, and then he teks the pison,
+and dies. An' just as he's done it, Juliet wakes up, and finds him dead,
+and she takes his knife, an' kills herself, poor thing, an' that's the
+hend on 'em.'
+
+The old sentimentalist's eyes were moist, and her voice choked, as she
+concluded her legend. It was the first love-story Dick had ever heard,
+and in pity at the beautiful narrative, which no clumsiness of narration
+could altogether rob of its pathos, he was crying too. There is no
+audience like an impressionable child, and the immortal story of love
+and misfortune seemed very pitiful to his small and tender heart.
+
+'Why, theer! theer! Dick! It's only a story, my dear, wrote in a
+book,' said Mrs Jenny. 'It most likely ain't true, an' if it is, it
+all happened sich a time ago as it's no good a-frettin' about it. Why,
+wheeriver did you get all them warts? 'She took one of the hands with
+which Dick was rubbing his eyes. 'You should have 'em looked tew, they
+quite spile your hands. I must get Rufus Smith to have a look at 'em.
+You know who we'm agoin' to see, don't you? You've heard tell o' the
+Dudley Devil, Dick?'
+
+'Yes,' said Dick. 'Ichabod goes to him for his rheumatism.'
+
+'It's on'y a step away. That's his cottage, over there. We'll get him to
+charm the warts away.'
+
+A hundred yards farther on Mrs. Jenny checked the pony, and, dismounting
+from the vehicle, bade Dick tie him to an elder-shoot and follow her.
+They went through a gap in a ruinous hedge, and traversed a furzy field,
+at the farther side of which stood the wizard's hut, a wretched place
+of a single story, with a shuttered window and a thatched roof full of
+holes and overgrown with weeds. As they approached the door a mighty
+clatter was audible within, and Mrs. Jenny held the boy's hand in a
+tightened grasp, fearful of devilry. As they stood irresolute to
+advance or retreat, a big cat dashed out at the doorway with a feline
+imprecation, and the wizard appeared, revengefully waving a stick, and
+swearing furiously.
+
+'Cuss the brute,' he said, 'the divil's in her, sure an' sartin'.'
+
+It seemed not unlikely to the onlookers, the cat being the wizard's
+property, and therefore, by all rule and prescription, his prompter and
+familiar. She was not of the received colour, however, her fur being
+of a rusty red. But as she raised her back, and spat at her master's
+visitors from under her chubbed tail, she looked demoniac enough for
+anything. And from the fashion in which, her anathema once launched, she
+sat down and betook herself to the rearrangement of her ruffled coat, it
+might have been conjectured that it was not purely personal to them, but
+that they were attacked merely as types of the human race, whose society
+she and her master had forsworn.
+
+'Cuss her!' reiterated the wizard. 'Where's her got tew? My soul, what's
+this?'
+
+He peered with a short-sighted terror-stricken scowl on Mrs. Jenny
+and her charge, as if for a moment the fancy had crossed him that his
+refractory familiar had taken their shapes. His gray lips muttered
+something, and his fingers worked oddly as he took a step or two
+forward, clearly outlined in the cold winter sunshine against the black
+void beyond his open door.
+
+'Why, Rufus, what's the matter?' asked Mrs. Jenny. 'Don't look like that
+at a body.'
+
+'It's you, mum?' said the necromancer. A look of relief came into his
+wizened face. 'I didn't know but what it might be----' His voice trailed
+off into an indistinct murmur, and he smeared his hand heavily across
+his face, and looked at it, mistrustfully, as if he rather expected to
+find something else in its place. 'Cuss her!' he said again, looking
+round for the cat.
+
+'What's she done?' demanded Mrs. Jenny.
+
+'Done? Ate up all my brekfus, that's what she's done,' rejoined
+the wizard. The familiar grinned with a relish of the situation so
+fiendishly human that Dick clung closer to Mrs. Rusker's hand, and
+devoutly wished himself back in the trap. To his childish sense the
+incongruity of one gifted with demoniac powers being helpless to prevent
+the depredations of his own domestic animal did not appeal. As for Mrs.
+Jenny, she had piously believed in witchcraft all her life, and was
+quite as insensible to the absurdity as he.
+
+'I want you to look at this young gentleman's hands,' said Mrs. Busker.
+'He's got warts that bad. I suppose you can charm 'em away for him?'
+
+Appealed to on a point of his art, the wizard's air changed altogether.
+He assumed an aspect of wooden majesty.
+
+'Why, yis,' he said. 'I think I'm equal to that Step inside, mum, and
+bring the young gentleman with you.'
+
+'Couldn't you-------' Mrs. Busker hesitatingly began, 'couldn't you do
+it outside?'
+
+'The forms and ceremonies,' said the necromancer, with an increase of
+woodenness in his manner, 'cannot be applied out o' doors. Arter you,
+mum.'
+
+He ushered them into the one room of his hut, and the cat, with her
+tail floating above her like a banner, entered too, evading a kick, and
+sprang upon a rotten deal shelf, which apparently acted as both dresser
+and table.
+
+Rufus closed the ruinous door, thereby intensifying the gloom which
+reigned within the place. The floor was of simple earth, unboarded,
+and the air smelt of it Here and there a fine spear of ghostly sunlight
+pierced a crack in roof or wall. By the time their eyes had become
+accustomed to the gloom they saw that Rufus, on his knees on the floor,
+was scratching a circle about himself with a scrap of a broken pot, and
+the indistinct rhythmic murmur of the spell he muttered reached their
+ears.
+
+The cat, perched upon the dresser, purred as if her internal machinery
+were running down to final collapse, and her contracting and dilating
+eyes borrowed infernal fires from the chance ray of sunshine in which
+she sat. The brute's rusty red head, so lit, fascinated Dick, and the
+mingled rhythms of her purring and the wizard's mounted and mounted,
+until to his bewildered mind the whole world seemed filled with their
+murmur, and the demoniac head seemed to dilate as he gazed at it.
+Suddenly, Rufus paused in his sing-song, and the cat's purr ceased with
+it, as though her share of the charm was done.
+
+'Come into the ring,' said Rufus. His voice was shaky, and if there had
+been light enough to see it, his face was gray with terror of his own
+hocus-pocus. The cat's head had dropped out of the line of sunlight, and
+she had coiled herself up on the dresser among a disorderly litter of
+crockery ware. Dick, relieved from the fascination of her too-visible
+presence, obeyed the summons, and Rufus, seating himself upon a broken
+stool, took his hand in moist and quivering fingers, and touching the
+warts one by one, recommenced his mumble. It had proceeded for a minute
+or so, when a crash, which, following as it did on the dead stillness,
+an earthquake could scarce have equalled, elicited a scream from Mrs.
+Jenny and brought the wizard to his knees with a yell of terror.
+
+'My blessid!' he cried, with clacking jaws, 'I've done it at last! Get
+thee behind me, Satan!'
+
+In terror-stricken earnest he believed that the Great Personage he had
+passed all his life in trying to raise had answered to his call at
+last. So, though it was unquestionably a relief to him to find that the
+appalling clatter had merely been caused by his familiar's pursuit of
+a mouse among the crockery, a shade of disappointment may have followed
+the discovery.
+
+'Cuss her!' he said, for the third time that morning, and with
+additional unction. 'Her'll be the death of me some day, I know her
+will!'
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+A summer sunset filled all the sky above Castle Barfield and its
+encircling fields. The sun had disappeared, leaving behind him a broad
+reflected track of glory where, here and there, a star was faintly
+visible. A light wind was blowing from the hollow which sheltered the
+town towards the higher land whereon the rival houses of Eeddy and
+Mountain faced each other. Below, it was already almost night, and as
+the wind blew the shadow mounted, as if the wind carried it. The rose
+and gold left by the departing sun faded down the sky, and settled at
+the horizon into a broad band of deep-toned fire, which, to one facing
+it in ascending from the lower ground, seemed to bind the two houses
+together. Some such fancy might have been in the head of Mrs. Jenny
+Rusker, as she went in the warm evening air towards the little eminence
+on which stood the long low-built house of Samson Mountain, already
+a-twinkle with occasional lights in the gloom, its own bulk cast against
+the fast-fading band of sunset.
+
+Mrs. Jenny, hale and vigorous yet, and still a widow, was older by
+fifteen years than on the day when she unfolded to Dick Reddy the story
+of Romeo and Juliet. Fifteen years was a good slice out of a lifetime,
+even in Castle Barfield in the first half of the century, when time
+slipped by so quietly and left so little trace to mark his flight.
+
+She passed the gate which opened on the public road, and entered the
+Mountain domain. The air was so still that the bubble of the boundary
+brook was clearly audible a hundred yards away, with nothing to accent
+it but the slow heavy flap of a late crow, winging his reluctant flight
+homewards, and save for him, sky and earth alike seemed empty of life,
+and delivered wholly to the clinging peace of evening. So that when Mrs.
+Jenny came to the only clump of trees in her line of progress between
+the gate and the house the little scream of surprise with which she
+found herself suddenly face to face with an unexpected human figure was
+justified.
+
+'Sh-h-h! 'said the figure's owner. 'Don't you know me, Aunt Jenny?'
+
+'Dick!' said Mrs. Jenny, peering at him. 'So it is. You welly frightened
+the life out o' me. What brings you here, of all places in the world?'
+
+'Can't you guess?' asked Dick. He was tall and broad-shouldered now,
+an admirable fulfilment of the physical promise of his boyhood, and far
+overtopped Mrs. Rusker. 'It isn't for the first time.'
+
+'I feared not,' said the old woman. 'You was allays main venturesome.'
+
+'It will be for the last, for some time, Aunt Jenny. I leave Castle
+Barfield to-morrow.'
+
+'Leave Barfield?' cried the old woman. 'Why, Dick, wheer are ye goin'?
+You ain't agoin' to do nothin' rash, that I do hope.'
+
+'I am going to London,' said Dick, 'and I must see Julia before I go.
+You must help me. You are going to the house now, aren't you?'
+
+'Going to London?' repeated Mrs. Eusker, who had no ears for the last
+words after that announcement. 'What's made you so hot foot to go to
+London all of a minute like?'
+
+'It was decided to-day. My father suspects what is going on. I feel
+sure of it, though he has never said a word about it. You know he always
+meant to make a doctor of me--it was my own choice when I was quite a
+little fellow, and it has always been understood. Last month he asked me
+if I was of the same mind still, and to-day he told me that my seat is
+taken in the coach from Birmingham. You know my father, Aunt Jenny, as
+well as I do. He has been a very good father to me, and I would not give
+him pain or trouble for the world. I could not refuse. Indeed, it is
+my last chance of ever doing anything for myself and making a home for
+Julia.'
+
+'My dear, they'll never hear on it, nayther of 'em. Samson Mountain 'd
+rather see his daughter in her coffin than married to any kin of Abel
+Reddy's. Though he loves her, too, in a kind o' way. An' your father's
+jist as hard; he's on'y quieter with it, that's all They'll niver
+consent Niver, i' this world.'
+
+'Then we must do without their consent, that's all. I must see Julia
+to-night, and you must help me. Tell her that I am here and must see
+her. Oh, Aunt Jenny, you are surely not going to desert us now, after
+helping us so often.'
+
+'I'm dub'ous, my dear. I hope good may come of it, but I'm dub'ous. I'm
+doubtful if I did right in helping you, again your father's will, an'
+Mr. Mountain's, too.'
+
+'You won't refuse to do so little, after doing so much,' pleaded the
+young man. 'Why, it was at your house that I used to meet her, when we
+were children together, and you first christened us Romeo and Juliet.'
+
+'A name o' bad omen, my dear. I wish I hadn't gi'en it to you now.'
+
+'For niver was a story o' more woe, Than this o' Jewliet an' her Romeo.'
+
+'I don't believe much in omens,' said Dick. 'But you will tell Julia
+that I am here, won't you? It's the last time, for ever so long.'
+
+'I'll tell her,' said Mrs. Rusker. 'But don't stay here; goo down to the
+Five Ash. Mr. Mountain's gone to Burmungem, an' he'll come across this
+way when he comes back. You must tek a bit o' care, Dick, for the gell's
+sake.'
+
+'I'll take care, dear. It's good-bye this time, Aunt. You've been very
+good to me always, and I shan't forget your kindness while I'm away. And
+you'll be good to Julia, too, while--while I'm away, won't you?'
+
+Mrs. Rusker's objections had never had any heart in them, and had been
+merely perfunctory, and such as she conceived her age and semi-maternal
+authority compelled her to make. She was wholly given over to Dick and
+Julia, and all her simple craft was for their service. She kissed him,
+and cried over him, and so they parted, he bound for the Five Ash field,
+and she for the farmhouse.
+
+'Why, lacsaday, Jenny, whativer is the matter?' asked Mrs. Mountain,
+when her visitor entered her sitting-room, and gave her tear-stained
+cheek to her old friend's embrace. Julia, a lithe, graceful girl, rose
+at the query from the other side of the little table, and came to Mrs.
+Rusker's side.
+
+'Why, you're cryin',' continued the elder woman. 'What is it, my dear,
+as has upset you i' this wise?'
+
+'Well, my dear,' said Mrs. Rusker, wiping her eyes and smoothing her
+dress, as if her grief was done with and put away, 'it ain't a trouble
+as I expects sympathy from you in.'
+
+Mother and daughter exchanged glances.
+
+'It must be a queer sort o' trouble, then,' said Mrs. Mountain; 'an'
+you might tell me what it is afore you say that, Mrs. Rusker, arter all
+these 'ears as we'n knowed each other.'
+
+'Well, if you must know, I've jist sin young Reddy, i' the road, jist
+outside the Five Ash.' Julia's hand was on her shoulder as she spoke,
+and she felt the soft touch tremble. 'He's a-leavin' Barfield, agoin' to
+London, for a long time.'
+
+'Oh, that's the matter, is it? Well, I don't know anythin' agin the
+young man, barrin' as he is a Reddy. An' for the matter o' that, though
+o' course a woman has no ch'ice but to stand by the kin as her marries
+into, I niver found much harm in 'em, unless it is as they're a bit
+stuck up. I know as you was allays fond on him, an' I hope the young man
+'ll do well. I've often said to Samson as it was all rubbidge, a-keepin'
+up a old quarrel like that, as keeps two dacent fam'lys at daggers
+drawn. Theer, theer, let Julia get you a cup o' tay, an' let's talk o'
+somethin' cheerful.'
+
+'I'll go and send it in to you,' said Julia. She exchanged one quick
+glance of intelligence with the widow as she left the room. The old
+woman had done her errand, and Julia knew where to seek her lover.
+She found her hat in the hall, and slipped out by the back way, after
+directing the servant to take in the required refreshment to Mrs.
+Busker. It was bright moonlight now, and as she ran lightly across the
+Five Ash field in her white summer dress, Dick, waiting in the shelter
+of the hedge, saw her plainly, and advanced to meet her.
+
+'Oh, Dick, is it true?'
+
+He took her in his arms and kissed her before he answered. 'Yes, dear,
+it's true. I am going to London.'
+
+'But why so suddenly, so soon?'
+
+'I must, dear. It is my own choice. I am going to study, to fit myself
+to take my place in the world, and to find a home for you. Be brave,
+dear. It is only for a little time.'
+
+'It is all so sudden.'
+
+'Yes. I had hoped to stay a little longer, to see more of you, to get
+used to my happiness before I lost it. But my father suspects, I am
+sure, if he does not know, and I dared not refuse. It hurts me to go,
+but what can I do? You know the man he is. And there is only one thing
+in the world that your father would help him to do--to separate us. I
+must go away and make a home for you with my own hands; we can expect no
+help from them. If we are true to each other we shall be happy yet. Our
+love may end the ridiculous family squabble which has lasted all these
+generations. But it would be madness to speak yet.'
+
+'It is that which makes me so unhappy, Dick. Why am I not like other
+girls? Why can't you come to the farm and ask my father's leave to court
+me, as other girls' sweethearts do, and as you would like to do? I
+can't help feeling that this is wrong, meeting you in secret, and being
+engaged to you against my father's will, without his knowledge.'
+
+'The quarrel is not of our making, Julia. We only suffer by it. I hope
+we shall bring it to an end, and teach two honest men to live at peace
+together, as they ought. Why, you're crying.'
+
+Her tears had been running quietly for some minutes past, but at this
+she began to sob unrestrainedly. Dick comforted her in the orthodox
+fashion, and in that sweet employment almost succeeded in forgetting
+his own sorrow. He drew bright pictures of the future: youth held the
+palette, and hope laid on the colour. Two or three years of partial
+separation--so little--and he would have a livelihood in his hand, and
+could offer her a safe asylum from parental tyranny, and bid his own
+people either to accept the situation or renounce him, as they might
+choose. He was quite heroic internally about the whole business. He felt
+the promise of the coming struggle brace his nerves, and he was more
+than ready for the test. Young love is selfish at the best, and the
+heroic likeness of himself doing battle with the world of London half
+obliterated the pitiful figure of the poor girl, left at home, with
+nothing to fill her heart but dreams. For him, the delight of battle;
+for her, long months of weary waiting.
+
+It was no doubt of him, but only the rooted longing for assurance of his
+love, that made her ask,
+
+'You won't forget me, Dick, in London?'
+
+Forget her! His repetition of the word, his little laugh of loving
+scorn, were answer enough, though he found others, and arguments
+unanswerable, to clinch them. How could he forget the sweetest, dearest
+girl that ever drew the breath of life, the prettiest and the bravest?
+She spoke treason against herself in asking such a question. He could
+no more forget her in London than Romeo, Juliet in Mantua. She laughed
+a little at his recalling the old story, from which Mrs. Jenny had
+drawn so many illustrations of the course of their love since they were
+children. It recalled the old woman to their minds.
+
+'I shall write to you every week, and send the letters under cover to
+her,' said Dick. 'And you may be sure that I shall find--or make--plenty
+of opportunities to run down here from time to time. There is a coach
+every day to Birmingham.'
+
+They had been walking slowly all this time. It was night now, the last
+gleam of sunset had faded, the stars were lustrous overhead, and a
+yellow moonlight flooded the surrounding country. A long distance off,
+faint but clear in the dead hush of the summer night, they heard, but
+did not mark, the beat of horses' hoofs approaching them.
+
+'I must go, Dick,' said Julia. 'It is late, and they will wonder where I
+am No, let me go now, while I have the strength.'
+
+He took her in his arms again, and her head dropped on his shoulder,
+and the tears began to run afresh. He held her close, but in that last
+moment of parting could find no word of comfort, only dumb caresses. The
+hoof-beats were near at hand now, just beyond the bend of the road.
+They rounded the corner, and broke on the lovers' ears with a loud and
+startling suddenness. The girl broke away, and ran through the gate into
+the field with a stifled sob. Dick turned, and walked down the road in
+the direction of the approaching horseman. The moon was at the full, and
+shone broadly upon his face and figure.
+
+'Hullo!' cried the rider, in gruff challenge, and pulling his horse into
+Dick's path, reined in. The young man looked up and recognised Samson
+Mountain. Flight would have been as useless as ignominious, and it had
+never been Dick's way out of any difficulty.
+
+'Well?' he asked curtly, and stood his ground.
+
+'Is that my daughter?' demanded Mountain, pointing with his heavy whip
+after the white figure glinting across the field. 'Spake the truth for
+once, though you be a Reddy.'
+
+'It's a habit we have,' said Dick quietly. His calm almost surprised
+himself. 'Yes.'
+
+Mountain had always been of a heavy build, and of late years had
+increased enormously in girth and weight. But his wrath at this
+confirmation of his half guess stirred him so, that before the sound of
+the word had well died out on the air he had dismounted, and came at the
+young man with his riding-whip flourished above his head.
+
+'Don't do that, sir.' Dick spoke in a low voice, though quickly; and
+there was something in his tone which brought the weapon harmlessly to
+the farmer's side again. 'It is your daughter. We love each other, and
+she has promised to be my wife.'
+
+Mountain staggered, as if the words had been a pistol bullet or a stab,
+and struck furiously. Quick as was Dick's parry, he only half saved
+himself, his hat spun into the road, and the whip whistled within an
+inch of his ear. He made a step back, and stopped a second furious
+stroke. The whip broke in the old man's hand, and he flung the remaining
+fragment from him with a curse.
+
+'I can't strike you, sir,' said Dick. 'You're her father.' Mountain's
+choking breath filled in the pause, and Dick went on: 'You know well
+enough there's not another man in England I'd take that from.'
+
+'You're a coward, like all your tribe,' said Mountain.
+
+'Not at all, I assure you, sir,' said Dick calmly. 'If you like to send
+anybody else with that message, I'll talk to him. Let us talk sensibly.
+What harm have I ever done you? Or my father either? Why should two
+honest families keep up this ridiculous story, which ought to have been
+buried ages back? Why not let bygones be bygones? I love your daughter.
+I am a young man yet, sir, with my way to make in the world, and I
+am going away to London to study. I met your daughter to-night to say
+goodbye to her, and if you had not come I should have gone away and said
+nothing until I could come and claim her, with a home worthy of her to
+take her to.
+
+But since you know, I speak now. We love each other, and intend to
+marry.'
+
+'Oh!' said Mountain. He had gone all on a sudden as cool as Dick, and
+nothing but his stertorous breathing hinted of the rage which filled
+him. 'That's it, is it? Then, if you're finished, hear me. I ain't got
+the gift o' the gab as free as you, but I can mek plain my meanin',
+p'raps. I'd rather see her a-layin' theer '(he pointed with a trembling
+hand at the ground between them); 'I'd rather lay her there, dead afore
+my eyes, an' screw her in her coffin a'terwards, than you or any o' your
+kin should as much as look at her, wi' my goodwill. And now you've got
+your answer, Mr. Fair an' Fine. Remember it, an' look out for yourself.
+For, by the Lord! 'he went on, with a solemn malignity doubly terrible
+in a man whose passion was ordinarily so violent, 'if iver I ketch you
+round my house again, I'll put a bullet atween thy ribs as sure as my
+naame's Samson Mountain.'
+
+With this, he took his horse by the bridle, and passed through the gate,
+leaving the young man to his own reflections. He took the beast to the
+stable, delivered him into the care of a servant, and made straight
+for the parlour, where his wife and Mrs. Rusker were seated at an early
+supper.
+
+'You're back early, Sam,' said the former, rising to draw an additional
+chair to the table. 'Wilt have some tay, or shall Liza draw you a jug o'
+beer?'
+
+Samson returned no answer, either to this or to Mrs. Rusker's greeting.
