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diff --git a/old/34543-8.txt b/old/34543-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5e72c57 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/34543-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,15155 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Furze the Cruel, by John Trevena + +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: Furze the Cruel + +Author: John Trevena + +Release Date: December 2, 2010 [EBook #34543] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FURZE THE CRUEL *** + + + + +Produced by Christine Bell and Marc D'Hooghe +http://www.freeliterature.org + + + + + +FURZE THE CRUEL + +BY + +JOHN TREVENA + +AUTHOR OF "A PIXY IN PETTICOATS" AND "ARMINEL OF THE WEST" + +LONDON + +ALSTON RIVERS, LTD. + +BROOKE ST., HOLBORN BARS, E.C. + +1907 + + + + + Almost everywhere on Dartmoor are Furze, Heather, and Granite. The + Furze seems to suggest Cruelty, the Heather Endurance, and the + Granite Strength. The Furze is destroyed by fire, but grows again; + the Heather is torn by winds, but blossoms again; the Granite is + worn away imperceptibly by the rain. This work is the first of a + proposed trilogy, which the author hopes to continue and complete + with "Heather" and "Granite." + + + + +CONTENTS + + + + INTRODUCTORY + + + I. ABOUT THE TAVY FAMILY + II. ABOUT BRIGHTLY + III. ABOUT PASTOR AND MASTER + IV. ABOUT BEETLES + V. ABOUT THOMASINE + VI. ABOUT VOCAL AND INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC + VII. ABOUT FAIRYLAND + VIII. ABOUT ATMOSPHERE + IX. ABOUT A KNAVE AND A FOOL + X. ABOUT THE VIGIL OF ST. GOOSE + XI. ABOUT THE FEAST OF ST. GOOSE + XII. ABOUT THE OCTAVE OF ST. GOOSE + XIII. ABOUT VARIOUS EMOTIONS + XIV. ABOUT A STRUGGLE AT THE GATE OF FAIRYLAND + XV. ABOUT JUSTICE + XVI. ABOUT WITCHCRAFT + XVII. ABOUT PASTIMES + XVIII. ABOUT AUTUMN IN FAIRYLAND + XIX. ABOUT THE GOOD RIGHT HAND OF FELLOWSHIP + XX. ABOUT THE PASSOVER OF THE BRUTE + XXI. ABOUT WINTER IN REAL LIFE + XXII. ABOUT THE PINCH + XXIII. ABOUT A HOUSE ON THE HIDDEN LANES + XXIV. ABOUT BANKRUPTS + XXV. ABOUT SWALING-FIRES + XXVI. ABOUT "DUPPENCE" + XXVII. ABOUT REGENERATION AND RENUNCIATION + + + +FURZE THE CRUEL + + + + +INTRODUCTORY + +ABOUT RAINDROPS + + +The river of Tavy is a great mountain-carver. From its mud-holes of +Cranmere to the walls of Tavistock it is a hewer of rocks. Thenceforth +it becomes a gardener, raising flowers and herbs; it becomes idyllic. +It goes into Arcadia. And at last it floats ships of war. + +There is a story in Hebrew literature of a king called Solomon, a man +reputed wise, although a fool with women, who desired to build a temple +to his God. There was a tradition which forbade the use of hammer or +chisel in the erection of a place of worship, because, according to the +Mischna, "Iron is used to shorten life, the altar to prolong it." The +stones were not to be hewn. The temple was to be built noiselessly. The +narrative suggests that Solomon had the stones cut and shaped at some +distance from the building site, which was a decidedly Jesuitical way of +solving the problem. Myth suggests that the king sought the aid of +Asmodeus, chief of the devils, who told him where he could discover a +worm which would split the toughest rock. The introduction of the devil +to assist in the building of the temple was no doubt of Persian origin, +since Persian thought influenced Hebrew literature just as Grecian +thought was later to influence that of Rome. The idea of noiseless +building, of an altar created by supernatural powers, of burrowing for +minerals and metals without tools, is common to the literature of every +country. It is one of the stock tales of folk-lore found everywhere. In +one place it is a worm which shatters the mountains; in another a black +stone; and in another a herb, such as the innocent forget-me-not, and +the various saxifrages of the cottage garden. All the stories agree upon +three points: the name of the rock-shatterer signifies irresistible +force; it is invariably a small and insignificant object; and it is +brought to mankind by a bird. That bird is the cloud; and the worm, +pebble, or herb, which shatters mountains is the raindrop. + +This is the story of the river Tavy, its tors and cleave, just as the +pixy grandmother told it to the little round-eyed ones on a stormy +night, when the black-winged raven-cloud was bringing the rain over +Great Kneeset, and the whist hounds were yip-yip-yipping upon the +"deads"-- + +"It all happened a long time ago, my impets, a very long time ago, and +perhaps I shan't be telling you the story quite right. They say the +dates are cut upon the Scorhill Rocks. I couldn't make them out the last +time I was there, but then my eyes are getting feeble. You know the +Scorhill Rocks, my dears? They are just by the Wallabrook, and near our +big dancing stone which the silly mortals call a tolmen. You remember +how we danced there on All Hallows E'en. What a beautiful night it was, +sure 'nuff! And then you went and pinched the farm maids in their beds, +and made them dream of their lovers, mischievous young toads! Well, I +don't blame ye, my dears. I liked a bit of a gambol when I was a winikin +bit of a pisky maid myself. + +"This old Dartymore was a gurt big solid mountain of granite in those +days, my pretties. You can't imagine what it was like then, and I can't +either. There was no grass on it, and there were no nice vuzzy-bushes to +dance round, and no golden blossoms to play with, and no fern to see-saw +on, and no pink heather to go to sleep in--and worse and worse, my +dears, there wasn't a single pixy in those days either." + +"Oh, what a funny old Dartymore!" cried the little round-eyed ones. + +"It wasn't an old Dartymore, my pets. It was a brand-new one. There were +no bullocks or ponies. There were no bogs and no will-o'-the-wisps. +There were no stone remains for stupid mortals to go dafty over, for as +you and I know well enough most of 'em are no more stone remains than +any other rocks, but are just as the wind and rain made them. There was +not a single mortal in those days either, and none of the triumphs of +their civilisation, such as workhouses, prisons, and lunatic asylums. +There was just the sun and the gurt grey mountain, and right upon the +top of the mountain was a little bit of jelly shivering and shaking in +the wind." + +"But how did it get there?" cried the little round-eyed ones. + +"Oh, my loves, you mustn't ask such silly questions. I don't know. +Nobody can know. It was there, and we can't say any more. Perhaps there +was a little bit of this jelly on the top of every mountain in the +world. I can't tell you anything about that. But this little bit on the +top of Dartymore was alive. It was alive, and it could feel the wind and +the sun, and it would have kicked if it had got any legs to kick with. +You will find it all written on the Scorhill Rocks. I couldn't find it, +but it must be there, because they say it is. Well, this little bit of +jelly shivered away for a long time, and then one day it began to rain. +That was a wonderful thing in those days, though we don't think anything +of it now. The little bit of jelly didn't like the rain. If it had been +a pixy it would have crawled under a toadstool. If it had been a mortal +it would have put up its umbrella. But toadstools and umbrellas hadn't +been invented. So the poor thing shivered and got wet, because it was a +very heavy shower. They say it lasted for several thousand years. While +it rained the little bit of jelly was thinking. At last it said to the +rain, 'Where do _yew_ come from?' But the rain only replied that it +hadn't the least idea. + +"'What are ye doing?' went on the bit of jelly; and the rain answered, +'Making the world ready for you to live in.' The piece of jelly thought +about that for a million years, and then it said to the wind--the rain +had stopped, and it was the First Fine Day--'Someone must have made me +and put me here. I want to speak to that Someone. Can't you tell me what +to do?' + +"'Ask again in a million years,' said the wind. + +"'I think I'll go for a walk,' said the piece of jelly. You see, my +dears, it was getting tired of sitting still, and besides, it had +discovered little bits of things called legs. They had grown while it +had been thinking. So it got up, and stretched itself, and perhaps it +yawned, and then it went for a long walk. I don't know how long it +lasted, for they thought nothing of a few thousand years then; but at +last it got back to the top of Dartymore, and found everything changed. +The big mountain had been shattered and hewn into cleaves and tors. +There were rivers and bogs; grass and fern; vuzzy-bushes and golden +blooms. In every part, my dears, the mountain had been carved into tors +and cut into gorges; but there were still no pixies, and no mortals. +Then the piece of jelly went and looked at itself in the water, and was +very much astonished at what it saw. It was a piece of jelly no longer, +but a little hairy thing, with long legs and a tail, and a couple of +eyes and a big mouth." + +"Was it the same piece of jelly? What a long time it lived!" cried the +little round-eyed ones. They didn't believe a word of the story, and +they were going to say so presently. + +"Well, my pretties, it was, and it wasn't. You see, little bits of it +kept breaking off all those years, and they had become hairy creatures +with long legs and a tail. Part of the original piece of jelly was in +them all, for that was what is called the origin of life, which is a +thing you don't understand anything about, and you mustn't worry your +heads about it until you grow up. The little hairy creature stood beside +the Tavy, and scratched its ear with its foot just like a dog. A million +years later it used its hand because it couldn't get its foot high +enough, and the wise men said that was a sign of civilisation. It was +raining and blowing, and presently a drop of rain trickled down the nose +of the little hairy creature and made it sneeze. + +"'Go away,' said the little hairy creature. 'I wun't have ye tickling my +nose.' You see, my dears, it knew the Devonshire dialect, which is a +proof that it is the oldest dialect in the world. + +"'Let me bide. I be fair mazed,' said the Devonshire raindrop. 'I've +been drap-drappiting on this old Dartymore for years and years.' + +"'You bain't no use. You'm only a drop o' rainwater,' said the little +hairy thing. + +"'That's all. Only a drop o' rain-water,' came the answer. 