+
+'Lawk a mussy, what ails the man? 'asked Mrs. Mountain, as Samson stood
+looking round the room. She had never seen such an expression on her
+husband's face before. The skin was livid under its rude bronze, and his
+lips twitched strangely.
+
+'Wheer's that wench of ourn?' he asked, after a second glance round
+the room, Mrs. Busker's heart jumped, and she held on tight to the
+arm-pieces of her chair.
+
+'Julia?' said Mrs. Mountain. 'Her's about the house, I reckon.'
+
+'Call her here,' said Samson; and his wife wondering, but not daring to
+question, went to the door of the sitting-room and screamed 'Julia!'
+A servant girl came running downstairs at the call, and said that Miss
+Julia did not feel well, and had gone to bed.
+
+'Fatch her down,' said Samson from the sitting-room, and the girl, on
+receipt of a confirmatory nod from Mrs. Mountain, went upstairs again.
+Samson took a chair and sat with his head bent forward and his arms
+folded, staring at the paper ornaments in the grate.
+
+'Samson!' said his wife appealingly, 'don't skeer a body i' thisnin.
+Whativer _is_ the matter?'
+
+'Hold thy chat,' said Samson. 'Thee'st know soon enough,' and the trio
+sat in silence until Julia entered the room. She was pale, and there
+were traces of tears on her cheeks, and Samson, as he glanced at her
+askance from under his heavy eyebrows before he rose, saw that she was
+struggling to repress some strong emotion. She advanced to kiss him, but
+he repelled her--not roughly--with his heavy hand upon her shoulder.
+
+'You wanted to see me, father,' she asked, trembling.
+
+'I sent for you.'
+
+Mrs. Rusker was in a state of pitiable excitement, if anybody had had
+the leisure to notice her.
+
+'Theer's some'at happened to-day as it's fit an' right as yo' should
+know. I met ode Raybould today i' th' Exchange, an' he tode me some'at
+as I'd long suspected, about his son Tom. I reckon you know what it
+was.'
+
+Julia knew well enough. Tom Raybould was a young farmer, a year or two
+older than herself. She had known him all her life, and he had been a
+schoolfellow and chosen chum of her brother's. He had shown unmistakable
+signs of affection for her, but had never spoken. He was a good fellow,
+according to common report, and she had a good deal of liking and
+respect for him, and a little pity, being a good girl, and no coquette.
+
+'I see thee understandest,' said Samson. 'I told th' ode man as he might
+look on it as settled, an' Tom 'll be here to-morrow. He's a likely lad,
+an' he'll have all the Bush Farm when his father goes, as must be afore
+long, i' the course o' nature. The two farms 'll goo very well in a
+ring fence. Theer's no partic'lar hurry, as I know on, an' we'll ha' the
+weddin' next wik, or the wik after.'
+
+The girl's breast was labouring cruelly, in spite of the hand that
+strove to still it.
+
+'Father!' she said. 'You don't mean it!'
+
+'Eh?' said Samson. 'I ginerally mean what I say, my wench. I should ha'
+thout as yo'd ha' known that by this time.'
+
+He stopped there, for Julia, but for her mother's arm, would have
+fallen.
+
+'You great oaf!' cried Mrs. Mountain, irritated for once into open
+rebellion. 'Oh, it's like a man, the stupid hulkin' creeturs as they
+are, to come an' frighten the life out of a poor maid i' that style.'
+
+'Theer, theer!' said Samson, with the same heavy and threatening
+tranquillity he had borne throughout the interview. 'Tek her upstairs.'
+
+He sat down again, and without another word filled and lit his
+churchwarden, and stared through the smoke-wreaths at the grate.
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+Mrs. Jenny Rusker, who was half dead with fear of an _expose_ of her
+part in this unlucky love-affair, was additionally prostrated by the
+dire reversal of all her hopes by Samson Mountain's ultimatum. Mrs.
+Mountain, with the aid of a female servant, supported Julia upstairs,
+and Samson smoked on stolidly, taking no note whatever of the visitor's
+presence. Still in doubt of what Samson might or might not know, and
+fearing almost to breathe, lest any reminder of her presence should call
+down his wrath upon her, she listened to the tramping and the muffled
+noises overhead until they ceased, and then, gathering courage from his
+continued apathy, slipped from the room and left the house.
+
+She got home and went to bed and passed an interminable night in tossing
+to and fro, and bewailing the untoward fate of the two children. Dawn
+came at last, though it had seemed as if it never would break again,
+and, for the first time for many a year, the first gleam of sunlight saw
+her dressed and downstairs. She felt feverous and ill, and having brewed
+for herself a huge jorum of tansy tea, sat down over this inspiring
+beverage, and tried to pull her scattered wits together and think out
+some way of untangling the skein of difficulty with which she had to
+deal. The danger was pressing, and if she had been herself the poor
+lovesick girl who lay a mile away, stifling her sobs lest they should
+reach her father's ears, and vainly calling on her lover's name, she
+would scarcely have been more miserable.
+
+One thing was clear. Dick must be warned, and his journey to London
+postponed by some device. He might lie hidden for a day or two in
+Birmingham, and Julia be smuggled there and secretly married. It was no
+time for half measures, and whatever was done should be done quickly and
+decisively. At this idea, at once romantic and practical, Mrs. Jenny's
+spirits revived.
+
+'Samson 'll disown Julia, I know. Her 'll never see a penny o' his
+money. An' I doubt as Abel Reddy 'll do the same wi' Dick. He's just
+as hard and bitter as th' other, on'y quieter wi' it. Well, they shan't
+want while I'm alive, nor after my death neither, and Dick ud make his
+own way with nobody's help. I'll write to him, and find somebody to take
+the letter. I won't go myself, at this hour o' the day.'
+
+She concocted a letter and sealed it, and putting on her bonnet sallied
+out to find a messenger. Fate was so far propitious that scarce
+a hundred yards from her door she met Ichabod Bubb, bound for his
+morning's work at Perry Hall Farm. Ichabod was bent and gnarled and
+twisted now, stiff in all his joints and slow of movement, but his
+quaint visage bore the same look of uncertain and rather wistful humour
+which had marked it in earlier times.
+
+'Morning, mum,' he said, with a stiff-necked nod at Mrs. Jenny.
+
+'Good-mornin', Mr. Bubb,' said the old lady. Ichabod beamed at this
+sudden and unexpected ceremonial of title, and straightened his back.
+
+'You 'm afoot early, mum.'
+
+'Why, yes. But it's such a beautiful morning; it's a shaame to lie abed
+a time like this.'
+
+'So many folks, so many ways o' thinkin',' said the ancient one; 'not
+as it's a sin as I often commits, nayther, 'cos why, I don't get the
+chance.'
+
+'I've got a bit o' business as I want done, Mr. Bubb,' said Mrs. Busker,
+'if ye don't mind earnin' a shillin'.'
+
+'Why,' returned Ichabod, 'I don't know as I've got any, not to say
+rewted, objection to makin' a shillin'.'
+
+'You're goin' to the farm?' Ichabod nodded. 'Then I want you to take
+this note to Mr. Richard. But mind, you must get it to him private.
+Nobody else must know. D'you understand?'
+
+'I'm all theer, missus,' responded Ichabod.
+
+'Then there's the note, an' there's the shillin'. An' if you're back in
+two hours you shall have a pint o' beer.' Ichabod took the note and the
+shilling, and clattered off with a ludicrous show of despatch, and
+the old lady returned to her sitting-room to await the result of his
+message. It came in less than the appointed time, and disappointed her
+terribly. Ichabod had ascertained that Dick had started half an hour
+before his arrival at the farm for Birmingham, and would only return
+to-morrow night to sleep and take away his luggage on the following
+morning.
+
+'And you come to me w' a message like that, y' ode gone-off!' said
+the exasperated old woman. 'You might ha' caught him up i' the time as
+you've wasted comin' back here.'
+
+'Caught him up,' said Ichabod, with a glance at his legs. 'Yis, likely,
+like a cow might ketch a race-hoss. I'm a gay fine figure, missus, to
+ketch up the best walker i' the country-side.'
+
+Mrs. Jenny was a woman, and therefore to offer her reason as an antidote
+to unreasoning anger was merely to heap fuel on flame.
+
+'Ah!' she said, reasonably enraged with the whole masculine half of her
+species,' you're like the rest on 'em.'
+
+'Then I'm sorry for the rest on 'em,' said Ichabod, 'whoever they may
+be.' Here Mrs. Jenny shut the door upon him, leaving him in the street,
+and retired to her sitting-room. But with beer to be gained by boldness,
+Ichabod was leonine in courage. He knocked, and the summons brought
+the old lady to the door again. Ichabod spoke no word, but writhed
+his twisted features into a grin which expressed at once humorous
+deprecation and expectancy, and rabbed the back of his veiny hand across
+his bristly lips.
+
+'Go round to the brewus,' said Mrs. Jenny; 'you'll find the maid there.
+It's all you're fit for, ye guzzlin' old idiot.'
+
+Ichabod retired, elate.
+
+'Her tongue's a stinger; but, Lord bless thee, Ichabod, her bark's a
+long sight worse than her bite. An' her beer's main good.'
+
+Mrs. Jenny, meanwhile, retired to the sitting-room, and there sat
+immersed in gloom. Things looked black for her young proteges, and fate
+was against them. With that curious interest in familiar trifles which
+comes with any fit of hopelessness or despondency, she sat looking at
+the furniture of the room and the pictures which decorated the walls.
+Among these latter was a work of her own hands, her masterpiece, a
+reproduction in coloured wool of a German engraving of the last scene
+of _Romeo and Juliet_. There was a pea-green Capulet paralytically
+embracing a sky-blue Montague in the foreground, with a dissolving view
+of impossibly-constructed servitors of both houses and the County Paris,
+with six strongly accented bridges to his nose and a worsted tear upon
+his cheek, in the background. Under this production was worked in white,
+upon a black ground, the legend which Mrs. Rusker mournfully repeated as
+she gazed on it--
+
+     'For never was a story of more woe,
+     Than this of Juliet and her Romeo';
+
+and as she spoke the words an inspiration flashed into her mind. She had
+her plan.
+
+The new-born idea so possessed her that she could not sit or rest. It
+drove her out, as the gad-fly drove lo, to devious wanderings in the
+neighbouring lanes, and as she walked and walked, finding some little
+ease in the unusual and incessant exercise, she drew nearer and nearer
+to the Mountain Farm. As she paused on a little eminence and looked
+towards it, the distant church bell struck clear across the intervening
+fields, proclaiming nine o'clock.
+
+'Thank the Lord,' said the old woman. 'I can go now. I dussent go too
+early. They might suspect.'
+
+She made straight for the house, and found Mrs. Mountain alone. Samson
+was afield, and in answer to Mrs. Busker's inquiries regarding Julia,
+Mrs. Mountain tearfully informed her that the poor girl was too ill to
+come downstairs, and had not eaten a crumb of the tempting breakfast
+prepared and sent to her room for her. Mrs. Mountain was voluble in
+condemnation of her husband's lack of wit in his announcement of the
+matrimonial scheme he had formed for the girl, and Mrs. Jenny was fluent
+and honest in sympathy. Might she see the girl? Julia was fond of her,
+and her counsels might bring some comfort. Mrs. Mountain yielded a ready
+assent, and the old lady went up to the girl's room, and entering on
+the languid summons which followed her knock, saw Julia seated at the
+window, listless, dejected, and tearful The tears flowed even more
+freely at the sight of her, and the girl sobbed on her old friend's
+breast in full abandonment to the first great grief of her life.
+
+'My dear,' said Mrs. Jenny, when this gush of sorrow was over, 'take a
+bit o' heart. Things is rarely as bad as they seem; an' there's help at
+hand always if we on'y know where to look for it.'
+
+There was more meaning, to Julia's thinking, in the tone in which this
+commonplace condolence was delivered than in the words themselves. Mrs.
+Rusker's manner was big with mystery.
+
+'Now, my darlin', I know you 'm a brave gal, and can act accordin' when
+there's rayson for it. I've got a plan as 'll save you yet, if on'y
+you've got the courage.'
+
+Julia's clasped hands and eager look encouraged her to proceed.
+
+'My dear, you remember _Romeo and Juliet?_ You remember how Juliet got
+the sleepin' draught an' took it? 'Julia's look was one of wonder, pure
+and simple, now. 'That's my plan, my dear, an' the Dudley Divil can do
+it for us, if on'y you'll ha' the courage to tek it. Not as I mean as
+you need be buried afore Dick comes to you. We shouldn't go as far as
+that. But I'll get the stuff, an' it'll send you to sleep, an' they'll
+think as you're dead, an' then I'll tell 'em how you an' Dick loved
+each other so's you couldn't bear to part wi' him, an' the fear of it's
+killed you. That'll soften their hard hearts, my dear. Old Reddy knows
+all about it--that's why he's sendin' Dick away to London an' I'll get
+him fetched back to see the last o' you, an' I'll mek your father an'
+his father shaake hands, an' then you'll come to, an' after that what
+can they do but marry you to Dick, an' forget all that rubbidge about
+the brook, an' live in peace together, as decent folk should do.'
+
+Julia's reception of this brilliant scheme, which Mrs. Rusker developed
+with a volubility which left no opportunity for detailed objection, was
+to fall back in her chair and begin to cry anew at the sheer hopeless
+absurdity of it.
+
+'What's the matter wi' the wench?' demanded Mrs. Rusker, almost sternly.
+'Come, come,' she continued, her brief anger fading at the sight of
+Julia's distress, 'have a bit o' sperrit. Now, will you try it? Spake
+the word, an' I'll goo to the Divil this minute.'
+
+This wholesale self-abandonment in the cause of love produced no effect
+on Julia, except to frighten her. Mrs. Rusker argued and reasoned, but
+finding her fears too obdurate to be moved by any such means, left
+the house in dudgeon, whereat poor Julia only cried the more. But
+Mrs. Rusker's confidence in her plan was unshaken, and her persistency
+unchecked. She would save the silly girl against her will, since it must
+be so, and half an hour after she had crossed the Mountain threshold she
+was in her trap, _en route_ for the dwelling of the wizard.
+
+She found that celebrity alone, and opened fire on him at once.
+
+'Ruffis, I want thy help, an' I'm willin' to pay fur it.' The
+necromancer's fishy eye brightened. Things were going poorly with him,
+the rising generation followed newer lights unevident in his earlier
+days, and his visitors were mostly of Mrs. Rusker's age, and were
+getting fewer day by day.
+
+'My skill's at your service, ma'am, such as it is,' he answered, with
+gravity.
+
+'I want some'at as 'd send a body to sleep--mek 'em sleep for a long
+time, wi'out hurtin' 'em. Can you doit?'
+
+'Why, yis; I could do that much, I think.' His tone and manner intimated
+vaguely how much more he could have done, and his disappointment at the
+facility of his task. 'But,' he added prudently, 'it's a job as ain't s'
+easy as you might fancy.'
+
+Mrs. Busker laid a sovereign on the table.
+
+'Wilt do it for that?' she asked.
+
+The wizard stole a look at her. She was obviously very much in earnest.
+
+'The hingredients,' he said, 'is hard to find, and harder to mix in doo
+perportions.'
+
+'I must have it now, and at once,' said Mrs. Busker.
+
+'That,' said Rufus, 'ain't possible.' Mrs. Jenny laid a second piece of
+gold beside the first 'It's a dangerous bisness, missus,' he went
+on. 'Theer's noofangled laws about. 'Twas only last wik as that young
+upstart, Doctor Hodges, comes an' threatens me with persecution as
+a rogue an' vagabond, a-obtainin' money under false pertences for
+practisin' my lawful an' necessary art. Why, it ain't so long since I
+cured his mother o' the rheumatiz, as is more nor he can dew, wi' all
+his drugs, an' the pestle an' mortar o'er his door.'
+
+'You ought to know as you're safe wi' me, Rufus,' said Mrs. Rusker. 'Who
+should I tell? Why, I should tell o' myself tew, at that raate; an' is
+that likely?'
+
+'It's dangerous, missus,' repeated the wizard.
+
+'Well, if yo' won't, I must try them as wull,' said Mrs. Jenny, rising
+and taking up the coins.
+
+'I didn't say as I wouldn't,' returned Rufus. 'Theer's no call to be so
+uppish But if I tek a chance like that I expect to be paid for it.'
+
+'Two pound ud mek it wuth your while to do more than that.'
+
+'I'll dew it,' said the wizard. 'Give us the money?'
+
+'Wheer's the stuff?'
+
+'Why, it ain't made yet. D'you think as I can percure a precious
+hessence like that all of a minute?'
+
+'Then mek it, an' I'll gie you the money.'
+
+'Gi' me a pound in advance, an' I'll bring it to you.' And on that
+understanding the bargain was made, and the time fixed for the delivery
+of the potion. The intervening time was filled in by the astute wizard
+journeying to a neighbouring town and procuring from a chemist a
+sleeping draught, which he paid for out of Mrs. Busker's sovereign. He
+turned up at Laburnum Cottage at the stipulated hour, handed over the
+draught (having previously washed off the chemist's label), received his
+second sovereign, and departed.
+
+Mrs. Rusker, with the fateful bottle in the bosom of her dress, betook
+herself again to Mountain Farm. Her unfeigned interest in the patient,
+and the intimacy she had so long enjoyed with the whole family, made the
+house almost as free to her as was her own, and when she took possession
+of Julia in the capacity of nurse she was made welcome, and the poor
+girl's other attendants hoped much from her ministration. Julia was
+undoubtedly very ill, so ill that even Samson Mountain forbore to
+force her to descend to the parlour in which Mr. Tom Raybould nervously
+awaited her coming, and where, on Samson's return from his daughter's
+chamber, the pair sat and drank their beer together in miserable
+silence, broken by spasmodic attempts at conversation regarding crops
+and politics. The doctor had been called in, and, knowing nothing of the
+grief which was the poor girl's only ailment, had been too puzzled by
+the symptoms of her malady to be of any great service. She was feverish,
+excited, with a furred tongue and a hot skin. He had prescribed a mild
+tonic and departed. Mrs. Jenny, intent on the execution of her plan,
+gained solitary charge of her patient by telling Mrs. Mountain that her
+attendance on her daughter had already told upon her, and advising a few
+hours' rest.
+
+'I don't feel very well,' Mrs. Mountain confessed. 'Not a wink o' sleep
+have I had iver since Samson came home last night. Nor him nayther, for
+the matter o' that, though he tried to desave me by snorin', whinever
+I spoke to him; an' as for any sympathy--well, you know him aforetime,
+Jenny--I might as well talk to that theer poker.'
+
+Then Jenny was fluent in condolence, and at last got the old lady out of
+the room.
+
+'When did you take your medicine last, my dear?' she asked the patient
+'Ain't it time as you had another drop?'
+
+'It doesn't do me any good,' said the patient fretfully. She knew better
+herself what was wrong with her than anybody else could guess, and only
+longed passionately to be alone and free to think and cry over her lost
+love and broken hopes.
+
+'Why, my dear, you've on'y took one dose yit,' said Machiavel. 'You
+must give it time. I'll pour you out another.' Her back was towards the
+patient as she clattered about among the glasses on the table with a
+shaking hand. She poured out the wizard's potion, the phial clinking
+against the edge of the glass like a castanet, and her heart beating so
+that she almost feared Julia would hear it The girl at first pettishly
+refused the draught, but Mrs. Jenny, in her guilty agitation, made short
+work of her objections, and poured it down her throat almost by main
+force.
+
+'Maids must do as their elders bid 'em,' she said, as she returned the
+glass to its place.
+
+'It doesn't taste the same,' moaned the patient
+
+'You're like all th' other sick folk I iver nursed. As fall o' fancies
+as you can stick,' said Mrs. Jenny. 'Lie quiet, and try an' go to
+sleep.'
+
+The girl lay silent, and Mrs. Jenny, more than half wishing the whole
+business had never been begun, sat and listened to her breathing. She
+stirred and sighed once or twice, but after a while lay so utterly still
+that the old lady ventured to approach the bed. Julia's face was almost
+as white as her pillow, and her breath was so light that it hardly
+stirred the coverlet above her bosom.
+
+'It's a-workin,' said Mrs. Rusker.
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+Mrs. Jenny's simple faith in the talents of Rufus Smith underwent
+a severe trial during the ensuing night. She had left Julia still
+sleeping, and the memory of the last glance she had bestowed upon the
+white face in the light of the carefully-shaded candle haunted her
+all night, and roused a foreboding too dismal to be expressed, or even
+formulated in definite thought. The matchmaker lay and trembled all
+night at that terrible idea, and again the pale-faced dawn visited a
+sleepless pillow, and found her haggard with anxiety and lack of sleep.
+Juliet's query to the Friar had been, 'What if the potion should not
+work?' but Mrs. Jenny's terrified inquiry of her own soul was, 'What if
+it had worked too well?' What if it had killed Julia in very deed? It
+was too horrible to happen, Mrs. Jenny said to herself. Too horrible to
+think of. But, if it had happened, she would have nothing else to think
+of all her life, and the fancy drove her nearly mad.
+
+She was dressed and afoot even earlier than on the preceding morning.
+She crept out and encircled the Mountain Farm in a radius of a mile
+or thereabouts, looking anxiously towards it at every step, as if its
+silent walls might speak comfort or confirm her fears, even at that
+distance. The house looked peaceful enough amid its surrounding trees
+under the tranquilly broadening light of dawn, but Mrs. Rusker knew how
+ghastly white the face of the poor child she loved as her own might
+look in that roseate glow. Presently a thin line of smoke curled from a
+chimney on the noiseless air. The farm was waking to its daily round
+of life. A burly figure on horseback came towards her as she stood on a
+little eminence. She waited long enough to identify Samson Mountain,
+and hid among the ferns and bushes until the horse's hoof-beats had
+clattered swiftly by on the stony road below her, and faded in the
+distance.
+
+Time crept on, slow but inexorable. She longed, as she had never longed
+before for anything, for the courage to go to the farmhouse and ask
+tidings of Julia. But her fear was greater than her longing, and she
+roamed at random in a circle, never losing sight of the house, but not
+daring to approach it or be seen from its windows. She dreaded what
+might be the news to greet her there. She feared her own face, with its
+haggard lines of sleeplessness and anxious watching. At last, from the
+very depths of her misery, she plucked the heart of despairing hope, and
+made for the farm. The farm labourers and country folk she met stared
+after her. Even their bovine understandings were troubled by her scared
+face. She scarcely saw them, or anything but the farmhouse, which drew
+her now with an influence as strong as its repulsion had been an hour
+ago. She entered the house by the back door, and made straight for the
+sitting-room. Mrs. Mountain was there, arranging a tray, on which were
+tea and jam and other homely luxuries. She wore her ordinary look of
+placid contentment, and at the sight of her quiet face Mrs. Rusker
+dropped panting, with a vague unformulated feeling of relief, into a
+chair.