'This gurt +big mountain has been worn away by drops o' rain-water. These tors were +made by drops o' rainwater. These masses of granite have been split by +drops o' rain-water. The river is nought but drops o' rain-water." + +"'You'm a liar,' said the little hairy thing. You see, my dears, it +couldn't believe the raindrop." + +The little round-eyed ones didn't believe it either. They were afraid to +say so because Grandmother might have smacked them. Besides, they knew +they would not have to go to bed in the pink heather until she had +finished her story. So they listened quietly, and pinched one another, +while Grandmother went on-- + +"It was a long time afterwards. There were bullocks and ponies and +plenty of pixies, and the little hairy thing had become what is called a +primitive man. Tavy Cleave was very much the same as it is now, and Ger +Tor was big and rugged, and Cranmere was full of river-heads. The +primitive man had a primitive wife, and there were little creatures with +them who were primitive children. They lived among the rocks and didn't +worry about clothes. But there was one man who was not quite so +primitive as the others, and therefore he was unpopular. He used to +wander by himself and think. You will find it all upon the Scorhill +Rocks, my dears. One evening he was beside the Tavy, which was known in +those days as the Little Water, and a memory stirred in him, and he +thought to himself: I was here once, and I asked a question of the wind; +and the wind said: 'Ask again in a million years.' Someone must have +made me and put me here. I want to speak to that Someone. Then the +Little Water shouted; and it seemed to say: 'I have worn away the +mountain of granite. I have shattered the rocks. Look at me, primitive +man! I have given you a dwelling-place. I was made by the raindrops. The +cloud brought the raindrops. And the wind brought you, primitive man. +That Someone sent you and the wind together. You want to speak to that +Someone. You must seek that Someone in a certain place. Look around you, +primitive man!' + +"So he looked, my dears, and saw what the Little Water had done during +those millions of years. On the top of every little mountain it had +carved out a tor. They were rough heaps of rock, shapeless, and yet +suggesting a shape. They were not buildings, and yet they suggested a +building. The primitive man went up on the highest tor, and spoke to +that Someone. But, my pretties, I'm afraid you can't understand all +this." + +The little round-eyed ones were yawning dreadfully. Grandmother was +getting wearisome in her old age. They thought they would rather be in +bed. + +"The primitive man made himself a hut-circle. You see, my dears, the +Little Water had taught him. He had become what is called imitative. +When he made his hut-circle he just copied the tors. Later on he copied +them on a larger scale and built castles. And then the time came when +another man stood beside the Tavy and asked: 'I have had dreams of +treasure in the earth. How can I get at that treasure?' + +"Then the Little Water shouted back: 'Look at me. I have worn away the +rocks. I have uncovered the metals. Work in the ground as I have done.' + +"So the man imitated the river again and worked in the ground, until he +found tin and copper; and the river went on roaring just as it does now. +You see, my children, there would have been no river if there had been +no raindrops; and without the river no tors and cleaves, no vuzzy-bushes +and golden blossoms, no ferns or pink heather, no buildings, no mortals, +and no pixies. Dartymore would have remained a cold grey mountain of +granite, and the piece of jelly would never have become a primitive man +if it hadn't rained." + +"But what is the rain doing now?" cried the little round-eyed ones. + +"Just the same, my pretties. Making the river flow on and on. And the +river is making the cleave deeper, and Ger Tor higher, just as it has +always been doing. Only it works so slowly that we don't notice any +change. Now you must run away to bed, for it is quite late, and you are +gaping like young chickens. Come and kiss your old granny, my dearies, +and trot away and have your dew-baths. And when you are tucked up in the +pink heather don't be afraid of the black cloud and the raindrops, for +they won't harm little pisky boys and maids if they're good. They are +too busy wearing away the granite, and cutting the cleaves deeper, and +making the mountains higher and our dear old Tavyland stronger and +fresher. There, that's all for to-night, my impets. I'll tell ye another +story to-morrow." + +"Funny old thing, G'an'mother," whispered the little round-eyed ones, +while they washed their pink toes in the dew. "She'm old and dafty." + +That's the story of river Tavy and its cleave; not all of it by any +means, but the pixy grandmother did not know any more. Nobody knows all +of it, except that Someone who sent the wind, which swept up the cloud, +which brought the rain, which wetted the piece of jelly, which shivered +on the top of the big grey mountain of Dartmoor. + +The pixy grandmother was right about the primitive man who wanted so +much to know things. She was right when she said that the river taught +him. He looked about him and he imitated. The river had made him models +and he copied them. The tor to which he ascended to speak to that +Someone was the first temple and the first altar--made without noise, a +temple of unhewn stone, an altar of whole stones over which no man had +lifted up any iron. It was the earliest form of religion; a better and +purer form than any existing now. It was the beginning of folk-lore. It +was the first and best of mysteries: the savage, the hill-top, and the +wind; the cloud and the sun; the rain-built temple; the rain-shaped +altar. It was the unpolluted dwelling-place which Hebrew literature +tried to realise and failed; which philosophers and theocrats have tried +to realise and failed; which men are always trying to realise and must +always fail, because it is the beginning of things, the awakening of the +soul, the birth of the mind, the first cry of the new-born. It is the +first of all stories, therefore it cannot die; but the condition can +never come again. The story of the rain-shattered rocks must live for +ever; but only in the dimly-lighted realm of folk-lore. + +Thus, in a sense, Peter and Mary, and the other folk to be described in +these pages, are the children of the river, the grandchildren of the +cloud and the rain. Ages have passed since the cloud first settled upon +Dartmoor and the rain descended. Pandora's box has been opened since +then, and all the heavenly gifts, which were to prove the ruin of +mortals, escaped from it long ago, except hope left struggling in the +hinge. What have the ignorant, passionate, selfish creatures in common +with the freshness and purity of the wind and rain? Not much perhaps. It +is a change from the summit of Ger Tor, with its wind and rain-hewn +altar, to Exeter Cathedral, with its wind instrument and iron-cut +sculpture--a change for the worse. It is a change from the primitive +man, with his cry to the river, to Mary and Peter, and those who defile +their neighbours' daughters, and drink to excess. A change for the +worse? Who shall tell? Men cast back to primitive manners. The world was +young when the properties of the fruit of the vine were discovered; and +we all know the name of the oldest profession upon earth. + +The river of Tavy flows on and on, dashing its rain sea-ward. Go upon +the spectral mount of Ger Tor. Let it be night and early spring. Let +there be full moonlight also. Hear the water roaring: "I have worn away +the mountain of granite. I have shattered the rocks. Look at me, +civilised man. I have made you a dwelling-place, but you will not have +it. You swarm in your cities like bees in a rotten tree. Come back to +the wind and the rain. They will cool your passions. They will heal your +diseases. Come back to Nature, civilised man." + + + + +CHAPTER I + +ABOUT THE TAVY FAMILY + + +"Coop, coop!" called Mary Tavy. "Cooey, cooey! Aw now, du'ye come, my +dear. He be proper contrairy when he'm minded to," she cried to Farmer +Chegwidden as she shook a gorse-bush, which was her shepherd's staff, +towards a big goose waddling ahead of her in the path of its own +selection, and spluttering and hissing like a damp firework. + +"Did ever see such a goosie?" said Mary. "When I wants 'en to go one way +he goes t'other. There he goes, down under, to Helmen Barton. If he lays +his egg there they'll keep 'en, and say one of their fowls dropped 'en. +He wun't come home till sundown. Contrairiest bird on Dartmoor be Old +Sal." + +"I don't hold wi' old geese," said Farmer Chegwidden. "They'm more +trouble than they'm worth. When they gets old they'm artful." + +"So be volks," said Mary. "Goosies be cruel human. Old Sal knows as much +as we. He'm twenty-two years old. He lays an egg every month. He'm the +best mother on Dartmoor, and Peter says he shan't die till he've a mind +to." By her continued use of the masculine gender any one might have +thought Mary was not quite convinced herself as to her goose's sex; but +it was not so really. There is nothing feminine on Dartmoor except +tom-cats. + +Mary lived with brother Peter close to the edge of Tavy Cleave, a little +way beyond Wapsworthy. There was a rough road from the village of St. +Peter Tavy, passing round the foot of Lynch Tor, and ending in a bog +half-a-mile further on. Ger Cottage--so named because the most prominent +feature of the landscape was Ger, or Gurt, Tor--which was the home of +the Tavys, the man and the woman, not the river, nor the cleave, nor the +stannary town, nor the two villages of that ilk, appeared amid boulders +and furze between the rough road and the gorge cut by the river. The +cottage, or to be strictly accurate, the cottages, for Peter and Mary +had separate apartments, which was quite right and proper, was, or were, +in a situation which a house-agent would have been justified in +describing as entirely detached. There was no other dwelling-place +within a considerable distance. The windows looked out upon romantic +scenery, which has been described in somewhat inflated language, +six-syllabled adjectives, and mixed metaphors, as something absolute and +unassailable; and has been compared to the Himalayas and Andes by +excitable young people under commission to write a certain number of +words for cheap guide-book purposes. However, the ravine of the Tavy is +perhaps the finest thing of its kind on Dartmoor; and "gentle readers" +who go abroad every winter have some reason to feel ashamed of +themselves if they have not seen it. + +When the New Zealander comes to explore England, he will, perhaps,--if +he is interested in such things--write letters to such newspapers as may +have survived concerning the source of the Tavy. He will probably claim +to have discovered some new source which the ignorant and vanished race +of Anglo-Saxons never happened on. Most people will say that the Tavy +rises at the south side of Cut Hill. Others, who do not wish to commit +themselves, will make the safe statement that its source is upon +Cranmere. As a matter of fact the Tavy would be a very wise river if it +knew its own head. By the time it has assumed any individuality of its +own and received its first titled tributary, which is the Rattle Brook, +it has come through so many changes, and escaped from such a complicated +maze of crevasses, that it would have to be provided with an Ariadne's +clue to retrace its windings to its source. In the face of general +opinion it seems likely that the Tavy begins its existence rather more +than two miles north of its accredited source, at a spot close to +Cranmere Pool, and almost within a stone's cast of the Dart. It would be +impossible, however, to indicate any one particular fissure, with its +sides of mud and dribble of slimy water, and declare that and none other +was the river of Tavy in extreme and gurgling infancy. + +There is no doubt about the Tavy by the time it has swallowed the Rattle +Brook and a few streams of lesser importance, and has entered the cleave +which it has carved through the granite by its own endless erosion. It +is an exceedingly self-assertive river; passing down with a satisfied +chuckle in the hot months, when the slabs of granite are like the floors +of so many bakers' ovens; and in the winter roaring at Ger Tor, as +though it would say, "I have cut through a thousand feet of granite +since I began to trickle. I will cut through a thousand more before the +sun gets cold." It is a noble little river, this shallow mountain +stream, the proudest of all Dartmoor rivers. More romance has gathered +around the Tavy than about all the other rivers in England put together, +leaving out the Tamar. The sluggish Thames has no romance to compare +with that of the Tavy. The Thames represents materialism with its +pleasure-boats and glitter of wealth. It suggests big waistcoats and +massive watch-chains. The Tavy stands for the spiritual side. Were the +god of wine to stir the waters of each, the Thames would flow with beer; +good beer possibly, but nothing better; while the Tavy would flow with +champagne. The Tavy is the Rhine of England. It was beside the Tavy that +fern-seed could be gathered, or the ointment obtained, which opened the +eyes of mortals to the wonders of fairyland. It was on the banks of the +Tavy that the pixies rewarded girls who behaved themselves--and pinched +and nipped those who didn't. Beside the Tavy has grown the herb +forget-me-not, which not only restored sight to the blind, but life also +to the dead; and the marigold which, when touched early on certain +mornings by the bare foot of the pure-minded, gave an understanding of +the language of birds. Many legends current upon the big Rhine occur +also beside the shallow Tavy. There are mining romances; tales of +success, struggles, and failures, from the time of the Phoenicians; +tales of battles for precious tin; tales of misery and torture and human +agony. That is the dark side of the Tavy--the Tavy when it roars, and +its waters are black and white, and there are glaciers down Ger Tor. The +tiny Lyd runs near the Rattle Brook, the bloody little Lyd in which the +torturers of the stannary prison cleansed their horrible hands. The +Rattle Brook knew all about it, and took the story and some of the blood +down to Father Tavy; and the Tavy roared on with the evidence, and +dashed it upon the walls of Tavistock Abbey, where the monks were +chanting psalms so noisily they couldn't possibly hear anything else. +That was the way of the monks. Stannary Laws and Tavistock Abbey have +gone, and nobody could wish for them back; but the Tavy goes on in the +same old way. It is no longer polluted with the blood of tin-streamers, +but merely with the unromantic and discarded boots of tramps. The +copper-mines are a heap of "deads"; and Wheal Betsey lies in ruin; but +the Tavy still brings trout to Tavistock, although there are no more +monks to bother about Fridays; and it carries away battered saucepans +and crockery for which the inhabitants have no further use. This +attention on the part of the townsfolk is not respectful, when it is +remembered that the Tavy brought their town into being, named it, and +has supplied it always with pure water. It is like throwing refuse at +one's godfather. + +The Tavy is unhappily named, so is its brother the Taw--both being sons +of Mother Cranmere--if it is true their names are derived the one from +the Gaelic _tav_, the other from the Welsh _taw_. The root word is +_tam_, which appears appropriately enough in Thames, and means placid +and spreading. The Tavy and the Taw are anything but that. They are +never placid, not even in the dog-days. They brawl more noisily than all +the other rivers in Devon. Perhaps they were so named on the _lucus a +non lucendo_ principle; because it is so obvious they are not placid. +The river Tavy has a good deal of property. Wherever it winds it has +bestowed its name. The family of Tavy is a very ancient one. It was rich +and important once, possessing a number of rights, many valuable mines, +much romance, to say nothing of towns abbeys, and castles; but, like +most old families, it has decayed, and its property is not worth much +now. It possesses Tavy Cleave; the villages of St. Peter and St. Mary +(they were twins, exceedingly healthy in their youth, but growing feeble +now); Mount Tavy, which is of no importance; Tavystoc, the fortified +place upon the Tavy, which has been turned into Tavistock and has become +famous, not for its Abbey, nor for its great men, but solely and simply +for its Goose Fair; and Mary and Peter Tavy, who were not made of cob, +or granite, or water, or tin, or any of those other things which made +the fortune of the Tavy family, but were two simple animals of the human +race, children of the river out of that portion of Dartmoor which it +owns, two ignorant beings who took life seriously enough and were like +the heather and gorse which surrounded them. Evolution has accomplished +such marvels that Peter and Mary may possibly have been lineally +descended from antediluvian heather and gorse; or perhaps Nature had +intended them for heather and gorse, and while making them had come +across a couple of shop-soiled souls which were not of much use, and had +stirred them into the mixture which, after a certain treatment only to +be explained by a good deal of medical dog-Latin, resulted in Mary and +Peter being brought forth as divine images upon the edge of Tavy Cleave. + +Peter and Mary were savages, although they would have used strange +language had any one called them so. They did not display their +genealogical tree upon their cottage wall. Had they done so it would +have shown, had it been accurate, that they were descended from the +Gubbingses, who, as every man knows, were as disreputable a set of +savages as have ever lived. This pedigree would have shown that a +certain young Gubbings had once run away with a certain Miss Gubbings to +whom he was attached, and with whom he was probably related more or less +intimately. Fearing capture, as they had conveyed from the gorge of the +Lyd as much of the portable property of their connections as they could +conveniently handle, the young couple assumed the name of Tavy from the +river beside which they settled. They had a number of little Tavies, +who, it was said, founded the villages of Peter Tavy and Mary Tavy, +which good Christians subsequently canonised; and who, by intermarriage +without much respect for the tie of consanguinity, or for such a form of +religious superstition as a marriage service--if, indeed, they had ever +heard of such a thing--became in time a rival band of Scythians almost +as formidable to law-abiding commoners as their relations in Gubbings +Land. Peter and Mary were direct descendants of these pleasant people. +They didn't know it, however. It was just as well they were in +ignorance, because knowledge of the truth might have turned their heads. +The chief of the Gubbings was a king in his own land; therefore Peter +and Mary would certainly have boasted that they were of royal blood; and +Peter would assuredly have told his neighbours that if every man had his +rights he would be occupying the throne of England. He would have gone +on acquiring knowledge concerning those things which appertain unto +ancient families, and no doubt would have conferred upon himself, +although not upon Mary, a coat-of-arms such as a sheep in one quarter, a +bullock in another, a bag of gold in the third, and in the fourth a +peaceful commoner's head duly decollated, with the motto: "My wealth is +in other men's goods." Peter would have become an intolerable nuisance +had he known of his royal ancestry. + +Mary was quite a foot taller than her brother. Peter was like a gnome. +He was not much more than four feet in height, with a beard like a +furze-bush, a nose like a clothes-peg, and a pair of eyes which had +probably been intended for a boar, but had got into Peter by mistake. +His teeth were much broken and were very irregular; here a tooth like a +tor, there a gap like a cleave. In that respect he resembled his +neighbours. Dartmoor folk have singularly bad teeth, and none of them +submit to dentistry. They appear to think that defective teeth are +necessary and incurable evils. When they are ill they send for the +doctor at once; but when they have toothache they grin and bear it. +Perhaps they know that dentists are mercenary folk, who expect to be +paid for their labours; whereas the doctor who has any claim to +respectability works solely for the love of his profession, and is not +to be insulted by any proposal of payment. A doctor is a sort of +wandering boon-companion, according to the Dartmoor mind. There is +nothing he enjoys so much as being called from his bed on a bitter +winter's night, to drive some miles across the moor that he may have a +pleasant chat with some commoner who feels dull. He will be invited to +sit by a smouldering peat-fire, and the proposal, "Have a drop o' cider? +you'm welcome," will fall gratefully upon his ears. He will be +encouraged to talk about certain ailments, and to suggest remedies for +the same. Then he will be pressed to finish the crock of cider, and be +permitted to depart. After such hospitality he would be a base-minded +man if he made any suggestion of a fee. Peter had often consulted a +doctor, but he could not remember ever parting with cash in return for +advice. The doctor could not remember it either. + +Peter generally wore a big leather apron, which began somewhere about +the region of his neck and finished at his boots. He had taken it, in a +fit of absent-mindedness, out of the blacksmith of Bridestowe's smithy +some years ago. He was a bit of a traveller in those days. Peter often +boasted of his wanderings. That expedition to Bridestowe was one of +them. It would have been six miles across the moor from Tavy Cleave, and +yet Peter had made light of it. He had done much greater things. He had +put to silence one of those objectionable, well-washed, soft-handed, +expensively-dressed creatures who call themselves gentlemen. One of +these had described to Peter his wanderings about the world, mentioning +such fabulous countries as India, China, Mexico, and Peru. Peter +listened in an attitude which expressed nothing if not contempt. He +allowed the traveller to go oh some time before crushing him. "I've +travelled tu," he said at last. Then, with the manner of one dropping a +brick upon a butterfly, he added, "I've been to Plymouth." Peter often +mentioned that the traveller had nothing more to say. + +Peter had been absent-minded when he procured the blacksmith's apron, +somewhat after the manner of his early ancestors who had inhabited Lyd +Gorge or Gubbings Land. He was liable to such fits. They were generally +brought on by beer. One evening Mary had sent him to a farm--or rather +he had permitted her to send him--with a can and a string-bag in order +that he might receive payment of a debt in the form of ducks' eggs and +buttermilk. On the way Peter became absent-minded. The attack was fully +developed by the time he reached the farm. He forced the eggs into the +can and poured the buttermilk into the string-bag. + +Mary also must have been made during a fit of Nature's temporary +insanity. She had been started as a man; almost finished as one; then +something had gone wrong--Nature had poured the buttermilk into the +string-bag, so to speak, and Mary became a female to a certain extent. +She had a man's face and a man's feet. Larger feet had never scrambled +down Tavy Cleave since mastodons had gone out of fashion. The impression +of Mary's bare foot in the snow would have shocked a scientist. She was +stronger than most men. To see Mary forking fern, carrying furze-reek, +or cutting peat was a revelation in female strength. She wore stout +bloomers under a short ragged skirt; not much else, except a brown +jersey. The skirt was discarded sometimes in moments of emergency. She +was flat-chested, and had never worn stays. She was as innocent +concerning ordinary female underwear as Peter; more so, perhaps, for +Peter was not blind to frills. Mary would probably have worn her +brother's trousers sometimes, had it not been for that muddle-headed act +of Nature, which had turned her out a woman at the last moment. Besides, +Peter was a foot shorter than his sister, and his legs were merely a +couple of pegs. + +Somewhere in his head Peter despised Mary. He did not tell her so, or +she might have beaten him with a furze-bush. He was far superior to her. +Peter could read, write, and reckon with a dangerous facility. He was +also an orator, and had been known to speak for five minutes at a +stretch in the bar-room. He