+
+'Sakes alive! Whativer is the matter?' demanded Mrs. Mountain.
+
+'Julia!' panted the visitor. 'How's Julia?'
+
+'Why,' said Mrs. Mountain, 'how should her be?'
+
+'Is she awake yet?' asked Mrs. Jenny, more calmly.
+
+'No. Her was sleepin' when I seed her, jist for a minute, a hour ago.
+I'm jist goin' upstairs wi' some breakfast for her. Well, I declare, yo'
+look as pale as a ghost. What's the matter with you?'
+
+'Oh, I've passed a miserable night,' said Mrs. Jenny, in unconscious
+quotation from her favourite poet. 'I couldn't sleep a-thinkin' o'
+Julia.'
+
+'Well, then, you do look poorly,' said her hostess, with all her
+motherly heart warmed by this solicitude for her daughter. 'Why, theer's
+no cause to fret i' that way. To be sure, Samson might ha' knowed better
+than to blunder such a thing as that right out, but, then, he's a man,
+and that'd account for a'most anything. Married life might teach 'em
+better, you'd think, and yet after nigh on forty year on it he knows
+no more about women folk than any bachelor i' Barfield. Theer, tek your
+bonnet off, an' I'll gi' ye a cup o' tay, an' then you can goo upstairs
+wi' me and see the wench.'
+
+Mrs. Jenny gratefully accepted the proffered tea, and, having drunk it,
+much to her inward refreshment, accompanied Mrs. Mountain upstairs. As
+the latter had said, the girl was sleeping still, and Mrs. Busker saw
+that her position had not changed by a hair's breadth. She lay like a
+carven statue, her face marble white in the clear morning light.
+
+'I'm a'most doubtful about wakin' her,' said her mother. 'Theer's no
+doubt as Samson gi'en her a shock, an' sleep's good for her. But her's
+had welly fifteen hours of it now, if she's been asleep all the tima
+Julia, my love,' she said softly, almost in the sleeper's ear. 'My
+sakes, how pale her is. Jenny! come here!'
+
+They both bent above her. Mrs. Rusker's heart was beating like a muffled
+drum, and seemed, to her own ears, to fill the house with its pulsation.
+
+'Julia!' said Mrs. Mountain again, in a louder voice, and shook the girl
+with a tremulous hand, 'Julia!'
+
+The white eyelids did not even stir.
+
+'My blessid! Julia! Don't skeer a body i' this way!' She shook the girl
+again. 'Jenny! whativer's come to the silly wench?'
+
+Mrs. Jenny was more frightened, and with better reason, than her
+companion. Julia's marble pallor, and the awful stillness of her
+form--the keenest glance could not detect a quiver in the face or a
+heave of the bosom--almost stilled that exigent pulse within her own
+breast with a sudden anguish of despair.
+
+'Oh, Jenny, she's a-dyin'!'
+
+Mrs. Mountain's scream rang through the house, and startled every soul
+within it, except that marble figure on the bed. Hurried steps came up
+the stairs, the heavy tread of a man, the light patter of women's feet,
+and the room filled as if by magic.
+
+'Fetch a doctor,' screamed Mrs. Jenny; 'Julia's a-dyin'!'
+
+Samson Mountain stood for one moment with his hands aloft and his eyes
+glaring at his daughter. Then he dropped with a sobbing groan into a
+chair, with his head in his hands. There was a general scream from the
+women. One, more serviceable than the rest, called from the window to a
+gaping yokel below in the yard, and bade him ride for help. Her face and
+voice froze him for a moment, but he caught the words 'Miss Julia,' and
+two minutes after he was astride a broad-backed plough-horse, making for
+the distant village.
+
+Samson Mountain sat with his face hidden and spoke no word; at the sight
+of him his wife's face had turned to sudden rage, and she stood over
+him like a ruffled hen, and clacked commination of masculine imbecility,
+intermixed with wild plaints for her child.
+
+Julia slept through the tumult as she had slept through the calm, and
+Mrs. Jenny, kneeling beside her with her face in the bedclothes, moaned
+love and penitent despair. Samson raised his head at last, and looked
+with a dazed stare first at his daughter and then at his wife, and left
+the room without a word, pursued by a hailstorm of reproach. He went
+into the yard and pottered aimlessly about, looking old and broken on
+a sudden. The sound of horses' hoofs roused him; it was the rustic
+messenger returning. 'Where's the doctor?' demanded Samson. 'Gone to
+Heydon Hey. What am I to dew?' 'Follow him an' fetch him back. Hast not
+gumption enough to know that?' asked Samson wearily. The man started
+again, and Samson began once more his purposeless wanderings about the
+yard. He had no sense of time or place, only a leaden weight on heart
+and limb, which in all his life he had never known before. He leaned his
+elbows on the fence of the fold yard, and became conscious of a running
+figure which neared him rapidly. He watched it stupidly, and it was
+within twenty yards of him before he recognised it--Dick Reddy, dust and
+mud to the collar, hatless, and panting.
+
+'Julia!' he gasped. 'Tell me, is it true?' 'Julia's dyin,' said Samson.
+'My God!' he cried, with sudden passion, as if his own voice had
+unlocked the sealed fountain of his grief, 'my little gell's a-dyin'!'
+
+'Mr. Mountain,' said Dick, 'I love her, you know I love her. Let me see
+her.' His voice, broken with fatigue and emotion, his streaming eyes,
+his outstretched hands, all pleaded with his words.
+
+'It's all one who sees her now,' said Samson, and leaned his elbows on
+the fence again. Dick took the despairing speech for a permission,
+and entered the house. At the bottom of the stairs, in the otherwise
+deserted hall, he met Mrs. Jenny, a very moving statue of terror.
+
+'Dick,' she said, clutching the young man by the arm, 'I can't abear it
+any longer. Come in here wi' me.' She pulled him into a side room, and
+sitting down, abandoned herself to weeping, wringing her hands, and
+moaning.
+
+'I can't abear it any longer,' she repeated. 'I must tell somebody, an'
+I'll tell you. It's all my wicked cruel fault.'
+
+The old woman was so crazed with her secret that she would have spoken
+in the shadow of the gibbet. Ramblingly and incoherently, with many
+breaks for tears and protestations and self-accusation, she told her
+story.
+
+'I've killed her, Dick. But it was for your sake and hers as I done it.
+I reckon they'll hang me, an' it'll serve me right.' She besought him
+not to betray her, and, in the same breath, announced her intention to
+surrender herself at once to the parish constable; and, indeed, between
+fear and remorse and sorrow for the hopeless love she had striven to
+befriend, was nearly mad. Dick heard her with such amazement as may be
+best imagined, and suddenly, with a cry that rang in her ears for many a
+long day afterwards, ran from her and scaled the stairs to Julia's
+room, led thither by the sound of Mrs. Mountain's weeping. The old woman
+stared, as well she might, at the intrusion, with a wonder which for a
+moment conquered sorrow. He went straight to the bed, and leaned over
+the stark figure upon it.
+
+'She's not dead yet,' he said, more to himself than to the
+grief-stricken mother. Mrs. Mountain heard the words, and clutched his
+arm. He turned to her. 'Trust me,' he said, 'and I'll save her.' The
+wild hope in the mother's eyes was terrible to see. 'I love her,' said
+Dick. 'You will trust me? Do as I bid you, and you shall have Julia back
+in an hour.'
+
+Samson Mountain meanwhile wandered in the same purposeless fashion
+about the farm, and held dumb converse with himself. He was a rough man,
+something of a brute--a good deal of an animal--but animals have their
+affections, and he loved Julia as well as it was in his nature to love
+anything. It was ingrained in him by nature and by years of unquestioned
+domination to bully and browbeat all defenceless people; but Julia, the
+most defenceless of his surroundings, had been treated always with a
+lighter hand. Childlike, she had taken advantyage of her immunity in
+many little ways, and though Samson had never forborne to bluster at her
+girlish insubordination, he rather liked it than not, and relished his
+daughter's independence and spirit. Julia was the only creature in the
+household who dared to hold her own against him. He was proud of her
+beauty and what he called her 'lurning,' and, more or less grumblingly,
+petted her a good deal, and would have spoiled her had she been of
+spoilable material. But till this heavy blow fell he had never sounded
+the depths of his own affection for her. The suddenness of the blow
+stunned and bewildered him. He remembered his words to Dick during their
+stormy interview in the road, when he had said that he would rather see
+Julia dead than married to him. Had Providence taken him at his word? He
+did not say it, he did not even think it consciously, but he would have
+submitted to almost any conceivable indignity at the hands of Abel Eeddy
+himself, to have felt his daughter's arms about his neck again. Little
+incidents of Julia's past life were fresh and vivid in his memory. He
+had forgotten many of them, years ago, but they sprang up in his mind
+now, like things of yesterday.
+
+He had wandered back to the front of the house, and sat upon the rustic
+bench beside the porch, with his elbows propped upon his knees, and his
+eyes hidden in his shaking hands, when a voice fell on his ear.
+
+'Neighbour!'
+
+He raised his head. Abel Reddy stood before him.
+
+With something of the old instinct of hatred he had believed to be
+unconquerable he rose and straightened himself before the hereditary
+enemy.
+
+'Neighbour,' said Reddy again. The word was pacific, but Mountain's
+blurred eyes, dim with pain and dazzled by the sunlight, could not see
+the pity in his old enemy's face, and he waited doggedly. 'It's come to
+my ears as you're i' sore trouble. So am I. Your trouble's mine, though
+not so great for me as it is for you, I was wi' Dick when he heard o'
+your daughter's danger, an' what I'd suspected a long time I know now to
+be the truth. I did my best to keep 'em apart--it was that as Dick was
+going to London for. It seemed to behove me to come to you and offer you
+my hand i' your affliction. I take shame to myself that I didn't mek
+an effort to end our quarrel long ago. We're gettin' on in life, Mr.
+Mountain, and we've got th' excuse o' hot blood no longer.'
+
+Therewith he held out his hand, and Samson, with hanging head, took it
+with a growl, which might have been anathema or blessing. And as the
+life-long enemies stood so linked, a window was suddenly opened above,
+and Mrs. Mountain's voice screamed to her husband,
+
+'Samson! Her's alive! Her's awake! 'Both men looked up, and beheld an
+unexpected picture framed by the open window, Dick violently embraced
+by Mrs. Mountain, and submitting to the furious assault with obvious
+goodwill.
+
+'When the liquor's out, why clink the cannikin?' The story of Julia
+and her Romeo, like all other stories, had found its end, and merged a
+little later into the history of Mr. and Mrs. Richard Reddy. The family
+feud was buried, and Samson and Abel made very passable grandfathers and
+dwelt in peace one with another. Dick never told a living soul, not even
+Julia herself, of the stratagem by which Mrs. Jenny had succeeded in
+uniting them, and Mrs. Jenny, by complete reticence on the subject,
+disproved the time-worn calumny which declares woman's inability to keep
+a secret.
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Julia And Her Romeo: A Chronicle Of
+Castle Barfield, by David Christie Murray
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #22274 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/22274)
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+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en">
+  <head>
+    <title>
+      Julia and Her Romeo: a Chronicle of Castle Barfield, by David Christie
+      Murray
+    </title>
+    <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve">
+
+    body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify}
+    P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; }
+    H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; }
+    hr  { width: 50%; text-align: center;}
+    .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; }
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+    .mynote    {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;}
+    .toc       { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;}
+    .toc2      { margin-left: 20%;}
+    div.fig    { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; }
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+               margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%;
+               text-align: right;}
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+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Julia And Her Romeo: A Chronicle Of Castle
+Barfield, by David Christie Murray
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Julia And Her Romeo: A Chronicle Of Castle Barfield
+       From "Schwartz" by David Christie Murray
+
+Author: David Christie Murray
+
+Release Date: August 8, 2007 [EBook #22274]
+Last Updated: September 16, 2016
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JULIA AND HER ROMEO ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <h1>
+      JULIA AND HER ROMEO:<br /> A CHRONICLE OF CASTLE BARFIELD
+    </h1>
+    <h2>
+      By David Christie Murray
+    </h2>
+    <h4>
+      Author Of &lsquo;Aunt Rachel,&rsquo; &lsquo;The Weaker Vessel,&rsquo; Etc.
+    </h4>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      Contents
+    </h2>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> I </a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> II </a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> III </a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> IV </a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> V </a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> VI </a>
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      I
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      In the year eighteen hundred and twenty, and for many years before and
+      after, Abel Reddy farmed his own land at Perry Hall End, on the western
+      boundaries of Castle Barfield. He lived at Perry Hall, a ripe-coloured old
+      tenement of Elizabethan design, which crowned a gentle eminence and looked
+      out picturesquely on all sides from amongst its neighbouring trees. It had
+      a sturdier aspect in its age than it could have worn when younger, for its
+      strength had the sign-manual of time upon it, and even its hoary lichens
+      looked as much like a prophecy as a record.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A mile away, but also within the boundaries of Castle Barfield parish,
+      there stood another house upon another eminence: a house of older date
+      than Perry Hall, though of less pleasing and picturesque an air. The long
+      low building was of a darkish stone, and had been altered and added to so
+      often that it had at last arrived at a complex ugliness which was not
+      altogether displeasing. The materials for its structure had all been drawn
+      at different periods from the same stone quarry, and the chequered look of
+      new bits and old bits had a hint of the chess-board. Here Samson Mountain
+      dwelt on his own land in the midst of his own people.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Mountain Farm, as it was called, and had been called time out of mind,
+      was separated from the Perry Hall Farm by a very shallow and narrow brook.
+      The two houses were built as far apart from each other as they could be,
+      whilst remaining in their own boundaries, as if the builder of the later
+      one had determined to set as great a distance as he could between his
+      neighbour and himself. And as a matter of fact the Reddys and the
+      Mountains were a sort of Capulets and Montagues, and had hated each other
+      for generations. Samson and Abel kept up the ancient grudge in all its
+      ancient force. They were of the same age within a week or two, had studied
+      at the same school, and had fought there; had at one time courted the same
+      girl, had sat within sight of each other Sunday after Sunday and year
+      after year in the parish church, had each buried father and mother in the
+      parish churchyard, and in the mind of each the thought of the other
+      rankled like a sore.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The manner of their surrendering their common courtship was characteristic
+      of their common hatred. Somewhere about the beginning of this century a
+      certain Miss Jenny Rusker, of Castle Barfield, was surrounded by quite a
+      swarm of lovers. She was pretty, she was well-to-do, for her time and
+      station, she was accomplished&mdash;playing the harp (execrably), working
+      samplers in silk and wool with great diligence and exactitude, and having
+      read a prodigious number of plays, poems, and romances. What this lady&rsquo;s
+      heart forged that her mouth did vent, but no pretty young woman ever
+      looked or sounded foolish to the eyes or ears of her lovers. Mountain and
+      Eeddy were among her solicitors. She liked them both, and had not quite
+      made up her mind as to which, if either of them, she would choose, when
+      suddenly the knowledge of the other&rsquo;s occasional presence in her
+      sitting-room made the house odious to each, and they surrendered the chase
+      almost at the same hour. Miss Jenny satisfied herself with a cousin of her
+      own, married without changing her name, had children, was passably happy,
+      as the world goes, and lived to be a profoundly sentimental but inveterate
+      widow. Mountain and Eeddy married girls they would not otherwise have
+      chosen, and were passably happy also, except when the sore of ancient
+      hatred was inflamed by a chance meeting on the corn exchange or an
+      accidental passage of the eyes at church. They had no better authority for
+      hating each other than that their fathers had hated each other before
+      them. The fathers had the authority of the grandfathers, and they, that of
+      the greatgrandfathers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was Saturday afternoon. There was a bleak frost abroad, and even the
+      waters of the brook which divided the two farms were hard frozen. The sun
+      hung low in the western sky, lustreless as a wafer, but ruddy. The fields
+      were powdered with thin snow, and the earth was black by contrast with it.
+      Now and then a shot sounded far away, but clear and sharp, from where the
+      guests of my lord of Barfield were killing time in the warren.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A labouring man, smock-frocked, billy-cocked, gaitered, and hob-nailed,
+      was clamping down the frozen lane, the earth ringing like iron under iron
+      as he walked. By his side was a fair-haired lad of nine or ten years of
+      age, a boy of frank and engaging countenance, carefully and even daintily
+      dressed, and holding up his head as if he were a lord of the soil and knew
+      it. The boy and the labourer were talking, and on the frosty silence of
+      the fields the clear treble of the boy&rsquo;s speech rang out clearly and
+      carried far. A burly man, with a surly red face, who had stooped to button
+      a gaiter, in a meadow just beyond the brook, and had laid down his gun
+      beside him the while, heard both voice and words whilst the speaker was a
+      hundred yards away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;But don&rsquo;t you think it&rsquo;s very wicked, Ichabod?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The labourer&rsquo;s voice only reached the listener in the meadow. He spoke
+      with the Barfield drawl, and his features, which were stiffened by the
+      frozen wind, were twisted into a look of habitual waggery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said he, in answer to his young companion, &lsquo;maybe, Master Richard,
+      it might be wicked, but it&rsquo;s main like natur.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I shan&rsquo;t hate Joe Mountain when I&rsquo;m a man,&rsquo; said the boy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The surly man in the field, hearing these words, looked on a sudden
+      surlier still, and throwing up his head with a listening air, and holding
+      his ankle with both hands, crouched and craned his neck to listen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;May&rsquo;st have to change thy mind, Master Richard,&rsquo; said the labourer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Why should I change my mind, Ichabod?&rsquo; asked the boy, looking up at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Why?&rsquo; answered Ichabod, &lsquo;thee&rsquo;lt niver have it said as thee wast afraid
+      of any o&rsquo; the Mountain lot.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I&rsquo;m not afraid of him,&rsquo; piped the engaging young cockerel &lsquo;We had a fight
+      in the coppice last holidays, and I beat him. The squire caught us, and we
+      were going to stop, but he made us go on, and he saw fair. Then he made us
+      shake hands after. Joe Mountain wouldn&rsquo;t say he&rsquo;d had enough, but the
+      squire threw up the sponge for him. And he gave us two half-crowns apiece,
+      and said we were both good plucked uns.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Ah! &lsquo;said Ichabod, with warmth, &lsquo;he&rsquo;s the right sort is the squire. And
+      there&rsquo;s no sort or kind o&rsquo; sport as comes amiss to him. A gentleman after
+      my own heart.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;He made us shake hands and promise we&rsquo;d be friends,&rsquo; said Master Richard,
+      &lsquo;and we&rsquo;re going to be.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Make him turn the brook back first, Master Richard,&rsquo; said Ichabod. The
+      two were almost at the bridge by this time, and the listener could hear
+      distinctly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Turn the brook back?&rsquo; the boy asked. &lsquo;What do you mean, Ichabod?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Ax thy feyther, when thee gettest home,&rsquo; answered Ichabod. &lsquo;He&rsquo;ll tell
+      thee all the rights on it. So fur as I can make out&mdash;and it was the
+      talk o&rsquo; the country i&rsquo; my grandfeyther&rsquo;s daysen&mdash;it amounts to this.
+      Look here! &lsquo;He and the boy arrested their steps on the bridge, and Ichabod
+      pointed along the frozen track of the brook. &lsquo;Seest that hollow ten rods
+      off? It was in the time o&rsquo; Cromwell Hast heard tell o&rsquo; Cromwell, I mek no
+      doubt?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Oliver Cromwell,&rsquo; said Master Richard. &lsquo;He was Lord Protector of England.
+      He fought King Charles.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Like enough,&rsquo; said Ichabod. &lsquo;In his daysen, many &lsquo;ears ago, there was the
+      Reddys here and the Mountains there&rsquo;&mdash;indicating either house in turn
+      by pointing with his thumb&mdash;&lsquo;just as they be now. The Reddy o&rsquo; that
+      day&mdash;he was thy grandfeyther&rsquo;s grand-feyther as like as not&mdash;maybe
+      he was <i>his</i> grandfeyther for aught as I can tell, for it&rsquo;s a
+      deadly-dreadful heap o&rsquo; time long past&mdash;the Reddy o&rsquo; that day went to
+      the wars, and fowt for Cromwell. The Mountain o&rsquo; that time stopped at hum.
+      Up to then they&rsquo;d niver been misfriended as fur as I know. That&rsquo;s how it&rsquo;s
+      put about, anyway. But whilst the Reddy was away what&rsquo;s the Mountain do?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy was looking at Ichabod, and Ichabod, stooping a little to be the
+      more impressive, was looking at him. The surly-faced man with the gun had
+      hitherto been concealed by the hedge beside which he had knelt to fasten
+      his gaiter, and neither of the two had suspected his presence. It was
+      natural, therefore, that both of them should start a little when his voice
+      reached them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Well?&rsquo; The voice was sour and surly, like the face, and the word was
+      rapped out sharp and clear. Master Richard and Ichabod turned with one
+      accord. &lsquo;Well?&rsquo; says the surly man, &lsquo;what does the Mountain do?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ichabod, less discomfited by the suddenness of the interruption than might
+      have been expected of him, rubbed the frozen base of his nose with a cold
+      forefinger and grinned. Master Richard looked from one to the other with a
+      frank and fearless interest and inquiry which became him very prettily.
+      The surly man bestowed a passing scowl upon him, and turned his angry
+      regard again upon Ichabod.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Come, now,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;you backbiting, scandal-mongering old liar! What
+      does the Mountain do? Out with it!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Why, nayther thee nor me was there at the time, gaffer,&rsquo; responded
+      Ichabod, his frosty features still creased with a grin. &lsquo;So nayther thee
+      nor me can talk for certain. Can us?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I suppose,&rsquo; said the surly, burly man, &lsquo;you&rsquo;re going to stuff that young
+      monkey with the old lie about the stream being turned?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ichabod made no verbal response, but continued to rub his nose with his
+      forefinger, and to grin with an aspect of uncertain humour. The surly man
+      stooped for his gun, threw it over his arm, and stared at Ichabod and his
+      young companion with eyes of hatred and disdain. Then, having somewhat
+      relieved his feelings by a curse or two, he turned his back and went off
+      with a long, heavy, dogged-looking stride, his feet crunching noisily
+      through the frosty grasses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;It eeat for me to talk about my betters, and them as the Lord has put in
+      authority over us,&rsquo; said Ichabod, with an expression which belied these
+      words of humility; &lsquo;but I put it to thee, Master Richard. Dost think that
+      old Mountain theer looks like a likeable un? No, no. Might as well expect
+      cat an&rsquo; dog t&rsquo; agree as Reddy and Mountain.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This speech was made in a carefully modulated tone, when he and the boy
+      were at some distance from the surly man, who was still visible, three or
+      four fields away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;What was it about the brook, Ichabod?&rsquo; asked Master Richard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Why,&rsquo; said Ichabod, &lsquo;when that old longaway grandfeyther o&rsquo; thine was
+      away a-fighting for Cromwell, &lsquo;tis said his neighbour turned the brook so
+      as to bring in four-score acres o&rsquo; land as ud niver have been his by
+      right. The Reddy o&rsquo; that day died in the wars, and his widder could mek no
+      head again the Mountain lot; but her taught her son to hate &lsquo;em and look
+      down upon &lsquo;em, and hated an&rsquo; looked down upon is the name on &lsquo;em from that
+      day to this.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;But Joe Mountain didn&rsquo;t do it,&rsquo; said Master Richard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;No, no,&rsquo; assented Ichabod. &lsquo;But it&rsquo;s i&rsquo; this way. It&rsquo;s i&rsquo; the blood.
+      What&rsquo;s bred i&rsquo; the bone will come out i&rsquo; the flesh. Afore thee makest
+      friends with young Joe Mountain, Master Richard, thee ax thy feyther.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Master Richard, lapsing into silence, thought things over.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Ichabod,&rsquo; he said at last, &lsquo;is a boy <i>bound</i> to be bad if he has a
+      bad grandfather?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Sure!&rsquo; said Ichabod, who was not going to be worsted in argument for want
+      of corroborative fact if he could help it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Master Richard thought things over a little while longer, and returned to
+      the charge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Suppose the boy with the bad grandfather had a good grandmother,
+      Ichabod?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;None of the Mountain lot ever had,&rsquo; Ichabod replied. There was no item in
+      Ichabod&rsquo;s creed more fixed than this&mdash;the Mountains of Mountain Farm
+      were hateful and contemptible. He had imbibed the belief with his mother&rsquo;s
+      milk and his father&rsquo;s counsel. His grandfather had known it for the one
+      cardinal certainty of nature.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Just as the serving-men of Capulet hated the serving-men of Montague, so
+      the oldest servants of the Mountains hated the older servants of the
+      Reddys. The men made the masters&rsquo; quarrel their own. There was a feudal
+      spirit in the matter, and half the fights of this outlying district of the
+      parish were provoked by that ancient history of the brook. At this time of
+      day it mattered very little indeed if the history was true or false, for
+      neither proof nor disproof was possible, and the real mischief was done
+      past remedy in any case.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Are you sure our side fought for Cromwell, Ichabod?&rsquo; Master Richard.
+      asked, after another long and thoughtful silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;To be sure,&rsquo; said Ichabod.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I don&rsquo;t think it can be true, then, about the brook,&rsquo; said the boy,
+      &lsquo;because Cromwell won, and everybody who was on his side had their own
+      way. Mr. Greenfell teaches history at school, and he says so.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This was nothing to Ichabod, whose intellect was not constructed for the
+      reception of historical evidences.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Then ax thy feyther, Master Richard,&rsquo; he answered; &lsquo;he&rsquo;ll tell thee the
+      rights on it.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy walked on pondering, as children of his age will do. The seniors
+      would be surprised pretty often if they could guess how deep and far the
+      young thoughts go, but, then, the seniors have forgotten their own young
+      days, or were never of a thinking habit. Ichabod clamped along with his
+      mind on beer. The boy thought his own thoughts, and each was indifferent
+      for a while to outer signs and sounds. But suddenly a little girl ran
+      round a corner of the devious lane with a brace of young savages in
+      pursuit. The youthful savages had each an armful of snowballs, and they
+      were pelting the child with more animus than seemed befitting. The very
+      tightness with which the balls were pressed seemed to say that they were
+      bent less on sport than mischief, and they came whooping and dancing round
+      the corner with such rejoicing cruelty as only boys or uncivilised men can
+      feel. The little girl was sobbing, half in distress, and half because of
+      the haste she had made, and Master Richard&rsquo;s juvenile soul burnt within
+      him at the sight like that of a knight-errant. He had read a great deal
+      about knights-errant for the time which had been as yet allowed him for
+      the pursuit of literature, and he was by nature a boy of much fire and
+      gentleness, and a very sympathetic imagination. So the big heart in the
+      small body swelled with pity and grew hot with valour, and, without
+      parley, he smote the foremost boy, who happened to be the bigger of the
+      two, and went headlong into fight with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ichabod followed the young master&rsquo;s lead without knowing, or in the
+      smallest degree caring, why, and tried to seize the smaller savage, who
+      skilfully evaded him and ran. The little maiden stood and trembled with
+      clasped hands as she looked upon the fray. Ichabod lifted his smock-frock
+      to get his hands into the pockets of his corduroys, and watched with the
+      air of an old artist standing behind a young one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;You shouldn&rsquo;t work at it so much, Master Richard,&rsquo; said Ichabod. &lsquo;Tek it
+      easier, and wait for him. That&rsquo;s it!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The combat was brief and decisive. The youthful savage carried the heavier
+      metal, but he was slow with it; but suddenly, as if to show that he was
+      not altogether without activity, he turned and ran his hardest Master
+      Richard, with blue-gray eyes still glistening and hands still clenched in
+      the ardour of battle, turned upon the little girl, who was some two years
+      younger than himself At the sight of her he turned shy and blushed, and
+      the little girl turned shy and blushed also. She looked at the ground, and
+      then she looked at Richard, and then she looked at the ground again. She
+      was slender and delicate, and had very beautiful soft brown eyes, and the
+      hero of a minute back was abashed before her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;You &lsquo;m a Mountain, baint you?&rsquo; said Ichabod, looking at her with
+      disfavour. She looked shyly at him, but did not answer. &lsquo;What&rsquo;s your
+      name?&rsquo; he asked, stooping towards her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Julia Mountain,&rsquo; said the child, in a trembling treble.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; said Ichabod, &lsquo;I thought so. Come along, Master Richard, or else we
+      shall niver get hum again afore dark.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Master Richard walked away with backward glances, shyly directed at the
+      little girl, and the little girl stood with her cheek inclining to her
+      shoulder, and the shoulder drawn up a little, as if to shelter her, and
+      looked after him. This exchange went on until Ichabod and the boy had
+      turned the corner of the lane, when Miss Julia Mountain ran home as fast
+      as her small legs would take her, and Master Richard Reddy, with a vision
+      in his mind, walked alongside his companion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;You should tek a lesson or two, Master Richard,&rsquo; said Ichabod, &lsquo;and then
+      thee&rsquo;dst do a heap better. I&rsquo;m rusty nowadaysen, but I used to love it
+      when I was a young un.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Master Eichard heard nothing of this or of the advice which followed it.
+      He enacted many times over the small adventure of the last five minutes,
+      and at the end of every mental history he traced, the little figure stood
+      in the lane looking shyly at him over one shoulder as he turned the
+      corner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      II
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Samson Mountain went home in an ill-temper, and, as was usual with him
+      when in that condition, did everything he had to do with a sulky and noisy
+      emphasis, bursting open doors with unnecessary violence, slamming them
+      with needless force behind him, and clamping heavily from room to room.
+      His wife, who was submissive at the surface, but unconquerable at bottom,
+      knew these signs, and accepted them with outer show of meekness. Samson
+      tramped into the sitting-room, and there found his wife alone. He flung to
+      the door behind him with a crash which would have been startling if it had
+      been unexpected, and fell heavily into a roomy arm-chair by the fireside.
+      Mrs. Mountain took no notice of this, but went on placidly with her
+      sewing. Samson threw his heavily-booted feet noisily into the fender, and
+      still Mrs. Mountain went on placidly, without so much as looking at him.
+      Stung by this disregard of his obvious ill-humour, Samson made a lunge
+      with his foot at the fire-irons, and brought them down with a bang.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Lawk a daisy me, Samson,&rsquo; said his wife mildly. &lsquo;What&rsquo;s the matter with
+      the man?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Matter!&rsquo; growled Samson. &lsquo;It&rsquo;s a thing as ud get a saint to set his back
+      up. I was down i&rsquo; the bridge leasowe bare an hour ago, and who should I
+      see but that young imp of a Reddy along wi&rsquo; that old viper of a Bubb. Thee
+      know&rsquo;st the chap&mdash;that Ichabod.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I know him, Samson,&rsquo; answered Mrs. Mountain. &lsquo;He&rsquo;s the most impudent of
+      all of &lsquo;em.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;They stood atop o&rsquo; the bridge,&rsquo; pursued Samson, &lsquo;and I could hear &lsquo;em
+      talkin&rsquo;. Th&rsquo; ode rip was tellin&rsquo; the young un that outworn lie about the
+      brook. I&rsquo;d got a shot i&rsquo; the barrel, and I&rsquo;d more than half a mind to ha&rsquo; 
+      peppered him. I&rsquo;d ha&rsquo; done it if it had been worth while.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;There&rsquo;s no end to their malice and oncharitable-ness,&rsquo; said Mrs.
+      Mountain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I heard the young imp say he&rsquo;d fowt our Joe and licked him,&rsquo; pursued
+      Samson. &lsquo;If ever it should come to my knowledge as a truth I&rsquo;d put Master
+      Joe in such fettle he wouldn&rsquo;t sit down for the best side a month o&rsquo; 
+      Sundays.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;They &lsquo;m giving the child such airs,&rsquo; said his wife, &lsquo;it&rsquo;s enough to turn
+      the bread o&rsquo; life which nourishes.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Mountain had an object in view, and, after her own fashion, had held
+      it long in view in silence. The moment seemed to her propitious, and she
+      determined to approach it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Young toad!&rsquo; said Samson, rising to kick at the coals with his
+      heavy-heeled boot, and plunging backward into the chair again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;To hear him talk&mdash;that fine an&rsquo; mincin&rsquo;&mdash;you&rsquo;d think he was one
+      o&rsquo; my lord&rsquo;s grandchildren or a son o&rsquo; the squire&rsquo;s at least,&rsquo; said Mrs.
+      Mountain, approaching her theme with circuitous caution.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Ay!&rsquo; Samson assented &lsquo;It&rsquo;s enough to turn your stomach to listen to him.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;If they go on as they&rsquo;re goings pursued his wife, circling a little
+      nearer, &lsquo;we shall live to see fine things.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;We shall, indeed,&rsquo; said Samson, a little mollified to find his wife so
+      unusually warm in the quarrel. &lsquo;There&rsquo;s no such a thing as contentment to
+      be found amongst &lsquo;em. They settle up to be looked upon as gentlefolks.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Yes; fine things we shall live to see, no doubt, if we don&rsquo;t tek care.
+      But thanks be, Samson, it&rsquo;s left in our own hands.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;What be&rsquo;st hoverin&rsquo; at?&rsquo; demanded Samson, turning upon her with his surly
+      red face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Things ain&rsquo;t what they used to be when you an&rsquo; me was younger,&rsquo; said Mrs.
+      Mountain. &lsquo;The plain ode-fashioned Barfield talk as you and me was bred up
+      to, Samson, ain&rsquo;t good enough nowadays for the very kitchen wenches and
+      the labourers on the farm. Everybody&rsquo;s gettin&rsquo; that new-fangled!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Barfield&rsquo;s good enough for me, and good enough for mine,&rsquo; said Samson,
+      with sulky wrath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;It&rsquo;s good enough for we, to be sure, but whether it&rsquo;s good enough for
+      ourn is another churnin&rsquo; o&rsquo; butter altogether,&rsquo; his wife answered. &lsquo;It ud
+      seem as if ivery generation talked different from one another. My mother,
+      as was a very well-spoken woman for her day, used to call a cup o&rsquo; tay a
+      dish o&rsquo; tay, and that&rsquo;s a thing as only the very ignorant ud stoop to
+      nowadays.&rsquo; Samson growled, and wallowed discontentedly in the big
+      arm-chair. &lsquo;A mother&rsquo;s got her natural feelings, Samson,&rsquo; Mrs. Mountain
+      continued, with an air and tone of mildest resignation. &lsquo;I don&rsquo;t scruple
+      to allow as it&rsquo;ll hurt me if I should live to see our Joe looked down upon
+      by a Reddy.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Looked down upon!&rsquo; cried Samson. &lsquo;Where&rsquo;s the Reddy as can count acre for
+      acre agen us, or guinea for guinea?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;The Reddy&rsquo;s is fairly well-to-do, Samson,&rsquo; said Mrs. Mountain; &lsquo;very nigh
+      as well-to-do as we be.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Pooh!&rsquo; returned Samson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Oh, but they be, though,&rsquo; his wife insisted. &lsquo;Pretty near. There&rsquo;s
+      nothing so much between us as&rsquo;d prevent &lsquo;em from taking airs with us if
+      they could find out anything to do it for.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;If they could!&rsquo; Samson assented. &lsquo;Abel Eeddy was a bragger and a boaster
+      from his cradle days.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;That&rsquo;s where it is,&rsquo; cried Mrs. Mountain, in a tone which implied that
+      Samson had made a discovery of the first importance, and that this
+      discovery unexpectedly confirmed her own argument. &lsquo;Let &lsquo;em have the least
+      little bit of a chance for a brag, and where be you?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;You might trust &lsquo;em to tek advantage on it if they had it,&rsquo; said her
+      husband.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Of course you might,&rsquo; said she, with warmth, &lsquo;and that&rsquo;s why I&rsquo;m fearful
+      on it.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Fearful o&rsquo; what?&rsquo; demanded Samson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;O&rsquo; these here scornful fine-gentleman ways as&rsquo;ll be a thorn in our Joe&rsquo;s
+      side as long as he lives, poor little chap, unless we put him in the way
+      to combat again &lsquo;em.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; Samson growled, suddenly enlightened. &lsquo;I see now what thee beest
+      drivin&rsquo; at. Now, you take a straight sayin&rsquo; from me, Mary Ann. I&rsquo;ll have
+      no fine-mouthed, false-natur&rsquo;d corruption i&rsquo; my household. If the Reddys
+      choose to breed up that young imp of theirn to drawl fine and to talk
+      smooth above his station&mdash;let &lsquo;em.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Well, Samson,&rsquo; returned Mrs. Mountain, who knew by long experience when
+      her husband was malleable, &lsquo;you know best, and you&rsquo;re the master here, as
+      it&rsquo;s on&rsquo;y fit and becomin&rsquo; an&rsquo; in the rightful nature o&rsquo; things as you
+      should be.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The first effect of the oil of flattery seemed to be to harden him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I be, and I mean to be,&rsquo; he answered, with added surliness. &lsquo;If the
+      speech and the clothes and the vittles as have been good enough for me
+      ain&rsquo;t good enough for any young upstart as may follow after me, it <i>is</i>
+      a pity.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mary Ann kept silence and looked meek. Samson growled and bullied a
+      little, and wore the airs of a dictator. By and by a serving-maid came in
+      and began to arrange the table for tea, and a little later a boy and a
+      girl stole noiselessly into the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Joe,&rsquo; said Samson sternly, &lsquo;come here!&rsquo; The boy approached him with
+      evident dread. &lsquo;What&rsquo;s this I hear about thee and that young villin of a
+      Reddy?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I don&rsquo;t know, father,&rsquo; the boy answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I heard him makin&rsquo; a boast this afternoon,&rsquo; said Samson, rolling
+      bullyingly in his arm-chair, &lsquo;as you and him had fowt last holidays, and
+      as he gi&rsquo;en you a hiding.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Joe said nothing, but looked as if he expected the experience to be
+      repeated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Now, what ha&rsquo; you got to say to that?&rsquo; demanded his father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Why,&rsquo; began Joe, edging back a little, &lsquo;he&rsquo;s bigger nor I be, an&rsquo; six
+      months o&rsquo;der.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Do you mean to tell me,&rsquo; cried Samson, reaching out a hand and seizing
+      the little fellow by the jacket, &lsquo;do you mean to tell me as you allowed to
+      have enough to that young villin?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;No,&rsquo; Joe protested. &lsquo;That I niver did. It was the squire as parted us.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;You remember this,&rsquo; said his father, shaking him to emphasise the
+      promise. &lsquo;If ever you agree to tek a hiding from a Reddy you&rsquo;ve got one to
+      follow on from me. D&rsquo;ye hear?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Yes, father.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Tek heed as well as hear. D&rsquo;ye hear?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Yes, father.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;And here&rsquo;s another thing, mind you. It&rsquo;s brought to me as you and him
+      shook hands and took on to be friends with one another. Is that trew?&rsquo; Joe
+      looked guilty, but made no answer. &lsquo;Is it trew?&rsquo; Still Joe returned no
+      answer, and his father changing the hand with which he held him, for his
+      own greater convenience, knocked him off his feet, restored him to his
+      balance, knocked him off his feet again, and again settled him. &lsquo;Now,&rsquo; 
+      said Samson, &lsquo;is it trew?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy tried to recoil from the uplifted threatening hand, and cried out
+      &lsquo;No!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Now,&rsquo; said Samson, rising with a grim satisfaction, &lsquo;that&rsquo;s a lie.
+      There&rsquo;s nothin&rsquo; i&rsquo; the world as I abhor from like a lie I&rsquo;ll teach thee to
+      tell me lies. Goo into the brewus and tek thy shirt off; March!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little girl clung to her mother&rsquo;s skirts crying and trembling. The
+      mother herself was trembling, and had turned pale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Hush, hush, my pretty,&rsquo; she said, caressing the child, and averting her
+      eyes from Joe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;March!&rsquo; said Samson, and Joe slunk out of the room, hardening his heart
+      as well as might be for endurance. But when he was once out of sight of
+      the huge bullying figure and threatening eye and hand, the sight of his
+      cap lying upon a chair in the hall supplied him with an inspiration. He
+      seized the cap, slipped out at the front door, and ran.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The early winter night was falling fast by this time. Half a dozen stars
+      twinkled intermittently in the black-blue waste of sky, and when the lad
+      paused to listen for possible sounds of pursuit the hollow moaning of the
+      wind and the clang of bare wintry poles mingled with the noise of his own
+      suppressed breathing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The runaway fancied himself bound (as all British runaway boys seem bound)
+      for sea, and he set out without delay to walk to Liverpool. He got as far
+      as the brook which formed the limit to his father&rsquo;s farm, and lingering
+      before he set foot upon the bridge, began to cry a little, and to bemoan
+      his chances and the dear ones left behind. His father came in for none of
+      Joe&rsquo;s regrets. It was in the nature of things to the boy&rsquo;s mind that his
+      father should administer to him periodical thrashings, whether he had
+      earned them or not. It was the one social relationship which existed
+      between them. It was only quite of late that Joe had begun to discern
+      injustice in his father&rsquo;s bullyings. Children take things as they come,
+      and to the mind of a child&mdash;in a modified sense, of course&mdash;whatever
+      is, is right. That a thing exists is its own best justification. There is
+      no reason to seek reasons for it. But Joe Mountain, having nearly outgrown
+      this state of juvenile acquiescence, had begun to make inquiry of himself,
+      and, as a result, had familiarised himself with many mental pictures in
+      which he figured as an adventurer rich in adventures. In his day the youth
+      of England were less instructed than they are now, but the immortal Defoe
+      existed, and Lemuel Gulliver was as real as he is to-day. Perhaps the
+      Board schools may have made that great mariner a little less real than he
+      used to be. Joe believed in him with all his heart, had never had the
+      shadow of a doubt about him, and meant to sail straight from Liverpool to
+      Lilliput. He would defer his voyage to Brobdingnagia until he had grown
+      bigger, and should be something of a match for its inhabitants.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it was cold, it was darkening fast, it was past his ordinary tea-time.
+      Liverpool and Lilliput were far away, pretty nearly equidistant to the
+      juvenile mind, and but for Samson&rsquo;s shadow the tea-table would have looked
+      alluring. To be sure of tea, and a bed to sleep in afterwards, it seemed
+      almost worth while to go back to the brewhouse and obey the paternal
+      command to take his shirt off. To do the child justice, it was less the
+      fear of the thrashing than the hot sense of rebellion at unfairness which
+      kept him from returning. His father had beaten him into that untrue cry of
+      &lsquo;No,&rsquo; and had meant to force him to it, and then to beat him anew for it.
+      Joe knew that better than Samson, for Samson, like the rest of us, liked
+      to stand well with himself, and kept self-opinion in blinkers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Joe set foot on the bridge. He had crossed the boundary brook hundreds of
+      times in his brief life, and it had generally come into his mind, with a
+      boyish sense of adventure, that when he did so he was putting foot into
+      the enemy&rsquo;s country. But the feeling had never been so strong as now. The
+      Mountain Farm was home, and beyond it lay the wide, wide world, looking
+      wide indeed, and bleak and cold. What with hot rebellion at injustice and
+      cold fear of the vast and friendless expanse, Joe&rsquo;s tears multiplied, and
+      leaning his arms upon the low coping of the bridge, with his head between
+      them and his nose touching the frozen stone, he began to cry
+      unrestrainedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly he heard a footstep, and it struck a new terror into his soul.
+      Freebooters, footpads, kidnappers, <i>et hoc genus omne</i>, roamed those
+      fields by night, in course of nature. To the snug security of the home
+      fireside and bed their images came with a delightful thrill of fear, but
+      to be here alone and in the midst of them was altogether another thing. He
+      crept crouching across the bridge, and stowed himself into the smallest
+      possible compass between the end of the stonework and the neighbouring
+      hedgerow, and there waited trembling. His pulses beat so fast and made
+      such a noise in his ears that he was ready to take the sound of footsteps
+      for the tread of a whole ogreish army, when he heard a voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Hode on a minute, while I shift the sack.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sack? It was easy&mdash;it was inevitable&mdash;to know that the sack
+      contained a goblin supper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I shall be late for tea, Ichabod,&rsquo; said another voice, &lsquo;and then I shall
+      get a blowing-up for coming.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     Let him who sighs in sadness here,
+     Rejoice, and know a friend is near.
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      Joe sprang from his hiding-place, and startled Master Richard and Ichabod
+      more than a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;That thee, Dick?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He knew it well enough, but it was quite delightful to be able to ask it
+      with certainty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Hillo,&rsquo; said Master Richard, recognising his sworn friend. &lsquo;What are you
+      doing? Are you trapping anything?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;No,&rsquo; the hereditary enemy answered. He had been crying, the poor little
+      chap, until he had been frightened into quiet, and now on a sudden he was
+      as brave and as glad again as ever he had been in his life. Once more
+      adventures loomed ahead for the adventurous, and he shone within and grew
+      warm with the sweet reflux of courage as he whispered, &lsquo;I&rsquo;m running away
+      from home!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once again, the feat was glorious.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;No?&rsquo; said Master Richard, smitten with envy and admiration. &lsquo;Are you?