had repeated himself certainly, but every +orator does that. Peter was a savage who knew just enough to look +civilised. Mary was a savage who knew nothing and was therefore +humorous. It was education which gave Peter the upper hand, Mary could +not assert her superiority over one who read the newspapers, spoke in a +bar-room, and described characters on a piece of paper which would +convey a meaning to some one far away. + +Ger Cottage, or the twin huts occupied by the Tavys, had been once +hut-circles, belonging to the aboriginal inhabitants of Dartmoor. They +were side by side, semi-detached as it were, and the one was Peter's +freehold, while the other belonged to Mary. They had the same legal +rights to their property as rabbits enjoy in their burrows. Legal rights +are not referred to on Dartmoor, unless a foreigner intervenes with a +view to squatting. "What I have I hold" is every man's motto. The +hut-circles had been restored out of all recognition. They had been +enlarged, the walls had been built up, chimneys made, and roofs covered +with furze and held in place by lumps of granite had been erected. Peter +and Mary were quite independent. Peter was the best housewife, just as +Mary was the best farmer. Peter also called himself a handy man, which +was merely another way of saying that he was no good at anything. He +would undertake all kinds of jobs, ask for a little on account, then +postpone the work for a few years. He never completed anything. Mary was +the money-maker, and he was really her business-manager. Mary was so +ignorant that she never wondered how Peter got his money. It was +perfectly simple. Peter would sell a twelve-pound goose at eightpence a +pound. When he collected the money it naturally amounted to eight +shillings. When he paid it over to Mary it had dwindled to five +shillings. "Twelve times eight be sixty," Peter would explain. "Sixty +pence be five shilluns." Mary knew no better. Then Peter always asked +for a shilling as his commission, and Mary had to give it him. Peter had +studied ordinary business methods with some success; or perhaps it came +to him naturally. He had some ponies also. There is plenty of money in +pony-breeding as Peter practised it. He would go out upon the moor, find +a young pony which had not been branded, drive it home without any +ostentation, and shut it-up in his linhay. After a time he would set his +own brand upon it and let it run loose. When the annual pony-drift came +round he would claim it, subsequently selling it at Lydford market for +five pounds. Sometimes he would remove a brand, and obliterate all +traces of it by searing his own upon the same spot; but he never went to +this extreme unless he was hard pressed for money, because Peter had +certain religious convictions, and he always felt when he removed a +brand that he was performing a dishonest action. + +The only other member of the Tavy family was Grandfather. He was the +reprobate. Peter and Mary had morals of their own, not many, but +sufficient for their needs; but Grandfather had none. He was utterly +bad; a wheezing, worn-out, asthmatic old sinner, who had never been +known to tell the truth. Grandfather was always in Peter's hut. Mary had +often begged for him to keep her company at nights, but Peter +steadfastly refused to let the old rascal leave his quarters. So +Grandfather lived with Peter, and spent his time standing with his back +to the wall, wheezing and chuckling and making all sorts of unpleasant +noises, as if there was some obstruction on his chest which he was +trying always to remove. + +Grandfather's hands were very loose and shaky, and his face was +dreadfully dirty. Peter washed it sometimes, while the old fellow +wheezed and groaned. Sometimes Peter opened his chest and examined +Grandfather's organs, which he declared were in a perfectly healthy +condition. There appeared to be no excuse for Grandfather's mendacious +habits. He had got into the way of lying years back, and could not shake +it off. Grandfather was well over a hundred years old, and he was not +the slightest use except as a companion. Some people would have been +afraid of him, because of his unpleasant noises, but Peter and Mary +loved him like dutiful grandchildren. They recognised in Grandfather the +true Gubbings spirit. He was a weak, sinful creature like themselves. + +Grandfather had commenced life as a clock, but he had soon given up that +kind of work, or something had occurred to turn him from a useful +career; just as Peter had been meant for some sort of quadruped, and +Mary had been a man up to the last possible moment. Some evil spirit +must have entered into Grandfather; a malicious impet from the Tavy +river perhaps; or possibly the wild wind of Dartmoor had passed down the +cleave one day, to enter Grandfather's chest and intoxicate him for +ever. The fact remained that Grandfather was hopelessly bad; he was a +regular misanthrope; his ticks were so many curses, his strikings were +oaths. He did his best to mislead the two grandchildren, although it +didn't matter much, because time is of no account on Dartmoor. "He'm a +proper old brute, Gran'vaither," Peter would say sometimes, but never in +the old clock's hearing. + +Mary's mission in life was to breed geese. She had been sent into the +world for the express purpose of supplying folk with savoury meat +stuffed with sage and onions at Christmas time. She succeeded admirably. +She was the best goosewoman on Dartmoor, and her birds were always in +demand. One year Peter had obtained a shilling a pound for three +unusually fine young birds; but Mary didn't know that. She fattened her +geese, and incidentally Peter also. + +"They'm contrairy birds," observed Farmer Chegwidden, while he smoked +and rested himself upon a boulder, watching Mary's efforts to collect +her flock. "Never goes the way us want 'em to. Like volks," he added, +with philosophic calm. He might have been assisting Mary, only he didn't +believe in violent exercise which would not be suitably rewarded. + +"Volks calls 'en vulish, but they bain't. They'm just vull o' human +vices," said Mary, flopping to and fro and waving her furze-bush. + +"They'm vulish to look at," explained Farmer Chegwidden. + +"'Tis their artful way. Peter looks vulish tu, and he knows plenty. +More'n any of they goosies, I reckon. Coop, coop! Drat the toad! I'll +scat 'en." + +The leader of the feathered choir was off again. Chegwidden could have +headed it off, only he had finished his day's work. He managed to summon +up the energy to remark, "They gets over the ground surprising, wi' +their wings spread." + +"He'm a proper little brute. I wun't waste no more time over 'en," said +Mary, as she wiped her forehead with a bunch of fern. "He'll come home +when he've a mind to, and lay his egg in the linny likely, where +Peter'll tread on 'en in the morning. Peter be cruel clumsy wi' his +boots. Will ye please to step inside, Varmer Chegwidden?" + +"I mun get home. Got the bullocks to feed." + +"Fine bullocks tu. I seed 'em down cleave last night. Cooey, cooey! Come +along home, my purty angels. Wish ye good-night, Varmer Chegwidden." + +"Why du'ye call 'em angels?" asked the farmer, making strange sounds of +laughter behind his hand. + +"Aw now, I'll tell ye. There was a lady down along, a dafty lady what +painted, and her come to Peter, and her ses, 'I wants they goosies to +paint.' Well, us wouldn't have it. Us thought her wanted to paint 'em, +one of 'em red, 'nother green likely, 'nother yellow maybe, and it might +be bad for their bellies. But us found her wanted to put 'em on a +picture. Her had got a mazed notion about the cleave and resurrection, +wi' angels flapping over, and her wanted my goosies for angels. Peter +ses he didn't know goosies were like angels. Knows a lot, Peter du." + +"Angels be like gals," declared Chegwidden. "Like them gals to Tavistock +what pulls the beer, wi' pert faces and vuzzy hair. That's what angels +be like. I've seed the pictures in a Bible." + +"Aw now. Us couldn't make she out," went on Mary. "The lady said 'twas +just the wings her wanted. Her said angels ha' got goosies' wings, and +us couldn't say 'em hasn't, 'cause us ain't seed any. Her knew all about +it. So Peter druve the goosies down cleave, and her painted 'em for +angels sure 'nuff. Us never knew angels has goosies' wings, but the lady +knew. Her was sure on't." + +Mary stalked towards the hut-circles at the head of her row of geese, +grave, waddling, self-important, and blissfully unconscious of anything +in the nature of sage and onions. There was a touch of humour about the +procession. It was not altogether unlike the spectacle to be witnessed +in certain country boroughs of the mayor and corporation walking into +church. + +"Goosies be cruel human," said Mary. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +ABOUT BRIGHTLY + + +Up the road from Brentor to St. Mary Tavy came Brightly, his basket +dragging on his arm. He was very tired, but there was nothing unusual in +that. He was tired to the point of exhaustion every day. He was very +hungry, but he was used to that too. He was thinking of bread and cheese +and cider; new bread and soft cheese, and cider with a rough edge to it. +He licked his lips, and tried to believe he was tasting them. Then he +began to cough. It was a long, heaving cough, something like that of a +Dartmoor pony. He had to put his basket down and lean over it, and tap +at his thin chest with a long raw hand. + +Nobody wanted Brightly, because he was not of the least importance. He +hadn't got a home, or a vote, or any of those things which make the +world desire the presence of people. He was only a nuisance, who worried +desirable folk that he might exist, though the people whom he worried +did not ask him to live. Brightly was a purveyor of rabbit-skins. He +dealt in rubbish, possibly because he was rubbish himself. He tramped +about Dartmoor, between Okehampton and Tavistock, collecting +rabbit-skins. When he was given them for nothing he was grateful, but +his stock of gratitude was not drawn upon to any large extent. It is not +the way of Dartmoor folk to part with even rubbish for nothing. To +obtain his rabbit-skins Brightly had to dip his raw hand beneath the +scrap of oilcloth which covered his basket, and produce a horrible +little red and yellow vase which any decent-minded person would have +destroyed at sight. Brightly bore most things fairly well, but when, on +one occasion while climbing over the rocks, he had dropped the basket +and all the red and yellow vases were smashed to atoms, he had cried. He +had been tired and hungry as usual, and knew he had lost the capital +without which a man cannot do business. The dropping of that basket +meant bankruptcy to Brightly. + +The dealer in rabbit-skins was not alone in the world. He had a dog, +which was rubbish like its master. The animal was of no recognised +breed, although in a dim light it called itself a fox-terrier. She could +not have been an intelligent dog, or she would not have remained +constant to Brightly. Her name was Ju, which was an abbreviation of +Jerusalem. One Sunday evening Brightly had slipped inside a church, and +somewhat to his surprise had been allowed to remain, although a sidesman +was told off to keep an eye upon him and see that he did not break open +the empty poor-box. A hymn was sung about Jerusalem the golden, a piece +of pagan doggerel concerning the future state, where happy souls were +indulging in bacchanalian revels, and over-eating themselves in a sort of +glorified dairy filled with milk and honey. The hymn enraptured +Brightly, who was, of course, tired and famished; and when he had left +the warm church, although without any of the promised milk and honey, he +kept on murmuring the lines and trying to