+      Really?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; Joe answered. &lsquo;I&rsquo;m agooin&rsquo; to Liverpool, to begin wi&rsquo;.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This was exquisitely large and vague, and Master Richard began to yearn
+      for a share in the high enterprise upon which his friend had entered. He
+      had half a mind to run away from home himself, though, to be sure, there
+      was nothing else to run away from. In Joe&rsquo;s case there was a difference.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Where are you going to stay to-night?&rsquo; asked Master Richard. The question
+      sounded practical, but at bottom it was nothing of the sort. It was part
+      of the romance of the thing, and yet it threw cold water on Joe&rsquo;s
+      newly-lighted courage, and put it out again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I don&rsquo;t know,&rsquo; said Joe, somewhat forlornly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I say,&rsquo; interjected Ichabod, &lsquo;is that young Mountain, Master Richard?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said Master Richard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Thee know&rsquo;st thy feyther is again thy speakin&rsquo; to him, and his feyther is
+      again his speakin&rsquo; to thee.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;You mind your own business, Ichabod,&rsquo; said the young autocrat, who was a
+      little spoiled perhaps, and had been accustomed to have his own way in
+      quite a princely fashion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I&rsquo;m mindin&rsquo; it,&rsquo; returned Ichabod. &lsquo;It&rsquo;s a part o&rsquo; my business to keep
+      thee out o&rsquo; mischief.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; piped Master Richard, &lsquo;you needn&rsquo;t mind that part of your business
+      to-night.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;All right,&rsquo; said Ichabod, reshouldering the sack he had meanwhile
+      balanced on the coping of the bridge. &lsquo;See as thee beesn&rsquo;t late for
+      tay-time.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With that, having discharged his conscience, he went on again, and the two
+      boys stayed behind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;What are you running away for?&rsquo; asked Eichard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Why, feyther said it was brought to him as you and me had shook hands and
+      had took on to be friends with one another, and he told me to go into the
+      brewus and take my shirt off.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Take your shirt off?&rsquo; inquired the other. In Joe&rsquo;s lifetime, short as it
+      was, he had had opportunity to grow familiar with this fatherly formula,
+      but it was strange to Master Richard. &lsquo;What for?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;What for! Why, to get a hidin&rsquo;, to be sure.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Look here!&rsquo; said Richard, having digested this, &lsquo;you come and stop in one
+      of our barns. Have you had your tea?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;No,&rsquo; returned Joe, &lsquo;I shouldn&rsquo;t ha&rsquo; minded so much if I had.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I&rsquo;ll bring something out to you,&rsquo; said the protector.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So the two lads set out together, and to evade Ichabod, struck off at a
+      run across the fields, Joe pantingly setting forth, in answer to his
+      comrade&rsquo;s questions, how he was going to be a sailor or a pirate, &lsquo;or
+      summat,&rsquo; or to have a desert island like Crusoe. Of course, it was all
+      admirable to both of them, and, of course, it was all a great deal more
+      real than the fields they ran over.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The runaway was safely deposited in a roomy barn, and left there alone,
+      when once again a life of adventures began to assume a darkish complexion.
+      It was cold, it was anxious, it seemed to drag interminably, and it was
+      abominably lonely. If it were to be all like this, even the prospect of an
+      occasional taking off of one&rsquo;s shirt in the brewhouse looked less
+      oppressive than it had done.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The hidden Joe, bound for piracy on the high seas, or a Crusoe&rsquo;s island
+      somewhere, gave a wonderful zest to Master Richard&rsquo;s meal But an hour,
+      which seemed like a year to the less fortunate of the two, went by before
+      a raid upon the well-furnished larder of Perry Hall could be effected.
+      When the opportunity came, Master Richard, with no remonstrance from
+      conscience, laid hands upon a loaf and a dish of delicious little cakes of
+      fried pork fat, from which the lard had that day been &lsquo;rendered,&rsquo; and thus
+      supplied, stole out to his hereditary enemy and fed him. The hereditary
+      enemy complained of cold, and his host groped the dark place for sacks,
+      and, having found them, brought them to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I say,&rsquo; said Joe, when he had tasted the provender, &lsquo;them&rsquo;s scratchings.
+      That&rsquo;s gay and fine. I never had as many as I should like afore. Mother
+      says they&rsquo;re too rich, but that&rsquo;s all rubbish.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He made oily feast in the dark, with the sacks heaped about him. With
+      Master Richard to help him, he began to swim in adventure, and the pair
+      were so fascinated and absorbed that one of the farm-servants went bawling
+      &lsquo;Master Richard&rsquo; about the outlying buildings for two or three minutes
+      before they heard him. When at last the call reached their ears they had
+      to wait until it died away again before the surreptitious host dare leave
+      the barn, lest his being seen should draw attention to the place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Joe, who had been hunting wild beasts of all sorts with the greatest
+      possible gusto, began in turn to be hunted by them. The rattlesnake,
+      hitherto unknown to Castle Barfield, became a common object; the lion and
+      the polar bear met on common ground in the menagerie of Joe&rsquo;s imagination.
+      Whatever poor blessings and hopes he had, and whatever schoolboy wealth he
+      owned, he would have surrendered all of them to be in the brewhouse of the
+      Mountain Farm, even though he were there to take his shirt off But the
+      empty, impassable, awful night stood between him and any refuge, and he
+      must need stay where he was, and sweat with terror under his sacks,
+      through all the prodigious tracts of time which lay between the evening
+      and the morning. He was to have been up and afoot for Liverpool before
+      dawn, but tired nature chose the time he had fixed for starting to send
+      him to sleep, and when Master Richard stole into the barn with intent to
+      disperse the sacks and clear away any sign of Joe&rsquo;s occupancy, he found
+      him slumbering soundly, with a tear-stained cheek resting on a dirty brown
+      hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There had been the wildest sort of hubbub and disorder at the Mountain
+      Farm all night. Mrs. Mountain had wept and wrung her hands, and rocking
+      herself to and fro, had poured forth doleful prophecy. Samson, who had
+      begun with bluster, had fallen into anxiety, and had himself traced the
+      course of the brook for a full mile by lanthorn-light. The farm hands had
+      been sent abroad, and had tracked every road without result. Of course the
+      one place where nobody so much as thought of making inquiry was the house
+      of the hereditary foe, but pretty early, in the course of the morning, the
+      news of Joe Mountain&rsquo;s disappearance, and something of the reasons for it,
+      reached Perry Hall. Everybody at Perry Hall knew already what a terrible
+      personage Samson Mountain was, and his behaviour on this occasion was the
+      theme of scathing comment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Master Richard was guilty at heart, but exultant. Being a boy of lively
+      imagination, he took to a secrecy so profound, and became so strikingly
+      stealthy, as to excite observation and remark. He was watched and tracked
+      to the barn, and then the discovery came about as a matter of course. The
+      Reddys made much of Joe&mdash;they had no quarrel with an innocent
+      persecuted child&mdash;but their kindness and commiseration were simply
+      darts to throw at Samson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was noon when Reddy put the trembling adventurer into his trap, and
+      with his own hands drove him home. The two enemies met and glowered at
+      each other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I&rsquo;ve found your lad and brought him home,&rsquo; said Reddy; &lsquo;though I doubt
+      it&rsquo;s a cruel kindness to him.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Samson, with all the gall in his nature burning at his heart, lifted Joe
+      from the trap and set him on the ground in silence. Reddy, in silence,
+      turned his horse&rsquo;s head, touched him with the whip, and drove away. Joe
+      was welcomed home by a thrashing, which he remembers in old age.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The episode bore fruit in several ways. To begin with, Master Joe was
+      packed off to a distant school, far from that to which young Reddy was
+      sent. But the boys found each other out in the holidays, and became firm
+      friends on the sly, and Joe was so loyal and admiring that he never ceased
+      to talk to his one confidante of the courage, the friendliness, the
+      generosity, the agility, and skill of his secret hero. The confidante was
+      his sister Julia, to whom the young hereditary enemy became a synonym for
+      whatever is lovely and of good report. She used to look at him in church&mdash;she
+      had little other opportunity of observing him&mdash;and would think in her
+      childish innocent mind how handsome and noble he looked. He did not speak
+      like the Barfield boys, or look like them, or walk like them. He was a
+      young prince, heir to vast estates, and a royal title in fairyland. If
+      story-books were few and far between, the sentimental foolish widow, Jenny
+      Busker, was a mine of narrative, and a single fairy tale is enough to open
+      all other fairy lore to a child&rsquo;s imagination. If the little girl
+      worshipped the boy, he, in his turn, looked kindly down on her. He had
+      fought for her once at odds of two to one, and he gave her a smile now and
+      then. It happened that in this wise began the curious, half-laughable, and
+      half-pathetic little history which buried the hatreds of the Castle
+      Barfield Capulet and Montague for ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      III
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      In this Castle Barfield version of Romeo and Juliet the parody would have
+      been impossible without the aid and intervention of some sort of Friar
+      Laurence. He was a notability of those parts in those days, and he was
+      known as the Dudley Devil. In these enlightened times he would have been
+      dealt with as a rogue and vagabond, and, not to bear too hardly upon an
+      historical personage, whom there is nobody (even with all our wealth of
+      historical charity-mongers) to whitewash, he deserved richly in his own
+      day the treatment he would have experienced in ours. He discovered stolen
+      property&mdash;when his confederates aided him; he put the eye on people
+      obnoxious to his clients, for a consideration; he overlooked milch cows,
+      and they yielded blood; he went about in the guise of a great gray
+      tom-cat. It was historically true in my childhood&mdash;though, like other
+      things, it may have ceased to be historically true since then&mdash;that
+      it was in this disguise of the great gray tom-cat that he met his death.
+      He was fired at by a farmer, the wounded cat crawled into the wizard&rsquo;s
+      cottage, and the demon restored to human form was found dying later on
+      with a gun-shot charge in his ribs. There were people alive a dozen&mdash;nay,
+      half a dozen&mdash;years ago, who <i>knew</i> these things, to whom it was
+      blasphemous to dispute them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The demon&rsquo;s earthly name was Rufus Smith, and he lived &lsquo;by Dudley Wood
+      side, where the wind blows cold,&rsquo; as the local ballad puts it His mother
+      had dealt in the black art before him, and was ducked to death in the
+      Severn by the bridge in the ancient town of Bewdley. He was a lean man,
+      with a look of surly fear. It is likely enough that he half expected some
+      of his invocations to come true one fine day or other, with consequences
+      painful to himselt The old notions are dying out fast, but it used to be
+      said in that region that when a man talked to himself he was talking with
+      the universal enemy. Rufus and his mother were great chatterers in
+      solitude, and what possible companion could they have but one?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It is not to be supposed that all the ministrations for which the people
+      of the country-side relied upon Rufus were mischievous. If he had done
+      nothing but overlook cattle and curse crops, and so forth, he would have
+      been hunted out. Some passably good people have been said, upon occasions,
+      to hold a candle to the devil. With a similar diversion from general
+      principle, Rufus was known occasionally to perform acts of harmless
+      utility. He charmed away warts and corns, he prepared love philtres, and
+      sold lucky stones. He foreran the societies which insure against accident,
+      and would guarantee whole bones for a year or a lifetime, according to the
+      insurer&rsquo;s purse or fancy. He told fortunes by the palm and by the cards,
+      and was the sole proprietor and vendor of a noted heal-all salve of magic
+      properties.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He and his mother had gathered together between them a respectable handful
+      of ghastly trifles, which were of substantial service alike to him and to
+      his clients. A gentleman coming to have his corns or warts charmed away
+      would be naturally assisted towards faith by the aspect of the polecat&rsquo;s
+      skeleton, the skulls of two or three local criminals, and the shrivelled,
+      mummified dead things which hung about the walls or depended head
+      downwards from the ceiling. These decorations apart, the wizard&rsquo;s home was
+      a little commonplace. It stood by itself in a bare hollow, an
+      unpicturesque and barn-like cottage, not altogether weather-proof.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It fell upon a day that Mrs. Jenny Rusker drove over from Castle Barfield
+      to pay Rufus a visit. She rode in a smart little trap, the kind of thing
+      employed by the better sort of rustic tradesmen, and drove a smart little
+      pony. She was a motherly, foolish, good creature, who, next to the reading
+      of plays and romances, loved to have children about her and to make them
+      happy. On this particular day she had Master Richard with her. She kept up
+      her acquaintance with both her old lovers, and was on terms of rather
+      coolish friendship with them. But she adored their children, and would
+      every now and again make a descent on the house of one or other of her old
+      admirers and ravish away a child for a day or two.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Jenny had consoled herself elsewhere for the loss of lovers for whom
+      she had never cared a halfpenny, but she had never ceased to hold a sort
+      of liking for both her old suitors. Their claims had formerly been pretty
+      evenly balanced in her mind, and even now, when the affair was ancient
+      enough in all conscience to have been naturally and quietly buried long
+      ago, she never met either of her quondam lovers without some touch of
+      old-world coquetry in her manner. The faintest and most far-away touch of
+      anything she could call romance was precious to the old woman, and having
+      a rare good heart of her own under all her superannuated follies, she
+      adored the children. Dick was her especial favourite, as was only natural,
+      for he was pretty enough and regal enough with his childish airs of <i>petit
+      grand seigneur</i> to make him beloved of most women who met him. Women
+      admire the frank masterfulness of a generous and half-spoiled boy, and
+      Mrs. Jenny saw in the child the prophecy of all she had thought well of in
+      his father, refined by the grace of childhood and by a better breeding
+      than the father had ever had.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So she and Dick were great allies, and there was always cake and
+      elderberry wine and an occasional half-crown for him at Laburnum Cottage.
+      It was only natural that, so fostered, Dick&rsquo;s affection for the old lady
+      should be considerable. She was his counsellor and confidante from his
+      earliest years, and the little parlour, with its antiquated furniture and
+      works of art-in wool, its haunting odour of pot-pourri emanating from the
+      big china jar upon the mantelshelf, and its moist warm atmosphere dimly
+      filtered through the drooping green and gold of the laburnum tree, whose
+      leaves tapped incessantly against the lozenged panes of its barred
+      windows, was almost as familiar in his memory in after years as the
+      sitting-room at home at the farm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dick conferred upon its kindly and garrulous old tenant the brevet rank of
+      &lsquo;Aunt&rsquo; Jenny, and loved her, telling her, in open-hearted childish
+      fashion, his thoughts, experiences, and secrets. Naturally, the story of
+      the fight with the paynim oppressors of beauty came out in his talk soon
+      after its occurrence, and lost nothing in the telling. Mrs. Jenny would
+      have found a romance in circumstances much less easily usable to that end
+      than those of the scion of one house rescuing the daughter of a rival and
+      inimical line, and here was material enough for foolish fancy. She cast a
+      prophetic eye into the future, and saw Dick and Julia, man and maid,
+      reuniting their severed houses in the bonds of love, or doubly embittering
+      their mutual hatred and perishing&mdash;young and lovely victims to
+      clannish hatred and parental rigour&mdash;like Romeo and Juliet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy&rsquo;s account of the fight was given as he sat by her side in her
+      little pony-trap in the cheerfully frosty morning. Dick chatted gaily as
+      the shaggy-backed pony trotted along the resounding road with a clatter of
+      hoofs and a jingle of harness, and an occasional sneeze at the frosty air.
+      They passed the field of battle on the road, and Dick pointed it out.
+      Then, as was natural, he turned to the family feud, and retailed all he
+      had heard from Ichabod, supplemented by information from other quarters
+      and such additions of fancy as imaginative children and savages are sure
+      to weave about the fabric of any story which comes in their way to make
+      tradition generally the trustworthy thing it is.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Busker was strong on the family quarrel. A family quarrel was a great
+      thing in her estimation, almost as good as a family ghost, and she gave
+      Dick the whole history of the incident of the brook and of many others
+      which had grown out of it, among them one concerning the death of a
+      certain Reddy which had tragically come to pass a year or two before his
+      birth. The said Reddy had been found one November evening stark and cold
+      at the corner of the parson&rsquo;s spinney, with an empty gun grasped in his
+      stiffened hand, and a whole charge of small shot in his breast. Crowner&rsquo;s
+      quest had resulted in a verdict of death by misadventure, and the
+      generally received explanation was that the young fellow&rsquo;s own gun had
+      worked the mischief by careless handling in passing through stiff
+      undergrowth. But a certain ne&rsquo;er-do-well Mountain, a noted striker and
+      tosspot of the district, had mysteriously disappeared about that date, and
+      had never since come within scope of Castle Barfield knowledge. Ugly
+      rumours had got afloat, vague and formless, and soon to die out of general
+      memory. Dick listened open-mouthed to all this, and when the narrative was
+      concluded, held his peace for at least two minutes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;<i>She</i> isn&rsquo;t wicked, is she, Aunt Jenny?&rsquo; he suddenly demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;She? Who? &lsquo;asked Mrs. Eusker in return. &lsquo;The little girl, Julia.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Wicked? Sakes alive, whativer is the boy talking about? Wicked? O&rsquo; course
+      not. She&rsquo;s a dear good little thing as iver lived.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Ichabod said that all the Mountains were wicked. But I know Joe isn&rsquo;t&mdash;at
+      least, not very. He promised me a monkey and a parrot&mdash;a green
+      parrot, when he came back from running away. But he didn&rsquo;t run away,
+      because father found him and took him home. His father gave him an awful
+      thrashing. He often thrashes him, Joe says. Father never thrashes me. What
+      does his father thrash him for?&rsquo; &lsquo;Mr. Mountain&rsquo;s a harder man than your
+      father, my dear. An&rsquo; I fear as Joe&rsquo;s a bit wild, like his father when he
+      was a boy, and obstinit. Theer niver was a obstinater man i&rsquo; this earth
+      than Samson Mountain, I do believe, an&rsquo; Joe&rsquo;s got a bit on it in him.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;She&rsquo;s pretty,&rsquo; said Dick, returning with sudden childish inconsequence to
+      the subject uppermost in his thoughts. &lsquo;Joe isn&rsquo;t Why is it that the girls
+      are always prettier than the boys?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I used to think it was the other way about when I was a gell,&rsquo; said Aunt
+      Jenny, with perfect simplicity. &lsquo;But she is pretty, that&rsquo;s true. But then
+      her mother was a likely lass, an&rsquo; Samson warn&rsquo;t bad lookin&rsquo;, if he hadn&rsquo;t
+      ha&rsquo; been so fierce an&rsquo; cussid. An&rsquo; to think as it should be you, of all
+      the lads i&rsquo; Barfield, as should save a Mountain. An&rsquo; a gell too.. I
+      suppose as you&rsquo;ll be a settin&rsquo; up to fall in love wi&rsquo; her now, like Romeo
+      and Juliet?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;What was that? &lsquo;asked the boy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;It&rsquo;s a play, my dear, wrote by a clever man as has been dead iver so many
+      &lsquo;ears, William Shaakespeare.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Shakespeare?&rsquo; said Dick. &lsquo;I know. It&rsquo;s a big book on one of the shelves
+      at home, full of poetry. But what&rsquo;s Romeo and Juliet?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Romeo and Juliet was two lovers, as lived a long time ago in a place
+      called Verona. I don&rsquo;t know where it is,&rsquo; she added quickly, to stave off
+      the imminent question already on the boy&rsquo;s lips. &lsquo;Somewhere abroad, wheer
+      Bonyparty is. Juliet&rsquo;s name was Capulet, an&rsquo; Romeo&rsquo;s was Montague, an&rsquo; the
+      Capilets and the Montagues hated each other so as they could niver meet
+      wi&rsquo;out havin&rsquo; a bit of a turn-up one with another. They was as bad as the
+      Reddys an&rsquo; the Mountains, only i&rsquo; them daysen folks allays wore swords an&rsquo; 
+      daggers, so&rsquo;s when they fowt they mostly killed each other. Well, one
+      night old Capilet gi&rsquo;en a party, an&rsquo; asked all his friends, an&rsquo; everybody
+      wore masks, so&rsquo;s they didn&rsquo;t know half the time who they was a-talkin&rsquo; 
+      tew, as was the fashion i&rsquo; them times, an&rsquo; Romeo, he goes, just for
+      divilment, an&rsquo; he puts on a mask tew, so as they didn&rsquo;t know him, else
+      they&rsquo;d ha&rsquo; killed him, sure an&rsquo; certain. An&rsquo; theer he sees Juliet, an&rsquo; she
+      was beautiful, an&rsquo; he falls plump in love wi&rsquo; her, an&rsquo; she falls in love
+      wi&rsquo; him, an&rsquo; they meets o&rsquo; nights, i&rsquo; the moonlight, on the window-ledge
+      outside her room, but they had to meet i&rsquo; secret, &lsquo;cause the two fam&rsquo;lies
+      was like cat an&rsquo; dog, an&rsquo; there&rsquo;d ha&rsquo; been awful doin&rsquo;s if they&rsquo;d been
+      found out. Well, old Capilet&mdash;that was Juliet&rsquo;s feyther&mdash;he
+      finds a husband for Juliet, a nice chap enough, a count, like Lord
+      Barfield, on&rsquo;y younger an&rsquo; likelier. An&rsquo; Juliet, she gets welly mad,
+      because she wants to marry Romeo. And then, to mek matters wuss, Romeo
+      meets one o&rsquo; Juliet&rsquo;s relations, a young man named Tybalt, as hates him
+      like pison, an&rsquo; they fowt, an&rsquo; Romeo killed him. Well, the Capilets was