recall the music. He could +think of nothing but Jerusalem for some days. He went into the public +library at Tavistock and looked it up in a map of the world, discovered +it was in a country called Palestine, and wondered how many rabbit-skins +it would cost to take him there. Brightly reckoned in rabbit-skins, not +in shillings and pence, which were matters he was not very familiar +with. He noticed that whenever he mentioned the name of Jerusalem the +dog wagged her tail, as though she too was interested in the dairy +produce; so, as the animal lacked a title, Jerusalem was awarded her. +Brightly thought of the milk and honey whenever he called his poor +half-starved cur. + +Presently he thought he had coughed long enough, so he picked up his +basket and went on climbing the road, his body bent as usual towards the +right. At a distance he looked like the half of a circle. He could not +stand straight. The weight of his basket and habit had crooked him like +an oak branch. He tramped on towards the barren village of St. Mary +Tavy. There was a certain amount of wild scenery to be admired. Away to +the right was Brentor and the church upon its crags. To the left were +piled the "deads" of the abandoned copper-mines. The name of Wheal +Friendship might have had a cheerful sound for Brightly had he known +what friendship meant. He didn't look at the scenery, because he was +half blind. He could see his way about, but that was all. He lived in +the twilight. He wore a big pair of unsightly spectacles with +tortoise-shell rims. His big eyes were always staring widely behind the +glasses, seeing all they could, which was the little bit of road in +front and no more. + +Brightly was known about that particular part of the moor which he +frequented as the Seal. Every one laughed whenever the Seal was +mentioned. Brightly's wardrobe consisted chiefly of an old and very +tightly-fitting suit of black, distinctly clerical in cut. They had been +obtained from a Wesleyan shepherd in exchange for a pair of red and +yellow vases to embellish the mantel of the nonconforming parlour. Rain +is not unknown upon Dartmoor, and in the neighbourhood of St. Mary Tavy +it descends with pitiless violence. Brightly would be quickly saturated, +having no means of protecting himself; and then the tight clerical +garments, sodden and sleek and shining, would certainly bear some +resemblance to the coat of a seal which had just left the sea; a +resemblance which was not lessened by his wizened little face and weary +shuffling gait. + +Brightly did not think much while he tramped the moor. He had no right +to think. It was not in the way of business. Still, he had his dream, +not more than one, because he was not troubled with an active +imagination. He tried to fancy himself going about, not on his tired +rheumatic legs, but in a little ramshackle cart, with fern at the bottom +for Ju to lie on, and a bit of board at the side bearing in white +letters the inscription: "A. Brightly. Purveyor of rabbit-skins"; and a +lamp to be lighted after dark, and a plank for himself to sit on, and a +box behind containing the red and yellow vases. All this splendour to be +drawn by a little shaggy pony. What a great man he would be in those +days! Starting forth in the morning would be a pleasure and not a pain. +Frequently Brightly babbled of his hypothetical cart. He felt sure it +must come some day, and so he had begun to prepare for it. He had +secured the plank upon which he was to sit and guide the pony, and every +autumn he cut some fern to put at the bottom of the cart should it +arrive suddenly. The plank he had picked up, and the fern had been cut +upon the moor. He had clearly no right to them. The plank had probably +slipped out of a granite cart, and the fern belonged to the commoners. +There was plenty of it for every one, but, as the commoners would have +argued, that was not the point. They had a right to cut the fern, and +people like Brightly have no right to anything, except a cheap funeral. +Brightly had no business to wander about the moor, which was never made +for him, or to kick his boots to pieces against good Duchy of Cornwall +granite. All the commoners cheated the Duchy of Cornwall, while they +loyally cheered the name of the Duke. They took his granite and +skilfully evaded payment of the royalty, and prayed each Sunday in their +chapels for grace to continue in honesty; but the fact of their being +commoners, some of them having the privilege of the newtake, and others +not having the privilege but taking it all the same, made all the +difference. They had to assert themselves. When it came to a question of +a few extra shillings in the money-box, or even of a few extra pence, +minor matters, such as petty tyrannical ordinances of law and Church, +could take their seats in a back corner and "bide there." Brightly had +no privileges. He had to obey every one. He was only a worm which any +one was at perfect liberty to slice in half with a spade. + +Brightly had a home. The river saw to that; not the Tavy, but the less +romantic Taw. Brightly belonged to the Torridge and Taw branch of the +family. On the Western side of Cawsand are many gorges in the great +cleave cut by the Taw between Belstone and Sticklepath. There narrow and +deep clefts have been made by the persistent water draining down to the +Taw from the bogs above. In the largest of these clefts Brightly was at +home. The sides were completely hidden by willow-scrub, immense ferns, +and clumps of whortleberries, as well as by overhanging masses of +granite. The water could be heard dripping below like a chime of fairy +bells. In winter the cleft appeared a white cascade of falling water, +but Brightly's cave was fairly dry and quite sheltered. He was never +there by day, and at night nobody could see the smoke of his fire. He +had built up the entrance with shaped stones taken from the +long-abandoned cots beside the old copper-mines below. The cleft was +full of copper, which stained the water a delightful shade of green. +Brightly had furnished his home with those things which others had +thrown away. He had long ago solved the difficulty of cooking with a +perforated frying-pan, and of turning to practical uses a kettle with a +bottom like a sieve. + +Brightly reached the moor gate. On the other side was the long +straggling village of St. Mary Tavy. Beside the gate was a heap of +refuse. Brightly seated himself upon it, because he thought it was the +proper place for him. + +"I be cruel hungry, Ju," explained Brightly. + +"So be I," said the dog's tail. + +"Fair worn to bits tu," went on Brightly. + +"Same here," said the tail. + +"Wait till us has the cart," said Brightly cheerily, placing the +rabbit-skins upon the dirt beside him. "Us won't be worn to bits then. +Us will du dree times the business, and have a cottage and potato-patch, +and us will have bread and cheese two times a day and barrel o' cider in +the linny. Us will have fat bacon on Sundays tu." + +Brightly did not know that ambition is an evil thing. It was ridiculous +for him to aspire to a cottage and potato-patch, and bread and cheese +three times a day. Kindly souls had created stately mansions for such as +he. There was one at Tavistock and another in Okehampton; beautiful +buildings equipped with all modern conveniences where he could live in +comfort, and not worry his head about rabbit-skins, or about Ju, or +about such follies as liberty and independence, or about such +unnecessary aids to existence as the moorland wind, his river Taw, the +golden blossoms of the gorse, the moonlight upon the rocks, and the +sweet scent of heather. Brightly was an unreasonable creature to work +and starve when a large stone mansion was waiting for him. + +"Us ha' come a cruel long way, Ju," said the little man, descending from +his dream. "Only two rabbit-skins. Business be cruel bad. Us mun get on. +This be an awkward village to work. It be all scattery about like." + +Brightly rose with some alacrity. The moor gate rattled. The hand of the +village constable was upon it, and the eyes of that official, who was to +Brightly, at least, a far more considerable person than the Lord Chief +Justice, were regarding the vagabond with a suspicion which was +perfectly natural considering their respective positions. + +"Good-evening, sir," said Brightly with deep humility. The policeman was +not called upon to answer such things as Brightly. He condescended, +however, to observe in the severe tones which his uniform demanded: +"Best be moving on, hadn't ye?" + +Brightly agreed that it was advisable. He was well aware he had no right +to be sitting upon the heap of refuse. He had probably damaged it In +some way. The policeman had his bicycle with him, as he was on his way +to Lydford. Brightly stood in a reverential attitude, held the gate +open, and touched his cap as the great man rolled by. The constable +accepted the service, without thanks, and looked back until the little +wanderer was out of sight. Such creatures could be turned to profitable +uses after all. They could be made to supply industrious village +constables with opportunities for promotion. They could be arrested and +charged with house-breaking, rick-burning, or swaling out of season; if +such charges could not be supported, they could be summoned for keeping +a dog without a licence. The policeman made a note of Brightly, as +business was not very flourishing just then. There was the usual amount +of illegality being practised by the commoners; but the village +constable had nothing to do with that. Commoners are influential folk. A +man could not meddle with them and retain his popularity. The policeman +had to be polite to his social superiors, and salute the elders of +Ebenezer with a bowed head, and wink violently when it was incumbent +upon him so to do. + +Dartmoor has no reason to be proud of St. Mary Tavy, as it is quite the +dreariest-looking village upon the moor. Even the river seems to be +rather ashamed of it, and turns away as if from a poor relation. St. +Peter, over the way, is much more cheerful. They were well-to-do once, +these two. They were not only saints, but wealthy, in the good days when +the wheals were working and the green stain of copper was upon +everything. Now they have come down in the world. The old gentleman lets +lodgings, and the old lady takes in washing. They have put away their +halos, dropped their saintly prefix, and it is exceedingly improbable +that they will ever want them again. They always found it hard work to +live up to their reputations; not that they tried very much; but now +they are both easy and comfortable as plain everyday folk, neither +better nor worse than their neighbours Brentor and Lydford. Peter is a +fine, rugged old gentleman; but Mary is decidedly plain with age. There +is nothing tender or pleasant about her. She is shamelessly naked; +without trees or bushes, and the wheal-scarred moor around is as bald as +an apple. The wind comes across her head with the blast of ten thousand +bagpipes; and when it rains upon St. Mary--it rains! + +Brightly knew all about that rain. He had often played the Seal upon +that wild road, and had felt the water trickling down his back and +making reservoirs of his boots; while people would stand at their +windows and laugh at him. Nobody had ever asked him to come in and take +shelter. Such an idea would never have occurred to them. Ponies and +bullocks were out upon the moor in all weathers, and every winter some +died from exposure. Brightly was nothing like so valuable as a pony or +bullock, and if he were to die of exposure nobody would be out of +pocket. + +Brightly went from cottage to cottage, but there were no rabbit-skins +that day. There seemed to be a rabbit famine just then. Lamps were +lighted in windows here and there. When the doors were opened Brightly +felt the warmth of the room, smelt the glowing peat and the fragrant +teapot, and sometimes saw preparations for a meal. What a wonderful +thing it must be, he thought, to have a room of one's own; a hearth, and +a mantelpiece holding china dogs, cows with purple spots, and +photographs of relations in the Army; a table covered with rare and +precious things, such as waxen fruit beneath a dome of glass, woollen +mats, and shells from foreign lands; a clock in full working order; a +dresser stocked with red and green crockery; and upon the walls +priceless oleographs framed in blue ribbon, designed and printed in +Austria, and depicting their Royal Highnesses the Duke and Duchess of +Cornwall, simpering approvingly at a scarlet Abraham in the act of +despatching a yellow Isaac with a bright-blue scimitar. Brightly sighed +as each door was closed upon him, and each smoky little paradise +disappeared. He was having a run of bad luck. Ju knew all about it. She +put what was left of her tail between her legs and shivered. No doubt +she wished she had been born into the world a genuine dog, and not a +mongrel; just as Brightly sometimes wished he had been born a real human +being, and not a poor thing which dealt in rabbit-skins. + +He reached the top of the village. The road heaved above him, and then +came the bare upland. He could do no more that evening. There was no +food, or fire, or shelter for him. He knew of a barn in which he could +sleep at Brentor, but it was too late to go back there. Darkness was +coming on. Brightly did not require to feel in his pocket to discover +the state of his finances. He knew he had just twopence. + +There was a gate beside him, and on the other side a row of very small +whitewashed cottages one room high, which had been built for miners in +the days when Mary Tavy had been a saint and prosperous; they were then +occupied by assorted families. Brightly stumbled through and knocked at +the door of the first. It was opened by a young woman nursing a baby; +another was hanging to her skirts; a third sprawled under the table; +there was a baby in a cradle, another wrapped upon a chair. It appeared +to be a congress of babies. The place was crawling with them. It was a +regular baby-warren. They had been turned out wholesale. Even Brightly +felt he had come to the wrong place, as he asked the extraordinarily +fertile female if she would give him a cup of tea and piece of bread for +one penny. + +The answer was in the negative. The woman was inclined to be hysterical, +which was not surprising considering her surroundings. She was alone in +the house, if she could be called alone when it was hardly possible to +step across the floor for babies which were lying about like bees under +a lime-tree. Brightly was known as a vagabond. He looked quite the sort +of man who would murder her and all the children. She told him to go +away, and when he did not move, because he had not heard, she began to +scream. + +"I'll send for policeman if ye don't go. You'm a bad man. Us knows ye. +Coming here to scare me, just as I be going to have a baby tu. 'Twill be +cross-eyed, poor dear, wi' yew overlooking me. Get along wi' yew, or +I'll call neighbours." + +Brightly begged her pardon in his soft voice and went. He knew it was no +use trying the other cottages. The woman with the army of children would +only follow from door to door, and describe how he had insulted her. He +made his way to the top of the village and sat upon the hedge. Ju +crouched beside him and licked his boots. It was a fine evening, only +they were too hungry to appreciate it properly. + +"Us mun get food, or us wun't tramp far in the morning," said Brightly. +"This wind du seem to mak' a stomach feel cruel empty." + +"Makes a dog's stomach empty too, father," said the eloquent tail of Ju. + +"Us will go to the shop, and get what us can for a penny. Mun keep one +penny for to-morrow," said Brightly. + +He turned his dim eyes towards the road. A horse was trotting up the +long hill, and presently he saw it; a big ugly grey with a shaggy coat. +Brightly knew who it was approaching him, and had there been time he +would have hidden, because he was afraid of the man who rode. "It be +Varmer Pendoggat," he whispered. "Don't ye growl, Ju." + +Possibly the rider would have passed without a word, but the grey horse +saw the creatures upon the hedge and shied, crushing the rider's leg +against one of the posts opposite. This was unfortunate for Brightly, as +it was clearly his fault. Quaint objects with big spectacles and +rabbit-skins have no business to sit upon a hedge in the twilight. He +had frightened the horse, just as he had frightened the woman with a +family. The horse had hurt his master, and Pendoggat was not the sort of +man to suffer patiently. + +There is a certain language which must not be described. It may be heard +to perfection in the cheap enclosures at race-meetings, in certain +places licensed to sell beer, at rabbit-shoots, and in other places +where men of narrow foreheads come together and seem to revert to a type +of being which puzzles the scientist, because there is nothing else in +the entire animal world quite like it. Pendoggat made use of that +language. He had a low forehead, a scowling face, small eyes, which +looked anywhere except at the object addressed, bushy black moustache, +and high cheek-bones. He never laughed, but when he was angry he +grinned, and spittle ran down his chin. He was a strong man; it was said +he could pick up a sack of flour with one hand. He could have taken +Brightly and broken him up like a rotten stick. Most people were +respectful to Pendoggat. The village constable would have retired on a +pension rather than offend him. + +"I be sorry, sir. I be cruel sorry," muttered poor shivering Brightly. +"I did bide still, sir, and I told the dog to bide still tu. I hopes you +hain't hurt, sir. Don't ye be hard on I, sir. Us have had a bad day, and +us be hungry, sir." + +Pendoggat replied with more of the same language. He tried to destroy Ju +with his thick ground-ash, but the wise cur escaped. Then he sidled the +horse towards the hedge, and crushed Brightly against its stones. He saw +nothing pathetic in the poor thin creature's quivering face and +half-blind eyes; but he obtained some enjoyment out of the piping cry +for mercy. Brightly thought he was going to be killed, and though he +didn't mind that much, he did not want to be tortured. + +"Don't ye, sir. Don't ye hurt I," he cried. "I didn't mean it, sir. I +was biding quiet. You'm hurting I cruel, sir. I'll give ye two vases, +sir, purty vases, if yew lets I go." + +Pendoggat struck his horse, and the animal started back. Brightly +reached his raw hand up the hedge and lifted his basket tenderly. It was +like losing flesh and blood to part with his vases, but freedom from +persecution was worth any ransom. He removed the oil-cloth. What was +left of the light softened the hideous ware and made the crude colouring +endurable. + +"Tak' two, sir," said Brightly piteously. "Them's the best, sir." + +"Give me up the basket," Pendoggat muttered. + +The shivering little man lifted it. Pendoggat snatched at the handle, +pulled out a vase, and flung it against the stone hedge. There was a +sharp sound, and then the road became spotted with red and yellow +fragments. + +This was something which Brightly could hardly understand. It was too +raw and crude. He stood in the road, with his hands swaying like two +pendulums against his thin legs, and wondered why the world had been +made and what was the object of it all. There was another crash, and a +second shower of red and yellow fragments. Pendoggat had selected his +pair of vases, and he was also enjoying himself. He looked up and down, +saw there was no one in sight; Dartmoor is a wild and lawless place, and +nobody could dictate to him. He was a commoner; master of the rivers and +the granite. Brightly said nothing. He lifted a red hand for his basket, +which contained what was left of his capital, but Pendoggat only struck +the clumsy fingers with his ground-ash. It was darker, but a wild gleam +was showing over what had been Gubbings Land. The moon was coming up +that way. + +"I'll learn ye to scare my horse," growled Pendoggat. "I saw you shake +your hand at him. I heard you setting on the dog. If I was to give you +what you deserve, I'd--" He lifted his arm, and there was another crash, +and more flesh and blood were wasted. + +"Don't ye, sir," cried Brightly bitterly. "It be ruin, sir. I tored they +once avore, and 'twas nigh a month 'vore I could start again. I works +hard, sir, and I du try, but I've got this asthma, sir, and rheumatism, +and I can't properly see, master. I've been in hospital to Plymouth, +sir, but they ses I would never properly see. 'Tis hard to start again, +master, and I ain't got friends. Don't ye tear any more, master. I'll +never get right again." + +Pendoggat went on smashing the vases. There were not many of them, not +nearly enough to satisfy him. The last was shattered, and he flung the +basket at Brightly, hitting him on the head, but fortunately not +breaking his spectacles. Brightly wanted to be alone; to crawl into the +bracken with Ju, and think about many things; only Pendoggat would not +let him go. + +"Hand up those rabbit-skins," he shouted. He was growing excited. +Smashing the vases had put passion into him. + +"I've tramped ten miles for they, master. Sourton to Lydford, and +Lydford to Brentor, and Brentor to Mary Tavy. Times be very bad, sir. +Ten miles for two rabbit-skins, master." + +"Hand them up, or I'll break your head." + +Brightly had to obey. Pendoggat flung the skins across the saddle and +grinned. He passed his sleeve across his lips, then put out his arm, +seized Brightly by the scarf round his neck, and dragged him near. "If I +was to give ye one or two across the head, 'twould learn ye not to scare +horses," he said. + +Brightly shivered a little more, and lifted his wizened face. + +"Got any money? Tell me the truth, or I'll pull the rags off ye." + +"Duppence, master. 