+      powerful wi&rsquo; the king as ruled in Verona, like Joseph used to be with
+      Pharaoh in the Holy Land, my dear, an&rsquo; Romeo, he has to run away an&rsquo; hide
+      himself, else p&rsquo;raps they&rsquo;d ha&rsquo; hung him for killin&rsquo; Tybalt, though it was
+      Tybalt as begun the fight, so poor Juliet&rsquo;s left all alone. An&rsquo; her
+      marriage day&rsquo;s a-gettin&rsquo; near, and old Capilet, he&rsquo;s stuck on her marryin&rsquo; 
+      the count, an&rsquo; the day&rsquo;s been named, and everything provided for the
+      weddin&rsquo;. Well, Romeo takes a thought, an&rsquo; goes to a friar, a kind o&rsquo; 
+      priest, as was a very book-learned man, and asks if he can help him. And
+      at first he says no, he can&rsquo;t, an&rsquo; Romeo gets that crazed, he&rsquo;s goin&rsquo; to
+      kill himself, but by an&rsquo; by he thinks of a plan. He gives Juliet a bottle
+      o&rsquo; physic stuff to send her to sleep, and make her look as if she was
+      dead. Then her relations &lsquo;ll be sure to bury her i&rsquo; the family vault, an&rsquo; 
+      he&rsquo;ll write to Romeo to come back to Verona i&rsquo; the night-time an&rsquo; take her
+      out o&rsquo; the vault, an&rsquo; goo away quiet wi&rsquo; her till things have blown over,
+      an&rsquo; they can come back again. An&rsquo; Juliet takes the physic, an&rsquo; everybody
+      thinks her dead, her father, an&rsquo; her mother, an&rsquo; her old nuss, an&rsquo; Paris&mdash;that&rsquo;s
+      the name of the gentleman as they wanted her to marry&mdash;an&rsquo; there&rsquo;s
+      such a hullabaloo an&rsquo; racket as niver was. An&rsquo; they buried her i&rsquo; the
+      vault, wi&rsquo; all her relations, an&rsquo; the old friar thinks as it&rsquo;s all
+      a-comin&rsquo; straight. But the letter as he&rsquo;d writ to Romeo niver reaches him,
+      an&rsquo; Romeo hears as how Juliet&rsquo;s really dead, and he buys a bottle o&rsquo; 
+      pison, an&rsquo; comes to Juliet&rsquo;s grave i&rsquo; the night-time, an&rsquo; there he meets
+      Paris, as has come to put flowers there an&rsquo; pray for Juliet&rsquo;s soul,
+      knowin&rsquo; no better and lovin&rsquo; her very dear. An&rsquo; him an&rsquo; Romeo fights, and
+      Romeo kills him, an&rsquo; opens the vault, an&rsquo; go&rsquo;s in, an&rsquo; theer&rsquo;s Juliet,
+      lyin&rsquo; stiff an&rsquo; stark, because the physic ain&rsquo;t had time to work itself
+      off yit. An&rsquo; he kisses her, an&rsquo; cries over her, and then he teks the
+      pison, and dies. An&rsquo; just as he&rsquo;s done it, Juliet wakes up, and finds him
+      dead, and she takes his knife, an&rsquo; kills herself, poor thing, an&rsquo; that&rsquo;s
+      the hend on &lsquo;em.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old sentimentalist&rsquo;s eyes were moist, and her voice choked, as she
+      concluded her legend. It was the first love-story Dick had ever heard, and
+      in pity at the beautiful narrative, which no clumsiness of narration could
+      altogether rob of its pathos, he was crying too. There is no audience like
+      an impressionable child, and the immortal story of love and misfortune
+      seemed very pitiful to his small and tender heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Why, theer! theer! Dick! It&rsquo;s only a story, my dear, wrote in a book,&rsquo; 
+      said Mrs Jenny. &lsquo;It most likely ain&rsquo;t true, an&rsquo; if it is, it all happened
+      sich a time ago as it&rsquo;s no good a-frettin&rsquo; about it. Why, wheeriver did
+      you get all them warts? &lsquo;She took one of the hands with which Dick was
+      rubbing his eyes. &lsquo;You should have &lsquo;em looked tew, they quite spile your
+      hands. I must get Rufus Smith to have a look at &lsquo;em. You know who we&rsquo;m
+      agoin&rsquo; to see, don&rsquo;t you? You&rsquo;ve heard tell o&rsquo; the Dudley Devil, Dick?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said Dick. &lsquo;Ichabod goes to him for his rheumatism.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;It&rsquo;s on&rsquo;y a step away. That&rsquo;s his cottage, over there. We&rsquo;ll get him to
+      charm the warts away.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A hundred yards farther on Mrs. Jenny checked the pony, and, dismounting
+      from the vehicle, bade Dick tie him to an elder-shoot and follow her. They
+      went through a gap in a ruinous hedge, and traversed a furzy field, at the
+      farther side of which stood the wizard&rsquo;s hut, a wretched place of a single
+      story, with a shuttered window and a thatched roof full of holes and
+      overgrown with weeds. As they approached the door a mighty clatter was
+      audible within, and Mrs. Jenny held the boy&rsquo;s hand in a tightened grasp,
+      fearful of devilry. As they stood irresolute to advance or retreat, a big
+      cat dashed out at the doorway with a feline imprecation, and the wizard
+      appeared, revengefully waving a stick, and swearing furiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Cuss the brute,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;the divil&rsquo;s in her, sure an&rsquo; sartin&rsquo;.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It seemed not unlikely to the onlookers, the cat being the wizard&rsquo;s
+      property, and therefore, by all rule and prescription, his prompter and
+      familiar. She was not of the received colour, however, her fur being of a
+      rusty red. But as she raised her back, and spat at her master&rsquo;s visitors
+      from under her chubbed tail, she looked demoniac enough for anything. And
+      from the fashion in which, her anathema once launched, she sat down and
+      betook herself to the rearrangement of her ruffled coat, it might have
+      been conjectured that it was not purely personal to them, but that they
+      were attacked merely as types of the human race, whose society she and her
+      master had forsworn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Cuss her!&rsquo; reiterated the wizard. &lsquo;Where&rsquo;s her got tew? My soul, what&rsquo;s
+      this?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He peered with a short-sighted terror-stricken scowl on Mrs. Jenny and her
+      charge, as if for a moment the fancy had crossed him that his refractory
+      familiar had taken their shapes. His gray lips muttered something, and his
+      fingers worked oddly as he took a step or two forward, clearly outlined in
+      the cold winter sunshine against the black void beyond his open door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Why, Rufus, what&rsquo;s the matter?&rsquo; asked Mrs. Jenny. &lsquo;Don&rsquo;t look like that
+      at a body.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;It&rsquo;s you, mum?&rsquo; said the necromancer. A look of relief came into his
+      wizened face. &lsquo;I didn&rsquo;t know but what it might be&mdash;&mdash;&rsquo; His voice
+      trailed off into an indistinct murmur, and he smeared his hand heavily
+      across his face, and looked at it, mistrustfully, as if he rather expected
+      to find something else in its place. &lsquo;Cuss her!&rsquo; he said again, looking
+      round for the cat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;What&rsquo;s she done?&rsquo; demanded Mrs. Jenny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Done? Ate up all my brekfus, that&rsquo;s what she&rsquo;s done,&rsquo; rejoined the
+      wizard. The familiar grinned with a relish of the situation so fiendishly
+      human that Dick clung closer to Mrs. Rusker&rsquo;s hand, and devoutly wished
+      himself back in the trap. To his childish sense the incongruity of one
+      gifted with demoniac powers being helpless to prevent the depredations of
+      his own domestic animal did not appeal. As for Mrs. Jenny, she had piously
+      believed in witchcraft all her life, and was quite as insensible to the
+      absurdity as he.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I want you to look at this young gentleman&rsquo;s hands,&rsquo; said Mrs. Busker.
+      &lsquo;He&rsquo;s got warts that bad. I suppose you can charm &lsquo;em away for him?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Appealed to on a point of his art, the wizard&rsquo;s air changed altogether. He
+      assumed an aspect of wooden majesty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Why, yis,&rsquo; he said. &lsquo;I think I&rsquo;m equal to that Step inside, mum, and
+      bring the young gentleman with you.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Couldn&rsquo;t you&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;-&rsquo; Mrs. Busker hesitatingly began,
+      &lsquo;couldn&rsquo;t you do it outside?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;The forms and ceremonies,&rsquo; said the necromancer, with an increase of
+      woodenness in his manner, &lsquo;cannot be applied out o&rsquo; doors. Arter you,
+      mum.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He ushered them into the one room of his hut, and the cat, with her tail
+      floating above her like a banner, entered too, evading a kick, and sprang
+      upon a rotten deal shelf, which apparently acted as both dresser and
+      table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Rufus closed the ruinous door, thereby intensifying the gloom which
+      reigned within the place. The floor was of simple earth, unboarded, and
+      the air smelt of it Here and there a fine spear of ghostly sunlight
+      pierced a crack in roof or wall. By the time their eyes had become
+      accustomed to the gloom they saw that Rufus, on his knees on the floor,
+      was scratching a circle about himself with a scrap of a broken pot, and
+      the indistinct rhythmic murmur of the spell he muttered reached their
+      ears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The cat, perched upon the dresser, purred as if her internal machinery
+      were running down to final collapse, and her contracting and dilating eyes
+      borrowed infernal fires from the chance ray of sunshine in which she sat.
+      The brute&rsquo;s rusty red head, so lit, fascinated Dick, and the mingled
+      rhythms of her purring and the wizard&rsquo;s mounted and mounted, until to his
+      bewildered mind the whole world seemed filled with their murmur, and the
+      demoniac head seemed to dilate as he gazed at it. Suddenly, Rufus paused
+      in his sing-song, and the cat&rsquo;s purr ceased with it, as though her share
+      of the charm was done.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Come into the ring,&rsquo; said Rufus. His voice was shaky, and if there had
+      been light enough to see it, his face was gray with terror of his own
+      hocus-pocus. The cat&rsquo;s head had dropped out of the line of sunlight, and
+      she had coiled herself up on the dresser among a disorderly litter of
+      crockery ware. Dick, relieved from the fascination of her too-visible
+      presence, obeyed the summons, and Rufus, seating himself upon a broken
+      stool, took his hand in moist and quivering fingers, and touching the
+      warts one by one, recommenced his mumble. It had proceeded for a minute or
+      so, when a crash, which, following as it did on the dead stillness, an
+      earthquake could scarce have equalled, elicited a scream from Mrs. Jenny
+      and brought the wizard to his knees with a yell of terror.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;My blessid!&rsquo; he cried, with clacking jaws, &lsquo;I&rsquo;ve done it at last! Get
+      thee behind me, Satan!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In terror-stricken earnest he believed that the Great Personage he had
+      passed all his life in trying to raise had answered to his call at last.
+      So, though it was unquestionably a relief to him to find that the
+      appalling clatter had merely been caused by his familiar&rsquo;s pursuit of a
+      mouse among the crockery, a shade of disappointment may have followed the
+      discovery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Cuss her!&rsquo; he said, for the third time that morning, and with additional
+      unction. &lsquo;Her&rsquo;ll be the death of me some day, I know her will!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      IV
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      A summer sunset filled all the sky above Castle Barfield and its
+      encircling fields. The sun had disappeared, leaving behind him a broad
+      reflected track of glory where, here and there, a star was faintly
+      visible. A light wind was blowing from the hollow which sheltered the town
+      towards the higher land whereon the rival houses of Eeddy and Mountain
+      faced each other. Below, it was already almost night, and as the wind blew
+      the shadow mounted, as if the wind carried it. The rose and gold left by
+      the departing sun faded down the sky, and settled at the horizon into a
+      broad band of deep-toned fire, which, to one facing it in ascending from
+      the lower ground, seemed to bind the two houses together. Some such fancy
+      might have been in the head of Mrs. Jenny Rusker, as she went in the warm
+      evening air towards the little eminence on which stood the long low-built
+      house of Samson Mountain, already a-twinkle with occasional lights in the
+      gloom, its own bulk cast against the fast-fading band of sunset.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Jenny, hale and vigorous yet, and still a widow, was older by fifteen
+      years than on the day when she unfolded to Dick Reddy the story of Romeo
+      and Juliet. Fifteen years was a good slice out of a lifetime, even in
+      Castle Barfield in the first half of the century, when time slipped by so
+      quietly and left so little trace to mark his flight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She passed the gate which opened on the public road, and entered the
+      Mountain domain. The air was so still that the bubble of the boundary
+      brook was clearly audible a hundred yards away, with nothing to accent it
+      but the slow heavy flap of a late crow, winging his reluctant flight
+      homewards, and save for him, sky and earth alike seemed empty of life, and
+      delivered wholly to the clinging peace of evening. So that when Mrs. Jenny
+      came to the only clump of trees in her line of progress between the gate
+      and the house the little scream of surprise with which she found herself
+      suddenly face to face with an unexpected human figure was justified.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Sh-h-h! &lsquo;said the figure&rsquo;s owner. &lsquo;Don&rsquo;t you know me, Aunt Jenny?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Dick!&rsquo; said Mrs. Jenny, peering at him. &lsquo;So it is. You welly frightened
+      the life out o&rsquo; me. What brings you here, of all places in the world?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Can&rsquo;t you guess?&rsquo; asked Dick. He was tall and broad-shouldered now, an
+      admirable fulfilment of the physical promise of his boyhood, and far
+      overtopped Mrs. Rusker. &lsquo;It isn&rsquo;t for the first time.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I feared not,&rsquo; said the old woman. &lsquo;You was allays main venturesome.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;It will be for the last, for some time, Aunt Jenny. I leave Castle
+      Barfield to-morrow.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Leave Barfield?&rsquo; cried the old woman. &lsquo;Why, Dick, wheer are ye goin&rsquo;? You
+      ain&rsquo;t agoin&rsquo; to do nothin&rsquo; rash, that I do hope.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I am going to London,&rsquo; said Dick, &lsquo;and I must see Julia before I go. You
+      must help me. You are going to the house now, aren&rsquo;t you?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Going to London?&rsquo; repeated Mrs. Eusker, who had no ears for the last
+      words after that announcement. &lsquo;What&rsquo;s made you so hot foot to go to
+      London all of a minute like?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;It was decided to-day. My father suspects what is going on. I feel sure
+      of it, though he has never said a word about it. You know he always meant
+      to make a doctor of me&mdash;it was my own choice when I was quite a
+      little fellow, and it has always been understood. Last month he asked me
+      if I was of the same mind still, and to-day he told me that my seat is
+      taken in the coach from Birmingham. You know my father, Aunt Jenny, as
+      well as I do. He has been a very good father to me, and I would not give
+      him pain or trouble for the world. I could not refuse. Indeed, it is my
+      last chance of ever doing anything for myself and making a home for
+      Julia.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;My dear, they&rsquo;ll never hear on it, nayther of &lsquo;em. Samson Mountain &lsquo;d
+      rather see his daughter in her coffin than married to any kin of Abel
+      Reddy&rsquo;s. Though he loves her, too, in a kind o&rsquo; way. An&rsquo; your father&rsquo;s
+      jist as hard; he&rsquo;s on&rsquo;y quieter with it, that&rsquo;s all They&rsquo;ll niver consent
+      Niver, i&rsquo; this world.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Then we must do without their consent, that&rsquo;s all. I must see Julia
+      to-night, and you must help me. Tell her that I am here and must see her.
+      Oh, Aunt Jenny, you are surely not going to desert us now, after helping
+      us so often.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I&rsquo;m dub&rsquo;ous, my dear. I hope good may come of it, but I&rsquo;m dub&rsquo;ous. I&rsquo;m
+      doubtful if I did right in helping you, again your father&rsquo;s will, an&rsquo; Mr.
+      Mountain&rsquo;s, too.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;You won&rsquo;t refuse to do so little, after doing so much,&rsquo; pleaded the young
+      man. &lsquo;Why, it was at your house that I used to meet her, when we were
+      children together, and you first christened us Romeo and Juliet.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;A name o&rsquo; bad omen, my dear. I wish I hadn&rsquo;t gi&rsquo;en it to you now.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;For niver was a story o&rsquo; more woe, Than this o&rsquo; Jewliet an&rsquo; her Romeo.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I don&rsquo;t believe much in omens,&rsquo; said Dick. &lsquo;But you will tell Julia that
+      I am here, won&rsquo;t you? It&rsquo;s the last time, for ever so long.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I&rsquo;ll tell her,&rsquo; said Mrs. Rusker. &lsquo;But don&rsquo;t stay here; goo down to the
+      Five Ash. Mr. Mountain&rsquo;s gone to Burmungem, an&rsquo; he&rsquo;ll come across this way
+      when he comes back. You must tek a bit o&rsquo; care, Dick, for the gell&rsquo;s
+      sake.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I&rsquo;ll take care, dear. It&rsquo;s good-bye this time, Aunt. You&rsquo;ve been very
+      good to me always, and I shan&rsquo;t forget your kindness while I&rsquo;m away. And
+      you&rsquo;ll be good to Julia, too, while&mdash;while I&rsquo;m away, won&rsquo;t you?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Rusker&rsquo;s objections had never had any heart in them, and had been
+      merely perfunctory, and such as she conceived her age and semi-maternal
+      authority compelled her to make. She was wholly given over to Dick and
+      Julia, and all her simple craft was for their service. She kissed him, and
+      cried over him, and so they parted, he bound for the Five Ash field, and
+      she for the farmhouse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Why, lacsaday, Jenny, whativer is the matter?&rsquo; asked Mrs. Mountain, when
+      her visitor entered her sitting-room, and gave her tear-stained cheek to
+      her old friend&rsquo;s embrace. Julia, a lithe, graceful girl, rose at the query
+      from the other side of the little table, and came to Mrs. Rusker&rsquo;s side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Why, you&rsquo;re cryin&rsquo;,&rsquo; continued the elder woman. &lsquo;What is it, my dear, as
+      has upset you i&rsquo; this wise?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Well, my dear,&rsquo; said Mrs. Rusker, wiping her eyes and smoothing her
+      dress, as if her grief was done with and put away, &lsquo;it ain&rsquo;t a trouble as
+      I expects sympathy from you in.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mother and daughter exchanged glances.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;It must be a queer sort o&rsquo; trouble, then,&rsquo; said Mrs. Mountain; &lsquo;an&rsquo; you
+      might tell me what it is afore you say that, Mrs. Rusker, arter all these
+      &lsquo;ears as we&rsquo;n knowed each other.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Well, if you must know, I&rsquo;ve jist sin young Reddy, i&rsquo; the road, jist
+      outside the Five Ash.&rsquo; Julia&rsquo;s hand was on her shoulder as she spoke, and
+      she felt the soft touch tremble. &lsquo;He&rsquo;s a-leavin&rsquo; Barfield, agoin&rsquo; to
+      London, for a long time.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Oh, that&rsquo;s the matter, is it? Well, I don&rsquo;t know anythin&rsquo; agin the young
+      man, barrin&rsquo; as he is a Reddy. An&rsquo; for the matter o&rsquo; that, though o&rsquo; 
+      course a woman has no ch&rsquo;ice but to stand by the kin as her marries into,
+      I niver found much harm in &lsquo;em, unless it is as they&rsquo;re a bit stuck up. I
+      know as you was allays fond on him, an&rsquo; I hope the young man &lsquo;ll do well.
+      I&rsquo;ve often said to Samson as it was all rubbidge, a-keepin&rsquo; up a old
+      quarrel like that, as keeps two dacent fam&rsquo;lys at daggers drawn. Theer,
+      theer, let Julia get you a cup o&rsquo; tay, an&rsquo; let&rsquo;s talk o&rsquo; somethin&rsquo; 
+      cheerful.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I&rsquo;ll go and send it in to you,&rsquo; said Julia. She exchanged one quick
+      glance of intelligence with the widow as she left the room. The old woman
+      had done her errand, and Julia knew where to seek her lover. She found her
+      hat in the hall, and slipped out by the back way, after directing the
+      servant to take in the required refreshment to Mrs. Busker. It was bright
+      moonlight now, and as she ran lightly across the Five Ash field in her
+      white summer dress, Dick, waiting in the shelter of the hedge, saw her
+      plainly, and advanced to meet her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Oh, Dick, is it true?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He took her in his arms and kissed her before he answered. &lsquo;Yes, dear,
+      it&rsquo;s true. I am going to London.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;But why so suddenly, so soon?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I must, dear. It is my own choice. I am going to study, to fit myself to
+      take my place in the world, and to find a home for you. Be brave, dear. It
+      is only for a little time.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;It is all so sudden.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Yes. I had hoped to stay a little longer, to see more of you, to get used
+      to my happiness before I lost it. But my father suspects, I am sure, if he
+      does not know, and I dared not refuse. It hurts me to go, but what can I
+      do? You know the man he is. And there is only one thing in the world that
+      your father would help him to do&mdash;to separate us. I must go away and
+      make a home for you with my own hands; we can expect no help from them. If
+      we are true to each other we shall be happy yet. Our love may end the
+      ridiculous family squabble which has lasted all these generations. But it
+      would be madness to speak yet.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;It is that which makes me so unhappy, Dick. Why am I not like other
+      girls? Why can&rsquo;t you come to the farm and ask my father&rsquo;s leave to court
+      me, as other girls&rsquo; sweethearts do, and as you would like to do? I can&rsquo;t
+      help feeling that this is wrong, meeting you in secret, and being engaged
+      to you against my father&rsquo;s will, without his knowledge.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;The quarrel is not of our making, Julia. We only suffer by it. I hope we
+      shall bring it to an end, and teach two honest men to live at peace
+      together, as they ought. Why, you&rsquo;re crying.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her tears had been running quietly for some minutes past, but at this she
+      began to sob unrestrainedly. Dick comforted her in the orthodox fashion,
+      and in that sweet employment almost succeeded in forgetting his own
+      sorrow. He drew bright pictures of the future: youth held the palette, and
+      hope laid on the colour. Two or three years of partial separation&mdash;so
+      little&mdash;and he would have a livelihood in his hand, and could offer
+      her a safe asylum from parental tyranny, and bid his own people either to
+      accept the situation or renounce him, as they might choose. He was quite
+      heroic internally about the whole business. He felt the promise of the
+      coming struggle brace his nerves, and he was more than ready for the test.
+      Young love is selfish at the best, and the heroic likeness of himself
+      doing battle with the world of London half obliterated the pitiful figure
+      of the poor girl, left at home, with nothing to fill her heart but dreams.
+      For him, the delight of battle; for her, long months of weary waiting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was no doubt of him, but only the rooted longing for assurance of his
+      love, that made her ask,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;You won&rsquo;t forget me, Dick, in London?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Forget her! His repetition of the word, his little laugh of loving scorn,
+      were answer enough, though he found others, and arguments unanswerable, to
+      clinch them. How could he forget the sweetest, dearest girl that ever drew
+      the breath of life, the prettiest and the bravest? She spoke treason
+      against herself in asking such a question. He could no more forget her in
+      London than Romeo, Juliet in Mantua. She laughed a little at his recalling
+      the old story, from which Mrs. Jenny had drawn so many illustrations of
+      the course of their love since they were children. It recalled the old
+      woman to their minds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I shall write to you every week, and send the letters under cover to
+      her,&rsquo; said Dick. &lsquo;And you may be sure that I shall find&mdash;or make&mdash;plenty
+      of opportunities to run down here from time to time. There is a coach
+      every day to Birmingham.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They had been walking slowly all this time. It was night now, the last
+      gleam of sunset had faded, the stars were lustrous overhead, and a yellow
+      moonlight flooded the surrounding country. A long distance off, faint but
+      clear in the dead hush of the summer night, they heard, but did not mark,
+      the beat of horses&rsquo; hoofs approaching them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I must go, Dick,&rsquo; said Julia. &lsquo;It is late, and they will wonder where I
+      am No, let me go now, while I have the strength.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He took her in his arms again, and her head dropped on his shoulder, and
+      the tears began to run afresh. He held her close, but in that last moment
+      of parting could find no word of comfort, only dumb caresses. The
+      hoof-beats were near at hand now, just beyond the bend of the road. They
+      rounded the corner, and broke on the lovers&rsquo; ears with a loud and
+      startling suddenness. The girl broke away, and ran through the gate into
+      the field with a stifled sob. Dick turned, and walked down the road in the
+      direction of the approaching horseman. The moon was at the full, and shone
+      broadly upon his face and figure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Hullo!&rsquo; cried the rider, in gruff challenge, and pulling his horse into
+      Dick&rsquo;s path, reined in. The young man looked up and recognised Samson
+      Mountain. Flight would have been as useless as ignominious, and it had
+      never been Dick&rsquo;s way out of any difficulty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Well?&rsquo; he asked curtly, and stood his ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Is that my daughter?&rsquo; demanded Mountain, pointing with his heavy whip
+      after the white figure glinting across the field. &lsquo;Spake the truth for
+      once, though you be a Reddy.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;It&rsquo;s a habit we have,&rsquo; said Dick quietly. His calm almost surprised
+      himself. &lsquo;Yes.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mountain had always been of a heavy build, and of late years had increased
+      enormously in girth and weight. But his wrath at this confirmation of his
+      half guess stirred him so, that before the sound of the word had well died
+      out on the air he had dismounted, and came at the young man with his
+      riding-whip flourished above his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Don&rsquo;t do that, sir.&rsquo; Dick spoke in a low voice, though quickly; and there
+      was something in his tone which brought the weapon harmlessly to the
+      farmer&rsquo;s side again. &lsquo;It is your daughter. We love each other, and she has
+      promised to be my wife.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mountain staggered, as if the words had been a pistol bullet or a stab,
+      and struck furiously. Quick as was Dick&rsquo;s parry, he only half saved
+      himself, his hat spun into the road, and the whip whistled within an inch
+      of his ear. He made a step back, and stopped a second furious stroke. The
+      whip broke in the old man&rsquo;s hand, and he flung the remaining fragment from
+      him with a curse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I can&rsquo;t strike you, sir,&rsquo; said Dick. &lsquo;You&rsquo;re her father.&rsquo; Mountain&rsquo;s
+      choking breath filled in the pause, and Dick went on: &lsquo;You know well
+      enough there&rsquo;s not another man in England I&rsquo;d take that from.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;You&rsquo;re a coward, like all your tribe,&rsquo; said Mountain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Not at all, I assure you, sir,&rsquo; said Dick calmly. &lsquo;If you like to send
+      anybody else with that message, I&rsquo;ll talk to him. Let us talk sensibly.
+      What harm have I ever done you? Or my father either? Why should two honest
+      families keep up this ridiculous story, which ought to have been buried
+      ages back? Why not let bygones be bygones? I love your daughter. I am a
+      young man yet, sir, with my way to make in the world, and I am going away
+      to London to study. I met your daughter to-night to say goodbye to her,
+      and if you had not come I should have gone away and said nothing until I
+      could come and claim her, with a home worthy of her to take her to.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But since you know, I speak now. We love each other, and intend to marry.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Oh!&rsquo; said Mountain. He had gone all on a sudden as cool as Dick, and
+      nothing but his stertorous breathing hinted of the rage which filled him.
+      &lsquo;That&rsquo;s it, is it? Then, if you&rsquo;re finished, hear me. I ain&rsquo;t got the gift
+      o&rsquo; the gab as free as you, but I can mek plain my meanin&rsquo;, p&rsquo;raps. I&rsquo;d
+      rather see her a-layin&rsquo; theer &lsquo;(he pointed with a trembling hand at the
+      ground between them); &lsquo;I&rsquo;d rather lay her there, dead afore my eyes, an&rsquo; 
+      screw her in her coffin a&rsquo;terwards, than you or any o&rsquo; your kin should as
+      much as look at her, wi&rsquo; my goodwill. And now you&rsquo;ve got your answer, Mr.
+      Fair an&rsquo; Fine. Remember it, an&rsquo; look out for yourself. For, by the Lord!
+      &lsquo;he went on, with a solemn malignity doubly terrible in a man whose
+      passion was ordinarily so violent, &lsquo;if iver I ketch you round my house
+      again, I&rsquo;ll put a bullet atween thy ribs as sure as my naame&rsquo;s Samson
+      Mountain.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With this, he took his horse by the bridle, and passed through the gate,
+      leaving the young man to his own reflections. He took the beast to the
+      stable, delivered him into the care of a servant, and made straight for
+      the parlour, where his wife and Mrs. Rusker were seated at an early
+      supper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;You&rsquo;re back early, Sam,&rsquo; said the former, rising to draw an additional
+      chair to the table. &lsquo;Wilt have some tay, or shall Liza draw you a jug o&rsquo; 
+      beer?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Samson returned no answer, either to this or to Mrs. Rusker&rsquo;s greeting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Lawk a mussy, what ails the man? &lsquo;asked Mrs. Mountain, as Samson stood
+      looking round the room. She had never seen such an expression on her
+      husband&rsquo;s face before. The skin was livid under its rude bronze, and his
+      lips twitched strangely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Wheer&rsquo;s that wench of ourn?&rsquo; he asked, after a second glance round the
+      room, Mrs. Busker&rsquo;s heart jumped, and she held on tight to the arm-pieces
+      of her chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Julia?&rsquo; said Mrs. Mountain. &lsquo;Her&rsquo;s about the house, I reckon.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Call her here,&rsquo; said Samson; and his wife wondering, but not daring to
+      question, went to the door of the sitting-room and screamed &lsquo;Julia!&rsquo; A
+      servant girl came running downstairs at the call, and said that Miss Julia
+      did not feel well, and had gone to bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Fatch her down,&rsquo; said Samson from the sitting-room, and the girl, on
+      receipt of a confirmatory nod from Mrs. Mountain, went upstairs again.
+      Samson took a chair and sat with his head bent forward and his arms
+      folded, staring at the paper ornaments in the grate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Samson!&rsquo; said his wife appealingly, &lsquo;don&rsquo;t skeer a body i&rsquo; thisnin.
+      Whativer <i>is</i> the matter?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Hold thy chat,&rsquo; said Samson. &lsquo;Thee&rsquo;st know soon enough,&rsquo; and the trio sat
+      in silence until Julia entered the room. She was pale, and there were
+      traces of tears on her cheeks, and Samson, as he glanced at her askance
+      from under his heavy eyebrows before he rose, saw that she was struggling
+      to repress some strong emotion. She advanced to kiss him, but he repelled
+      her&mdash;not roughly&mdash;with his heavy hand upon her shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;You wanted to see me, father,&rsquo; she asked, trembling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I sent for you.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Rusker was in a state of pitiable excitement, if anybody had had the
+      leisure to notice her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Theer&rsquo;s some&rsquo;at happened to-day as it&rsquo;s fit an&rsquo; right as yo&rsquo; should know.
+      I met ode Raybould today i&rsquo; th&rsquo; Exchange, an&rsquo; he tode me some&rsquo;at as I&rsquo;d
+      long suspected, about his son Tom. I reckon you know what it was.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Julia knew well enough. Tom Raybould was a young farmer, a year or two
+      older than herself. She had known him all her life, and he had been a
+      schoolfellow and chosen chum of her brother&rsquo;s. He had shown unmistakable
+      signs of affection for her, but had never spoken. He was a good fellow,
+      according to common report, and she had a good deal of liking and respect
+      for him, and a little pity, being a good girl, and no coquette.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I see thee understandest,&rsquo; said Samson. &lsquo;I told th&rsquo; ode man as he might
+      look on it as settled, an&rsquo; Tom &lsquo;ll be here to-morrow. He&rsquo;s a likely lad,
+      an&rsquo; he&rsquo;ll have all the Bush Farm when his father goes, as must be afore
+      long, i&rsquo; the course o&rsquo; nature. The two farms &lsquo;ll goo very well in a ring
+      fence. Theer&rsquo;s no partic&rsquo;lar hurry, as I know on, an&rsquo; we&rsquo;ll ha&rsquo; the
+      weddin&rsquo; next wik, or the wik after.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl&rsquo;s breast was labouring cruelly, in spite of the hand that strove
+      to still it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Father!&rsquo; she said. &lsquo;You don&rsquo;t mean it!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Eh?&rsquo; said Samson. &lsquo;I ginerally mean what I say, my wench. I should ha&rsquo; 
+      thout as yo&rsquo;d ha&rsquo; known that by this time.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stopped there, for Julia, but for her mother&rsquo;s arm, would have fallen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;You great oaf!&rsquo; cried Mrs. Mountain, irritated for once into open
+      rebellion. &lsquo;Oh, it&rsquo;s like a man, the stupid hulkin&rsquo; creeturs as they are,
+      to come an&rsquo; frighten the life out of a poor maid i&rsquo; that style.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Theer, theer!&rsquo; said Samson, with the same heavy and threatening
+      tranquillity he had borne throughout the interview. &lsquo;Tek her upstairs.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He sat down again, and without another word filled and lit his
+      churchwarden, and stared through the smoke-wreaths at the grate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      V
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Jenny Rusker, who was half dead with fear of an <i>exposé</i> of her
+      part in this unlucky love-affair, was additionally prostrated by the dire
+      reversal of all her hopes by Samson Mountain&rsquo;s ultimatum. Mrs. Mountain,
+      with the aid of a female servant, supported Julia upstairs, and Samson
+      smoked on stolidly, taking no note whatever of the visitor&rsquo;s presence.
+      Still in doubt of what Samson might or might not know, and fearing almost
+      to breathe, lest any reminder of her presence should call down his wrath
+      upon her, she listened to the tramping and the muffled noises overhead
+      until they ceased, and then, gathering courage from his continued apathy,
+      slipped from the room and left the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She got home and went to bed and passed an interminable night in tossing
+      to and fro, and bewailing the untoward fate of the two children. Dawn came
+      at last, though it had seemed as if it never would break again, and, for
+      the first time for many a year, the first gleam of sunlight saw her
+      dressed and downstairs. She felt feverous and ill, and having brewed for
+      herself a huge jorum of tansy tea, sat down over this inspiring beverage,
+      and tried to pull her scattered wits together and think out some way of
+      untangling the skein of difficulty with which she had to deal. The danger
+      was pressing, and if she had been herself the poor lovesick girl who lay a
+      mile away, stifling her sobs lest they should reach her father&rsquo;s ears, and
+      vainly calling on her lover&rsquo;s name, she would scarcely have been more
+      miserable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One thing was clear. Dick must be warned, and his journey to London
+      postponed by some device. He might lie hidden for a day or two in
+      Birmingham, and Julia be smuggled there and secretly married. It was no
+      time for half measures, and whatever was done should be done quickly and
+      decisively. At this idea, at once romantic and practical, Mrs. Jenny&rsquo;s
+      spirits revived.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Samson &lsquo;ll disown Julia, I know. Her &lsquo;ll never see a penny o&rsquo; his money.
+      An&rsquo; I doubt as Abel Reddy &lsquo;ll do the same wi&rsquo; Dick. He&rsquo;s just as hard and
+      bitter as th&rsquo; other, on&rsquo;y quieter wi&rsquo; it. Well, they shan&rsquo;t want while I&rsquo;m
+      alive, nor after my death neither, and Dick ud make his own way with
+      nobody&rsquo;s help. I&rsquo;ll write to him, and find somebody to take the letter. I
+      won&rsquo;t go myself, at this hour o&rsquo; the day.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She concocted a letter and sealed it, and putting on her bonnet sallied
+      out to find a messenger. Fate was so far propitious that scarce a hundred
+      yards from her door she met Ichabod Bubb, bound for his morning&rsquo;s work at
+      Perry Hall Farm. Ichabod was bent and gnarled and twisted now, stiff in
+      all his joints and slow of movement, but his quaint visage bore the same
+      look of uncertain and rather wistful humour which had marked it in earlier
+      times.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Morning, mum,&rsquo; he said, with a stiff-necked nod at Mrs. Jenny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Good-mornin&rsquo;, Mr. Bubb,&rsquo; said the old lady. Ichabod beamed at this sudden
+      and unexpected ceremonial of title, and straightened his back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;You &lsquo;m afoot early, mum.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Why, yes. But it&rsquo;s such a beautiful morning; it&rsquo;s a shaame to lie abed a
+      time like this.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;So many folks, so many ways o&rsquo; thinkin&rsquo;,&rsquo; said the ancient one; &lsquo;not as
+      it&rsquo;s a sin as I often commits, nayther, &lsquo;cos why, I don&rsquo;t get the chance.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I&rsquo;ve got a bit o&rsquo; business as I want done, Mr. Bubb,&rsquo; said Mrs. Busker,
+      &lsquo;if ye don&rsquo;t mind earnin&rsquo; a shillin&rsquo;.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Why,&rsquo; returned Ichabod, &lsquo;I don&rsquo;t know as I&rsquo;ve got any, not to say rewted,
+      objection to makin&rsquo; a shillin&rsquo;.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;You&rsquo;re goin&rsquo; to the farm?&rsquo; Ichabod nodded. &lsquo;Then I want you to take this
+      note to Mr. Richard. But mind, you must get it to him private. Nobody else
+      must know. D&rsquo;you understand?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I&rsquo;m all theer, missus,&rsquo; responded Ichabod.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Then there&rsquo;s the note, an&rsquo; there&rsquo;s the shillin&rsquo;. An&rsquo; if you&rsquo;re back in
+      two hours you shall have a pint o&rsquo; beer.&rsquo; Ichabod took the note and the
+      shilling, and clattered off with a ludicrous show of despatch, and the old
+      lady returned to her sitting-room to await the result of his message. It
+      came in less than the appointed time, and disappointed her terribly.
+      Ichabod had ascertained that Dick had started half an hour before his
+      arrival at the farm for Birmingham, and would only return to-morrow night
+      to sleep and take away his luggage on the following morning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;And you come to me w&rsquo; a message like that, y&rsquo; ode gone-off!&rsquo; said the
+      exasperated old woman. &lsquo;You might ha&rsquo; caught him up i&rsquo; the time as you&rsquo;ve
+      wasted comin&rsquo; back here.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Caught him up,&rsquo; said Ichabod, with a glance at his legs. &lsquo;Yis, likely,
+      like a cow might ketch a race-hoss. I&rsquo;m a gay fine figure, missus, to
+      ketch up the best walker i&rsquo; the country-side.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Jenny was a woman, and therefore to offer her reason as an antidote
+      to unreasoning anger was merely to heap fuel on flame.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; she said, reasonably enraged with the whole masculine half of her
+      species,&rsquo; you&rsquo;re like the rest on &lsquo;em.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Then I&rsquo;m sorry for the rest on &lsquo;em,&rsquo; said Ichabod, &lsquo;whoever they may be.&rsquo; 
+      Here Mrs. Jenny shut the door upon him, leaving him in the street, and
+      retired to her sitting-room. But with beer to be gained by boldness,
+      Ichabod was leonine in courage. He knocked, and the summons brought the
+      old lady to the door again. Ichabod spoke no word, but writhed his twisted
+      features into a grin which expressed at once humorous deprecation and
+      expectancy, and rabbed the back of his veiny hand across his bristly lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Go round to the brewus,&rsquo; said Mrs. Jenny; &lsquo;you&rsquo;ll find the maid there.
+      It&rsquo;s all you&rsquo;re fit for, ye guzzlin&rsquo; old idiot.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ichabod retired, elate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Her tongue&rsquo;s a stinger; but, Lord bless thee, Ichabod, her bark&rsquo;s a long
+      sight worse than her bite. An&rsquo; her beer&rsquo;s main good.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Jenny, meanwhile, retired to the sitting-room, and there sat immersed
+      in gloom. Things looked black for her young protégés, and fate was against
+      them. With that curious interest in familiar trifles which comes with any
+      fit of hopelessness or despondency, she sat looking at the furniture of
+      the room and the pictures which decorated the walls. Among these latter
+      was a work of her own hands, her masterpiece, a reproduction in coloured
+      wool of a German engraving of the last scene of <i>Romeo and Juliet</i>.
+      There was a pea-green Capulet paralytically embracing a sky-blue Montague
+      in the foreground, with a dissolving view of impossibly-constructed
+      servitors of both houses and the County Paris, with six strongly accented
+      bridges to his nose and a worsted tear upon his cheek, in the background.
+      Under this production was worked in white, upon a black ground, the legend
+      which Mrs. Rusker mournfully repeated as she gazed on it&mdash;
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &lsquo;For never was a story of more woe,
+     Than this of Juliet and her Romeo&rsquo;;
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      and as she spoke the words an inspiration flashed into her mind. She had
+      her plan.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The new-born idea so possessed her that she could not sit or rest. It
+      drove her out, as the gad-fly drove lo, to devious wanderings in the
+      neighbouring lanes, and as she walked and walked, finding some little ease
+      in the unusual and incessant exercise, she drew nearer and nearer to the
+      Mountain Farm. As she paused on a little eminence and looked towards it,
+      the distant church bell struck clear across the intervening fields,
+      proclaiming nine o&rsquo;clock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Thank the Lord,&rsquo; said the old woman. &lsquo;I can go now. I dussent go too
+      early. They might suspect.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She made straight for the house, and found Mrs. Mountain alone. Samson was
+      afield, and in answer to Mrs. Busker&rsquo;s inquiries regarding Julia, Mrs.
+      Mountain tearfully informed her that the poor girl was too ill to come
+      downstairs, and had not eaten a crumb of the tempting breakfast prepared
+      and sent to her room for her. Mrs. Mountain was voluble in condemnation of
+      her husband&rsquo;s lack of wit in his announcement of the matrimonial scheme he
+      had formed for the girl, and Mrs. Jenny was fluent and honest in sympathy.
+      Might she see the girl? Julia was fond of her, and her counsels might
+      bring some comfort. Mrs. Mountain yielded a ready assent, and the old lady
+      went up to the girl&rsquo;s room, and entering on the languid summons which
+      followed her knock, saw Julia seated at the window, listless, dejected,
+      and tearful The tears flowed even more freely at the sight of her, and the
+      girl sobbed on her old friend&rsquo;s breast in full abandonment to the first
+      great grief of her life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;My dear,&rsquo; said Mrs. Jenny, when this gush of sorrow was over, &lsquo;take a bit
+      o&rsquo; heart. Things is rarely as bad as they seem; an&rsquo; there&rsquo;s help at hand
+      always if we on&rsquo;y know where to look for it.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was more meaning, to Julia&rsquo;s thinking, in the tone in which this
+      commonplace condolence was delivered than in the words themselves. Mrs.
+      Rusker&rsquo;s manner was big with mystery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Now, my darlin&rsquo;, I know you &lsquo;m a brave gal, and can act accordin&rsquo; when
+      there&rsquo;s rayson for it. I&rsquo;ve got a plan as &lsquo;ll save you yet, if on&rsquo;y you&rsquo;ve
+      got the courage.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Julia&rsquo;s clasped hands and eager look encouraged her to proceed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;My dear, you remember <i>Romeo and Juliet?</i> You remember how Juliet
+      got the sleepin&rsquo; draught an&rsquo; took it? &lsquo;Julia&rsquo;s look was one of wonder,
+      pure and simple, now. &lsquo;That&rsquo;s my plan, my dear, an&rsquo; the Dudley Divil can
+      do it for us, if on&rsquo;y you&rsquo;ll ha&rsquo; the courage to tek it. Not as I mean as
+      you need be buried afore Dick comes to you. We shouldn&rsquo;t go as far as
+      that. But I&rsquo;ll get the stuff, an&rsquo; it&rsquo;ll send you to sleep, an&rsquo; they&rsquo;ll
+      think as you&rsquo;re dead, an&rsquo; then I&rsquo;ll tell &lsquo;em how you an&rsquo; Dick loved each
+      other so&rsquo;s you couldn&rsquo;t bear to part wi&rsquo; him, an&rsquo; the fear of it&rsquo;s killed
+      you. That&rsquo;ll soften their hard hearts, my dear. Old Reddy knows all about
+      it&mdash;that&rsquo;s why he&rsquo;s sendin&rsquo; Dick away to London an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll get him
+      fetched back to see the last o&rsquo; you, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll mek your father an&rsquo; his
+      father shaake hands, an&rsquo; then you&rsquo;ll come to, an&rsquo; after that what can they
+      do but marry you to Dick, an&rsquo; forget all that rubbidge about the brook,
+      an&rsquo; live in peace together, as decent folk should do.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Julia&rsquo;s reception of this brilliant scheme, which Mrs. Rusker developed
+      with a volubility which left no opportunity for detailed objection, was to
+      fall back in her chair and begin to cry anew at the sheer hopeless
+      absurdity of it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;What&rsquo;s the matter wi&rsquo; the wench?&rsquo; demanded Mrs. Rusker, almost sternly.
+      &lsquo;Come, come,&rsquo; she continued, her brief anger fading at the sight of
+      Julia&rsquo;s distress, &lsquo;have a bit o&rsquo; sperrit. Now, will you try it? Spake the
+      word, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll goo to the Divil this minute.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This wholesale self-abandonment in the cause of love produced no effect on
+      Julia, except to frighten her. Mrs. Rusker argued and reasoned, but
+      finding her fears too obdurate to be moved by any such means, left the
+      house in dudgeon, whereat poor Julia only cried the more. But Mrs.