'Tis all I has now you'm torn the cloam and got my +rabbit-skins. If it warn't for the duppence I don't know what me and Ju +would du." + +"Hand it over," said Pendoggat. + +"I can't, master. I can't," whispered Brightly, gulping like a dying +fish. + +"Hand it over, or I'll strangle ye." Then in a fit of passion he dragged +Brightly right across the saddle and tore his pocket open. The two +copper coins fell into his hand. He dropped Brightly upon the red and +yellow fragments, which cut his raw hands, then hit his horse, and rode +on triumphing. He had punished the miserable little dealer in rubbish; +and he fancied Brightly would not venture to frighten his horse again. + +Pendoggat rode up to the high moor and felt the wind. He was about to +strike his horse into a canter, when a spectre started out of the gloom, +a wizened face reached his knee, an agonised voice cried: "Give I back +my duppence, master. Give I back my duppence." + +Pendoggat shivered. He did not enjoy the sound of that voice, or the +sight of that face. He thought of death when he saw that face. Brightly +was only one of the mean things of the earth, and mean things make a +fuss about trifles. That face and that voice all over the loss of +twopence! Probably the wretched thing was mad. Honest men are often +frightened when they see lunatics. + +"Us be cruel hungry, master. Us have eaten nought all day. Us have lost +our cloam and our rabbit-skins. Give I back my duppence, master. I'll +work for ye to-morrow." + +Pendoggat hit his horse, and the animal cantered away, and the spectre +troubled him no longer. He wiped his chin again and felt satisfied. He +had made a poor creature suffer. There was a certain amount of crude +pleasure in that thought. But why had that face and voice suggested +death, the death of a man who has used his power to deprive a poor +wretch of his vineyard? Pendoggat flung the rabbit-skins into the gaping +pit of a mine-shaft and cantered on. He was a free man; he was a +commoner; the rivers and the rocks were his. + +Brightly stumbled back to the hedge to reclaim his empty basket. He +talked to Ju for a little, and tried to understand things, but couldn't. +He would have to start all over again. He discovered a turnip, which had +probably rolled out of a cart and was therefore any one's property, and +he filled his stomach with that. Ju raked a bone bearing a few sinews +out of a rubbish-heap. So they might have done worse. + +At the top of the village was an old cow-barn. Above was a loft +containing a little dry fern. Brightly and Ju lodged there. It was quite +away from other buildings, standing well out upon the moor, therefore +nobody heard a queer piping voice, singing and feasting on the quaint +doggerel far into the night-- + + "Jerusalem the golden, + Wi' milk and honey blest... + + + + +CHAPTER III + +ABOUT PASTOR AND MASTER + + +Unpleasant creatures are so plentiful in the world that they cannot be +overlooked. Were there only a few they might be ignored; but they +throng, they thrust themselves forward, they shout to attract attention, +they push the decent-looking out of the way. The ugliest women make the +most noise; the ugliest men shove to the front in a crowd; the ugliest +insects make their way into bed-chambers. Why Nature made so much +ugliness, side by side with so much that is beautiful, only Nature +knows. Some countries are made detestable to live in by the presence of +hideous creatures. There is the fire-ant of the Amazon valley, which +will put human beings to flight. There is the Mygale spider, covered +with poisonous red hair, its body the size of a duck's egg, the spread +of its legs covering eight inches, which scuttles into a room by +moonlight and casts a horrible shadow upon the bed. There is the +wolf-spider which, if a man passes near its lair, will leap out and +pursue him, and bite him if it can. There are so many of these repulsive +things that they cannot be disregarded. Some things can be kept out of +the way: abattoirs, operating-theatres, vivisection-hells. People ignore +and forget these, because they are not seen; but the man wolf-spider +cannot be forgotten, because he leaps out and pursues those that come +near his lurking-place. + +Nothing in the entire system of creation can be more inexplicable than +the persistent cruelty of Nature. Death there must be, but Nature +resents a painless death. Animals not only kill but torture those which +are inferior to them. Mason-wasps deliberately vivisect spiders, which +are insects extremely tenacious of life. It is the same all the way +along the scale up to and including man. Nature does her work with +bloody hands; birth, life, death, become a miserable dabble of blood and +passion. Some people shut their eyes to it all; others cannot; others +add to it; churches with their tolling bells and black masses revel in +the mystic side of it. + +There is not a person living who has not done an act of cruelty. It is +impossible to refrain from it. However kindly the soul may be Nature +will whisper bloody messages; and some day there is sure to be a +temporary breakdown. In a town the wretched business is not much seen. +It lurks in the dark corners, like the Mygale spider, and comes out +perhaps at moonlight to cast its shadow upon the bed. On the sparsely +inhabited moor it is visible, for it cannot hide away so easily, and it +tries less because it is fiercer. It is like the wolf-spider which +dashes out in a mad fury. Upon a wild upland passions are fiercer, just +as physical strength is greater. Everything seems to suggest the dark +end of the scale; the rain is more furious, the clouds are blacker, the +wind is mightier, the rivers are colder; Nature is at full strength. She +is wild and lawless, and men are often wild and lawless too. Tender +lilies would not live upon the moor, and it is no use looking for them. +They are down in the valleys. Upon the moor there is the granite, the +spiny gorse, the rugged heather. It is no use looking for the qualities +of the lily in those men who are made of the granite, and gorse, and +heather. + +Pendoggat was the sort of man who might have melted into tears at +hearing a violin played, and then have kicked the performer down a wheal +if he asked for a copper. Nature turns out a lot of contradictory work +like that. She never troubles to fit the joints together. Had any one +told Pendoggat he was a cruel man, he would first of all have stunned +the speaker into silence, and then have wondered whatever the man had +been driving at. It is a peculiarity of cruelty that it does not +comprehend cruelty. No argument will persuade a rabbit-trapper that the +wretched animals suffer in the iron jaws of his traps. The man who skins +an eel alive, and curses it because it won't keep still, cannot be +brought to understand that he is doing anything inhuman. Perhaps he will +admit he had never given the subject a thought; more probably he will +regard the apostle of mercy as a madman. The only way to enlighten such +men is to skin them alive, or compel them to tear themselves to death in +an iron trap; and there are, unfortunately, laws to prevent that. The +only just law ever made was the _lex talionis_, and Nature recognises +that frequently. Pendoggat trapped rabbits in his fields, and if they +were not dead when he found them he left them as a rule. The traps were +supposed to kill them in time, and the longer they were in dying the +longer their flesh would keep. That was the way he looked at it. Quite a +practical way. + +Very likely Pendoggat was of Spanish extraction in spite of his Cornish +name. The average Cornishman has a thoroughly good heart, and is, if he +be of the true stock, invariably fair. The Cornish man or maid who is +dark owes something to foreign blood. There are in Cornwall many men and +women so strikingly dark as to attract attention at once; and if their +ancestry could be traced back a couple of hundred years it might be +found that a Spanish name occurred. While the stout men of Devon were +chasing the Armada up channel and plucking the Admiral's feathers one by +one, and the patriotic Manacles were doing Cornwall's share by giving +the big galleons a hearty welcome, many a shipwrecked sailor found his +way into the cottages of fishermen and wreckers, and with the aid of a +pocketful of gold pieces made themselves at home. Some possibly were +able to return to Spain; others probably seduced their protectors' young +women; others were lawfully wedded; others settled down in their new +land and took a Cornish name. It is a difficult piece of history to +trace, and much must remain pure hypothesis; but it is fairly certain +that had there been no Spanish Armada to invade England, and to send +Queen Elizabeth to her writing-tablets to reel off a lot of badly-rhymed +doggerel in imitation of Master Spenser, there would also have been no +Farmer Pendoggat dwelling at Helmen Barton in the parish of Lydford and +sub-parish of St. Mary Tavy, as a commoner of Dartmoor and a tenant in +name of Elizabeth's descendant the Duke of Cornwall. + +There was nothing of a sinister nature about the Barton. Even its name +meant simply in its original Celtic the place of the high stone; _hel_ +being a corruption of _huhel_, and _men_ one of the various later forms +of _maen_; just as huhel twr, the high tor, has now become Hel Tor. +Wherever people have been given a chance of dragging in the devil and +his dwelling-place they have taken it; actuated, perhaps, by the same +motive which impelled the old dame to make a profound reverence whenever +the name of the ghostly enemy was mentioned, as she didn't know what +would be her fate in a future state, so thought it wise to try and +propitiate both sides. The Barton was a long low house of granite, damp +and ugly. No architect could make a house built of granite look +pleasant; no art could prevent the tough stone from sweating. It was +tiled, which made it look colder still. Creepers would not crawl up its +walls on account of the winds. One half of the Barton was crowded with +windows, the other half appeared to be a blank wall. A good many +farm-houses are built upon that plan, the stable and loft being a +continuation of the dwelling-house, and to all outward appearance a part +of it. There was not a tree near the place. The farm was in a fuzzy +hollow; above was a fuzzy down. It ought to have been called Furzeland, +a name which is borne by a tiny hamlet in mid-Devon, which nobody has +ever heard of, where the furze does not grow. The high stone which had +named the place--probably a menhir--had disappeared long ago. Some +former tenant would have broken it up and built it into a wall. The +commoners' creed is a simple one, and runs thus: "Sometimes I believe in +God who made Dartmoor. I cling to my privileges of mining, turbary, and +quarrying. I take whatever I can find on the moor, and give no man pay +or thanks. I reverence my landlord, and straighten his boundary walls +when he, isn't looking. The granite is mine, and the peat, and the +rivers, and the fish in them, and so are the cattle upon the hills, if +no other man can put forward a better claim. No foreign devil shall +share my privileges. If any man offers to scratch my back he must pay +vor't. Amen." + +It was fitting that a man like Pendoggat should live among the furze, +farm in the furze, fight with the furze. He resembled it in its +fierceness, its spitefulness, its tenacity of life; but not in its +beauty and fragrance. He brought forth no golden blossoms. There was no +thorn-protected fragrance in him. He was always struggling with the +furze, without realising that it must defeat him in the end. He burnt +it, but up it came in the spring. He grubbed it up, but portions of the +root escaped and sent forth new growth. He would reclaim a patch, but +directly he turned his back upon it to attack a fresh piece the furze +returned. To eradicate furze upon a moor was not one of the labours +allotted to Hercules. He would have found it worse than cutting off the +heads of the water-snake. Pendoggat had fought for twenty years, and the +enemy was still undefeated; he would die, and the gorse would go on; for +he was only a hardy annual, and the gorse is a perennial, as eternal as +the rivers and the granite. It bristled upon every side of the Barton, +the greater gorse as well as the lesser, and it was in flower all the +year round, as though boasting of its indomitable strength and vitality. +On the west side, where the moorland dipped and made an opening for the +winds from Tavy Cleave, a long narrow brake remained untouched to make a +shelter for the house. The gorse there was high and thick, and its ropy +stems were as big round as a man's wrist. Pendoggat would have +grievously assaulted any man who dared to fire that brake. + +People who talked scandal in the twin villages, namely, the entire +population, wondered whether Mrs. Pendoggat was really as respectable as +she looked. They decided against her, as they were not the sort of +people to give any one the benefit of a doubt. They were right, however, +for Annie Pendoggat had no claim to the latter part of her name. She was +really Annie Crocker, a degraded member of one of those three famous +families--Cruwys and Copplestone being the other two--who reached their +zenith before the Norman invasion. She had come to Pendoggat as +housekeeper, and could not get away from him; neither could he dismiss +her. She was a little woman, with