+      Rusker&rsquo;s confidence in her plan was unshaken, and her persistency
+      unchecked. She would save the silly girl against her will, since it must
+      be so, and half an hour after she had crossed the Mountain threshold she
+      was in her trap, <i>en route</i> for the dwelling of the wizard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She found that celebrity alone, and opened fire on him at once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Ruffis, I want thy help, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;m willin&rsquo; to pay fur it.&rsquo; The
+      necromancer&rsquo;s fishy eye brightened. Things were going poorly with him, the
+      rising generation followed newer lights unevident in his earlier days, and
+      his visitors were mostly of Mrs. Rusker&rsquo;s age, and were getting fewer day
+      by day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;My skill&rsquo;s at your service, ma&rsquo;am, such as it is,&rsquo; he answered, with
+      gravity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I want some&rsquo;at as &lsquo;d send a body to sleep&mdash;mek &lsquo;em sleep for a long
+      time, wi&rsquo;out hurtin&rsquo; &lsquo;em. Can you doit?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Why, yis; I could do that much, I think.&rsquo; His tone and manner intimated
+      vaguely how much more he could have done, and his disappointment at the
+      facility of his task. &lsquo;But,&rsquo; he added prudently, &lsquo;it&rsquo;s a job as ain&rsquo;t s&rsquo; 
+      easy as you might fancy.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Busker laid a sovereign on the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Wilt do it for that?&rsquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The wizard stole a look at her. She was obviously very much in earnest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;The hingredients,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;is hard to find, and harder to mix in doo
+      perportions.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I must have it now, and at once,&rsquo; said Mrs. Busker.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;That,&rsquo; said Rufus, &lsquo;ain&rsquo;t possible.&rsquo; Mrs. Jenny laid a second piece of
+      gold beside the first &lsquo;It&rsquo;s a dangerous bisness, missus,&rsquo; he went on.
+      &lsquo;Theer&rsquo;s noofangled laws about. &lsquo;Twas only last wik as that young upstart,
+      Doctor Hodges, comes an&rsquo; threatens me with persecution as a rogue an&rsquo; 
+      vagabond, a-obtainin&rsquo; money under false pertences for practisin&rsquo; my lawful
+      an&rsquo; necessary art. Why, it ain&rsquo;t so long since I cured his mother o&rsquo; the
+      rheumatiz, as is more nor he can dew, wi&rsquo; all his drugs, an&rsquo; the pestle
+      an&rsquo; mortar o&rsquo;er his door.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;You ought to know as you&rsquo;re safe wi&rsquo; me, Rufus,&rsquo; said Mrs. Rusker. &lsquo;Who
+      should I tell? Why, I should tell o&rsquo; myself tew, at that raate; an&rsquo; is
+      that likely?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;It&rsquo;s dangerous, missus,&rsquo; repeated the wizard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Well, if yo&rsquo; won&rsquo;t, I must try them as wull,&rsquo; said Mrs. Jenny, rising and
+      taking up the coins.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I didn&rsquo;t say as I wouldn&rsquo;t,&rsquo; returned Rufus. &lsquo;Theer&rsquo;s no call to be so
+      uppish But if I tek a chance like that I expect to be paid for it.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Two pound ud mek it wuth your while to do more than that.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I&rsquo;ll dew it,&rsquo; said the wizard. &lsquo;Give us the money?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Wheer&rsquo;s the stuff?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Why, it ain&rsquo;t made yet. D&rsquo;you think as I can percure a precious hessence
+      like that all of a minute?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Then mek it, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll gie you the money.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Gi&rsquo; me a pound in advance, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll bring it to you.&rsquo; And on that
+      understanding the bargain was made, and the time fixed for the delivery of
+      the potion. The intervening time was filled in by the astute wizard
+      journeying to a neighbouring town and procuring from a chemist a sleeping
+      draught, which he paid for out of Mrs. Busker&rsquo;s sovereign. He turned up at
+      Laburnum Cottage at the stipulated hour, handed over the draught (having
+      previously washed off the chemist&rsquo;s label), received his second sovereign,
+      and departed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Rusker, with the fateful bottle in the bosom of her dress, betook
+      herself again to Mountain Farm. Her unfeigned interest in the patient, and
+      the intimacy she had so long enjoyed with the whole family, made the house
+      almost as free to her as was her own, and when she took possession of
+      Julia in the capacity of nurse she was made welcome, and the poor girl&rsquo;s
+      other attendants hoped much from her ministration. Julia was undoubtedly
+      very ill, so ill that even Samson Mountain forbore to force her to descend
+      to the parlour in which Mr. Tom Raybould nervously awaited her coming, and
+      where, on Samson&rsquo;s return from his daughter&rsquo;s chamber, the pair sat and
+      drank their beer together in miserable silence, broken by spasmodic
+      attempts at conversation regarding crops and politics. The doctor had been
+      called in, and, knowing nothing of the grief which was the poor girl&rsquo;s
+      only ailment, had been too puzzled by the symptoms of her malady to be of
+      any great service. She was feverish, excited, with a furred tongue and a
+      hot skin. He had prescribed a mild tonic and departed. Mrs. Jenny, intent
+      on the execution of her plan, gained solitary charge of her patient by
+      telling Mrs. Mountain that her attendance on her daughter had already told
+      upon her, and advising a few hours&rsquo; rest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I don&rsquo;t feel very well,&rsquo; Mrs. Mountain confessed. &lsquo;Not a wink o&rsquo; sleep
+      have I had iver since Samson came home last night. Nor him nayther, for
+      the matter o&rsquo; that, though he tried to desave me by snorin&rsquo;, whinever I
+      spoke to him; an&rsquo; as for any sympathy&mdash;well, you know him aforetime,
+      Jenny&mdash;I might as well talk to that theer poker.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Jenny was fluent in condolence, and at last got the old lady out of
+      the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;When did you take your medicine last, my dear?&rsquo; she asked the patient
+      &lsquo;Ain&rsquo;t it time as you had another drop?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;It doesn&rsquo;t do me any good,&rsquo; said the patient fretfully. She knew better
+      herself what was wrong with her than anybody else could guess, and only
+      longed passionately to be alone and free to think and cry over her lost
+      love and broken hopes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Why, my dear, you&rsquo;ve on&rsquo;y took one dose yit,&rsquo; said Machiavel. &lsquo;You must
+      give it time. I&rsquo;ll pour you out another.&rsquo; Her back was towards the patient
+      as she clattered about among the glasses on the table with a shaking hand.
+      She poured out the wizard&rsquo;s potion, the phial clinking against the edge of
+      the glass like a castanet, and her heart beating so that she almost feared
+      Julia would hear it The girl at first pettishly refused the draught, but
+      Mrs. Jenny, in her guilty agitation, made short work of her objections,
+      and poured it down her throat almost by main force.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Maids must do as their elders bid &lsquo;em,&rsquo; she said, as she returned the
+      glass to its place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;It doesn&rsquo;t taste the same,&rsquo; moaned the patient
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;You&rsquo;re like all th&rsquo; other sick folk I iver nursed. As fall o&rsquo; fancies as
+      you can stick,&rsquo; said Mrs. Jenny. &lsquo;Lie quiet, and try an&rsquo; go to sleep.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl lay silent, and Mrs. Jenny, more than half wishing the whole
+      business had never been begun, sat and listened to her breathing. She
+      stirred and sighed once or twice, but after a while lay so utterly still
+      that the old lady ventured to approach the bed. Julia&rsquo;s face was almost as
+      white as her pillow, and her breath was so light that it hardly stirred
+      the coverlet above her bosom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;It&rsquo;s a-workin,&rsquo; said Mrs. Rusker.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      VI
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Jenny&rsquo;s simple faith in the talents of Rufus Smith underwent a severe
+      trial during the ensuing night. She had left Julia still sleeping, and the
+      memory of the last glance she had bestowed upon the white face in the
+      light of the carefully-shaded candle haunted her all night, and roused a
+      foreboding too dismal to be expressed, or even formulated in definite
+      thought. The matchmaker lay and trembled all night at that terrible idea,
+      and again the pale-faced dawn visited a sleepless pillow, and found her
+      haggard with anxiety and lack of sleep. Juliet&rsquo;s query to the Friar had
+      been, &lsquo;What if the potion should not work?&rsquo; but Mrs. Jenny&rsquo;s terrified
+      inquiry of her own soul was, &lsquo;What if it had worked too well?&rsquo; What if it
+      had killed Julia in very deed? It was too horrible to happen, Mrs. Jenny
+      said to herself. Too horrible to think of. But, if it had happened, she
+      would have nothing else to think of all her life, and the fancy drove her
+      nearly mad.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was dressed and afoot even earlier than on the preceding morning. She
+      crept out and encircled the Mountain Farm in a radius of a mile or
+      thereabouts, looking anxiously towards it at every step, as if its silent
+      walls might speak comfort or confirm her fears, even at that distance. The
+      house looked peaceful enough amid its surrounding trees under the
+      tranquilly broadening light of dawn, but Mrs. Rusker knew how ghastly
+      white the face of the poor child she loved as her own might look in that
+      roseate glow. Presently a thin line of smoke curled from a chimney on the
+      noiseless air. The farm was waking to its daily round of life. A burly
+      figure on horseback came towards her as she stood on a little eminence.
+      She waited long enough to identify Samson Mountain, and hid among the
+      ferns and bushes until the horse&rsquo;s hoof-beats had clattered swiftly by on
+      the stony road below her, and faded in the distance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Time crept on, slow but inexorable. She longed, as she had never longed
+      before for anything, for the courage to go to the farmhouse and ask
+      tidings of Julia. But her fear was greater than her longing, and she
+      roamed at random in a circle, never losing sight of the house, but not
+      daring to approach it or be seen from its windows. She dreaded what might
+      be the news to greet her there. She feared her own face, with its haggard
+      lines of sleeplessness and anxious watching. At last, from the very depths
+      of her misery, she plucked the heart of despairing hope, and made for the
+      farm. The farm labourers and country folk she met stared after her. Even
+      their bovine understandings were troubled by her scared face. She scarcely
+      saw them, or anything but the farmhouse, which drew her now with an
+      influence as strong as its repulsion had been an hour ago. She entered the
+      house by the back door, and made straight for the sitting-room. Mrs.
+      Mountain was there, arranging a tray, on which were tea and jam and other
+      homely luxuries. She wore her ordinary look of placid contentment, and at
+      the sight of her quiet face Mrs. Rusker dropped panting, with a vague
+      unformulated feeling of relief, into a chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Sakes alive! Whativer is the matter?&rsquo; demanded Mrs. Mountain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Julia!&rsquo; panted the visitor. &lsquo;How&rsquo;s Julia?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Why,&rsquo; said Mrs. Mountain, &lsquo;how should her be?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Is she awake yet?&rsquo; asked Mrs. Jenny, more calmly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;No. Her was sleepin&rsquo; when I seed her, jist for a minute, a hour ago. I&rsquo;m
+      jist goin&rsquo; upstairs wi&rsquo; some breakfast for her. Well, I declare, yo&rsquo; look
+      as pale as a ghost. What&rsquo;s the matter with you?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Oh, I&rsquo;ve passed a miserable night,&rsquo; said Mrs. Jenny, in unconscious
+      quotation from her favourite poet. &lsquo;I couldn&rsquo;t sleep a-thinkin&rsquo; o&rsquo; Julia.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Well, then, you do look poorly,&rsquo; said her hostess, with all her motherly
+      heart warmed by this solicitude for her daughter. &lsquo;Why, theer&rsquo;s no cause
+      to fret i&rsquo; that way. To be sure, Samson might ha&rsquo; knowed better than to
+      blunder such a thing as that right out, but, then, he&rsquo;s a man, and that&rsquo;d
+      account for a&rsquo;most anything. Married life might teach &lsquo;em better, you&rsquo;d
+      think, and yet after nigh on forty year on it he knows no more about women
+      folk than any bachelor i&rsquo; Barfield. Theer, tek your bonnet off, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll
+      gi&rsquo; ye a cup o&rsquo; tay, an&rsquo; then you can goo upstairs wi&rsquo; me and see the
+      wench.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Jenny gratefully accepted the proffered tea, and, having drunk it,
+      much to her inward refreshment, accompanied Mrs. Mountain upstairs. As the
+      latter had said, the girl was sleeping still, and Mrs. Busker saw that her
+      position had not changed by a hair&rsquo;s breadth. She lay like a carven
+      statue, her face marble white in the clear morning light.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I&rsquo;m a&rsquo;most doubtful about wakin&rsquo; her,&rsquo; said her mother. &lsquo;Theer&rsquo;s no doubt
+      as Samson gi&rsquo;en her a shock, an&rsquo; sleep&rsquo;s good for her. But her&rsquo;s had welly
+      fifteen hours of it now, if she&rsquo;s been asleep all the tima Julia, my
+      love,&rsquo; she said softly, almost in the sleeper&rsquo;s ear. &lsquo;My sakes, how pale
+      her is. Jenny! come here!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They both bent above her. Mrs. Rusker&rsquo;s heart was beating like a muffled
+      drum, and seemed, to her own ears, to fill the house with its pulsation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Julia!&rsquo; said Mrs. Mountain again, in a louder voice, and shook the girl
+      with a tremulous hand, &lsquo;Julia!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The white eyelids did not even stir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;My blessid! Julia! Don&rsquo;t skeer a body i&rsquo; this way!&rsquo; She shook the girl
+      again. &lsquo;Jenny! whativer&rsquo;s come to the silly wench?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Jenny was more frightened, and with better reason, than her
+      companion. Julia&rsquo;s marble pallor, and the awful stillness of her form&mdash;the
+      keenest glance could not detect a quiver in the face or a heave of the
+      bosom&mdash;almost stilled that exigent pulse within her own breast with a
+      sudden anguish of despair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Oh, Jenny, she&rsquo;s a-dyin&rsquo;!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Mountain&rsquo;s scream rang through the house, and startled every soul
+      within it, except that marble figure on the bed. Hurried steps came up the
+      stairs, the heavy tread of a man, the light patter of women&rsquo;s feet, and
+      the room filled as if by magic.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Fetch a doctor,&rsquo; screamed Mrs. Jenny; &lsquo;Julia&rsquo;s a-dyin&rsquo;!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Samson Mountain stood for one moment with his hands aloft and his eyes
+      glaring at his daughter. Then he dropped with a sobbing groan into a
+      chair, with his head in his hands. There was a general scream from the
+      women. One, more serviceable than the rest, called from the window to a
+      gaping yokel below in the yard, and bade him ride for help. Her face and
+      voice froze him for a moment, but he caught the words &lsquo;Miss Julia,&rsquo; and
+      two minutes after he was astride a broad-backed plough-horse, making for
+      the distant village.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Samson Mountain sat with his face hidden and spoke no word; at the sight
+      of him his wife&rsquo;s face had turned to sudden rage, and she stood over him
+      like a ruffled hen, and clacked commination of masculine imbecility,
+      intermixed with wild plaints for her child.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Julia slept through the tumult as she had slept through the calm, and Mrs.
+      Jenny, kneeling beside her with her face in the bedclothes, moaned love
+      and penitent despair. Samson raised his head at last, and looked with a
+      dazed stare first at his daughter and then at his wife, and left the room
+      without a word, pursued by a hailstorm of reproach. He went into the yard
+      and pottered aimlessly about, looking old and broken on a sudden. The
+      sound of horses&rsquo; hoofs roused him; it was the rustic messenger returning.
+      &lsquo;Where&rsquo;s the doctor?&rsquo; demanded Samson. &lsquo;Gone to Heydon Hey. What am I to
+      dew?&rsquo; &lsquo;Follow him an&rsquo; fetch him back. Hast not gumption enough to know
+      that?&rsquo; asked Samson wearily. The man started again, and Samson began once
+      more his purposeless wanderings about the yard. He had no sense of time or
+      place, only a leaden weight on heart and limb, which in all his life he
+      had never known before. He leaned his elbows on the fence of the fold
+      yard, and became conscious of a running figure which neared him rapidly.
+      He watched it stupidly, and it was within twenty yards of him before he
+      recognised it&mdash;Dick Reddy, dust and mud to the collar, hatless, and
+      panting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Julia!&rsquo; he gasped. &lsquo;Tell me, is it true?&rsquo; &lsquo;Julia&rsquo;s dyin,&rsquo; said Samson.
+      &lsquo;My God!&rsquo; he cried, with sudden passion, as if his own voice had unlocked
+      the sealed fountain of his grief, &lsquo;my little gell&rsquo;s a-dyin&rsquo;!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Mr. Mountain,&rsquo; said Dick, &lsquo;I love her, you know I love her. Let me see
+      her.&rsquo; His voice, broken with fatigue and emotion, his streaming eyes, his
+      outstretched hands, all pleaded with his words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;It&rsquo;s all one who sees her now,&rsquo; said Samson, and leaned his elbows on the
+      fence again. Dick took the despairing speech for a permission, and entered
+      the house. At the bottom of the stairs, in the otherwise deserted hall, he
+      met Mrs. Jenny, a very moving statue of terror.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Dick,&rsquo; she said, clutching the young man by the arm, &lsquo;I can&rsquo;t abear it
+      any longer. Come in here wi&rsquo; me.&rsquo; She pulled him into a side room, and
+      sitting down, abandoned herself to weeping, wringing her hands, and
+      moaning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I can&rsquo;t abear it any longer,&rsquo; she repeated. &lsquo;I must tell somebody, an&rsquo; 
+      I&rsquo;ll tell you. It&rsquo;s all my wicked cruel fault.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old woman was so crazed with her secret that she would have spoken in
+      the shadow of the gibbet. Ramblingly and incoherently, with many breaks
+      for tears and protestations and self-accusation, she told her story.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;I&rsquo;ve killed her, Dick. But it was for your sake and hers as I done it. I
+      reckon they&rsquo;ll hang me, an&rsquo; it&rsquo;ll serve me right.&rsquo; She besought him not to
+      betray her, and, in the same breath, announced her intention to surrender
+      herself at once to the parish constable; and, indeed, between fear and
+      remorse and sorrow for the hopeless love she had striven to befriend, was
+      nearly mad. Dick heard her with such amazement as may be best imagined,
+      and suddenly, with a cry that rang in her ears for many a long day
+      afterwards, ran from her and scaled the stairs to Julia&rsquo;s room, led
+      thither by the sound of Mrs. Mountain&rsquo;s weeping. The old woman stared, as
+      well she might, at the intrusion, with a wonder which for a moment
+      conquered sorrow. He went straight to the bed, and leaned over the stark
+      figure upon it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;She&rsquo;s not dead yet,&rsquo; he said, more to himself than to the grief-stricken
+      mother. Mrs. Mountain heard the words, and clutched his arm. He turned to
+      her. &lsquo;Trust me,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;and I&rsquo;ll save her.&rsquo; The wild hope in the
+      mother&rsquo;s eyes was terrible to see. &lsquo;I love her,&rsquo; said Dick. &lsquo;You will
+      trust me? Do as I bid you, and you shall have Julia back in an hour.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Samson Mountain meanwhile wandered in the same purposeless fashion about
+      the farm, and held dumb converse with himself. He was a rough man,
+      something of a brute&mdash;a good deal of an animal&mdash;but animals have
+      their affections, and he loved Julia as well as it was in his nature to
+      love anything. It was ingrained in him by nature and by years of
+      unquestioned domination to bully and browbeat all defenceless people; but
+      Julia, the most defenceless of his surroundings, had been treated always
+      with a lighter hand. Childlike, she had taken advantyage of her immunity
+      in many little ways, and though Samson had never forborne to bluster at
+      her girlish insubordination, he rather liked it than not, and relished his
+      daughter&rsquo;s independence and spirit. Julia was the only creature in the
+      household who dared to hold her own against him. He was proud of her
+      beauty and what he called her &lsquo;lurning,&rsquo; and, more or less grumblingly,
+      petted her a good deal, and would have spoiled her had she been of
+      spoilable material. But till this heavy blow fell he had never sounded the
+      depths of his own affection for her. The suddenness of the blow stunned
+      and bewildered him. He remembered his words to Dick during their stormy
+      interview in the road, when he had said that he would rather see Julia
+      dead than married to him. Had Providence taken him at his word? He did not
+      say it, he did not even think it consciously, but he would have submitted
+      to almost any conceivable indignity at the hands of Abel Eeddy himself, to
+      have felt his daughter&rsquo;s arms about his neck again. Little incidents of
+      Julia&rsquo;s past life were fresh and vivid in his memory. He had forgotten
+      many of them, years ago, but they sprang up in his mind now, like things
+      of yesterday.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had wandered back to the front of the house, and sat upon the rustic
+      bench beside the porch, with his elbows propped upon his knees, and his
+      eyes hidden in his shaking hands, when a voice fell on his ear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Neighbour!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He raised his head. Abel Reddy stood before him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With something of the old instinct of hatred he had believed to be
+      unconquerable he rose and straightened himself before the hereditary
+      enemy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Neighbour,&rsquo; said Reddy again. The word was pacific, but Mountain&rsquo;s
+      blurred eyes, dim with pain and dazzled by the sunlight, could not see the
+      pity in his old enemy&rsquo;s face, and he waited doggedly. &lsquo;It&rsquo;s come to my
+      ears as you&rsquo;re i&rsquo; sore trouble. So am I. Your trouble&rsquo;s mine, though not
+      so great for me as it is for you, I was wi&rsquo; Dick when he heard o&rsquo; your
+      daughter&rsquo;s danger, an&rsquo; what I&rsquo;d suspected a long time I know now to be the
+      truth. I did my best to keep &lsquo;em apart&mdash;it was that as Dick was going
+      to London for. It seemed to behove me to come to you and offer you my hand
+      i&rsquo; your affliction. I take shame to myself that I didn&rsquo;t mek an effort to
+      end our quarrel long ago. We&rsquo;re gettin&rsquo; on in life, Mr. Mountain, and
+      we&rsquo;ve got th&rsquo; excuse o&rsquo; hot blood no longer.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Therewith he held out his hand, and Samson, with hanging head, took it
+      with a growl, which might have been anathema or blessing. And as the
+      life-long enemies stood so linked, a window was suddenly opened above, and
+      Mrs. Mountain&rsquo;s voice screamed to her husband,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Samson! Her&rsquo;s alive! Her&rsquo;s awake! &lsquo;Both men looked up, and beheld an
+      unexpected picture framed by the open window, Dick violently embraced by
+      Mrs. Mountain, and submitting to the furious assault with obvious
+      goodwill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;When the liquor&rsquo;s out, why clink the cannikin?&rsquo; The story of Julia and
+      her Romeo, like all other stories, had found its end, and merged a little
+      later into the history of Mr. and Mrs. Richard Reddy. The family feud was
+      buried, and Samson and Abel made very passable grandfathers and dwelt in
+      peace one with another. Dick never told a living soul, not even Julia
+      herself, of the stratagem by which Mrs. Jenny had succeeded in uniting
+      them, and Mrs. Jenny, by complete reticence on the subject, disproved the
+      time-worn calumny which declares woman&rsquo;s inability to keep a secret.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      THE END <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+
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