a sharp face and a soft voice; much +too soft, people said. She could insult any one in a manner which +suggested that she loved them. She had been fond of her master in her +snake-like way. She still admired his brute strength, and what she +thought was his courage. He had never lifted up his hand against her; +and when he threatened to, she would remark in her soft way that the +long brake of gorse darkened the kitchen dreadfully, and she thought she +would go and set a match to it. That always brought Pendoggat to his +senses. + +It was a quiet life at the Barton. Pendoggat had no society, except that +of some minister whom he might bring back to dinner on Sundays. On that +day he attended chapel twice. He also went on Wednesday, when he +sometimes preached. His sermons were about a cruel God ruling the world +by cruelty, and preparing a state of cruelty for every one who didn't +attend chapel twice on Sundays and once during the week. He believed in +what he said. He also believed he was himself secure from such a +punishment; just as certain ignorant Catholics sincerely rely on the +power of a priest to forgive their sins. Pendoggat thought that he was +free to act as he pleased, so long as he didn't miss his attendances at +chapel. If he cheated a man, and missed chapel, his soul would be in +danger; but if he attended chapel the sin was automatically forgiven. It +was a strange form of theology, but not an uncommon one. Many excellent +people tend towards it. Pious old ladies will do all they can to induce +young men to attend church. It does not appear to trouble them much if +the young men read comic papers, wink at the girls, or slumber audibly, +while they are there. The great point has been gained. The young men are +in church; therefore they are religious. The young man who goes for a +walk to the top of the highest tor to watch the sunset is a vile +creature who will be damned some day. + +The Barton had its parlour, and Pendoggat practised the entire ritual +connected with that mysterious apartment. No Dartmoor farm-house would +have the slightest pretensions to be regarded as a civilised home +without the parlour. Its rites and ceremonies remain unwritten, and yet +every farmer knows them, and practises them with the precision of a +Catholic priest obeying his rubrics, or with the zeal of an Anglican +parson defying his. It must be the best room in the house, and it must +be kept locked and regarded as holy ground. The windows must not be +opened lest fresh air should enter, and equally dangerous sunlight must +be excluded by blinds and curtains and a high bank of moribund plants. +The furniture is permitted to vary, with the exception of a few +ornaments which must be found in every house as a mark of stability and +respectability. There must be a piano which cannot be used for purposes +of music, and a lamp which is not to be lighted. Whatever books the +house contains must be arranged in a manner pleasing to the householder, +and they must never be opened. There is a central table, and upon it +recline albums containing photographs of the family at different stages +of their careers, together with those of ancestors; and these +photographs have little value if they are not yellow and faded to denote +their antiquity. In the centre of the table must appear a strange +device; a stuffed bird in a glass case, a piece of coral on a mat, or +some recognised family heirloom. The pictures must be strongly coloured +and should have a religious accent. As Germany has achieved surprising +results in the matter of colour, the pictures are usually from that +fatherland. Ruined temples on the Nile are a favourite subject; only the +temples should resemble dilapidated barns, and the Nile bear a distinct +likeness to a duck pond. Upon the mantel must stand a clock which has +not gone within living memory, and some assorted crockery which if +viewed continuously in a strong light will bring on neuralgia. A copy of +a penny novelette, and a sheet of music-hall songs lying about, denote +literary and musical tastes; but these are unusual. There is generally a +family Bible, used to support a large shell, or a framed photograph of +the master in his prime of life; and this is opened from time to time to +record a birth, marriage, or death. The pattern of the wall-paper must +be decided and easily discernible; scarlet flowers on a yellow +background are always satisfactory. + +The ceremony of entering the parlour takes place usually on Sunday. +There is a Greater Entry and a Lesser Entry. The lesser takes place +after tea. The master in his best clothes, his face and hands washed, +although that point is not always insisted upon, carefully shaven, or +with well-groomed beard, as the case may be, his boots removed after the +manner of a Mussulman, enters the holy place, sits stiffly upon a chair +without daring to lean back lest he should disturb the antimacassar, +lights his pipe, and revels in the odour of respectability. He does not +really enjoy himself, but after a time he grows more confident and +ventures to cross his legs. From time to time he rises, goes out, walks +along the passage, and spits out of the front door. The greater entry +takes place after chapel. The entire family assemble by the light of the +kitchen lamp and say wicked things about their neighbours. Sometimes +guests are introduced, and these display independence in various ways, +chiefly by leaning back in their chairs and shuffling their boots on the +carpet. The ceremonies come to a close at an early hour; the members of +the family file out; father, leaving last, locks the door. The parlour +is closed for another week. + +Pendoggat's parlour was orthodox; only more cold and severe than most. +The wall-paper was stained with moisture, and the big open fire-place +always smoked. The master thought himself better than the neighbouring +commoners, and none of them were ever invited to enter his sanctuary. In +a way he was their superior. He could write a good hand, and read +anything, and he spoke better than his neighbours. It is curious that of +two commoners, educated and brought up in exactly the same way, one will +speak broad dialect and the other good English. There was naturally very +little society for Pendoggat. He lived in his own atmosphere as a +philosopher might have done. He encouraged his minister to visit him, +but he had a good reason for that. Weak-minded ministers are valuable +assets and good advertising agents; for, if their congregations do not +exactly trust them, they will at least follow them, which is more than +they will do for any one else. + +The sanctity of the parlour may be violated on weekdays; either upon the +occasion of some chapel festival, or when a visitor of higher rank than +a farmer calls. When Pendoggat reached the Barton he knew at once that +the place was haunted by a visiting body, because the blinds were up. +Annie Crocker met him in the yard, which in local parlance was known as +the court, and said: "The Maggot's waiting for ye in the parlour. Been +there nigh upon an hour. He'm singing Lighten our Darkness by now, I +reckon, vor't be getting whist in there, and he'm alone where I set 'en, +and told 'en to bide till you come along." + +"Given him no tea?" said Pendoggat, appearing to address the stones at +his feet rather than the woman. That was his usual way; nobody ever saw +Pendoggat's eyes. They saw only a black moustache, a scowl, and a moving +jaw. + +"No, nothing," said Annie. "No meat for maggots here. Let 'en go and eat +dirt. Bad enough to have 'en in the house. He'm as slimy as a slug." + +"Shut your noise, woman," said Pendoggat. "Take the horse in, and slip +his bridle off." + +"Tak' 'en in yourself, man," she snapped, turning towards the house. + +Pendoggat repeated his command in a gentler voice; and this time he was +obeyed. Annie led the horse away, and the master went in. + +The Reverend Eli Pezzack was the Maggot, so called because of his +singularly unhealthy complexion. Dartmoor folk have rich red or brown +faces--the hard weather sees to that--but Eli was not a son of the moor. +It was believed that he had originated in London of West-country +parents. He had none of the moorman's native sharpness. He was a tall, +clammy individual, with flabby hands dun and cold like mid-Devon clay; +and he was so clumsy that if he had entered a room containing only a +single article of furniture he would have been certain to fall against +it. He was no humbug, and tried to practise what he taught. He was +lamentably ignorant, but didn't know it, and he never employed a word of +one syllable when he could find anything longer. He admired and +respected Pendoggat, making the common mistake with ignorant men of +believing physical strength to be the same thing as moral strength. He +agreed with those grammarians who have maintained that the eighth letter +of the alphabet is superfluous. + +"Sorry to have kept ye sitting in the dark," said Pendoggat as he +entered the parlour. + +"The darkness has not been superlative, Mr. Pendoggat," said Eli, as he +stumbled over the best chair while trying to shake hands. "The lunar +radiance has trespassed pleasantly into the apartment and beguiled the +time of lingering with pleasant fancies." He had composed that sentence +during "the time of lingering," but knew he would not be able to +maintain that high standard when he was called on to speak extempore. + +"'The darkness is no darkness at all, but the night is as clear as the +day,'" quoted Pendoggat with considerable fervour, as he drew aside the +curtains to admit more moonlight. + +"True, Mr. Pendoggat," said Eli. "We know who uttered that sublime +contemplation." + +This was a rash statement, but was made with conviction, and accepted +apparently in the same spirit. + +"You know why I asked you to come along here. I'm going to build up your +fortune and mine," said Pendoggat. "Let us seek a blessing." + +Eli tumbled zealously over a leg of the table, gathered himself into a +kneeling posture, clasped his clay-like hands, and prayed aloud with +fervour and without aspirates for several minutes. When Pendoggat +considered that the blessing had been obtained he dammed up the flow of +words with a stertorous "Amen." Then they stood upon their feet and got +to business. + +"Seems there's no oil in this lamp," said the master, referring not to +the pastor, but to the lamp of state which was never used. + +"We do not require it, Mr. Pendoggat," came the answer. "We stand in +God's light, the moonlight. That is sufficient for two honest men to see +each other's faces by." + +Pendoggat ought to have winced, but did not, merely because he had so +little knowledge of himself. He didn't know he was a brute, just as +Peter and Mary did not know they were savages. Grandfather the clock +knew nearly as much about his internal organism as they did about +theirs. + +"I want money," said Pendoggat sharply. "The chapel wants money. You +want money. You're thinking of getting married?" + +Eli replied that celibacy was not one of those virtues which he felt +called upon to practise; and admitted that he had discovered a young +woman who was prepared to blend her soul indissolubly with his. The +expression was his own. He did not mention what he imagined would be the +result of that mixture. "More maggots," Annie Crocker would have said. +Annie had been brought up in the atmosphere of the Church, and for that +reason hated all pastors and people known as chapel-volk. Pendoggat was +the one exception with her; but then he was not an ordinary being. He +was a piece of brute strength, to be regarded, not so much as a man, but +as part of the moor, beaten by wind, and producing nothing but gorse, +which could only be burnt and stamped down; and still would live and +rise again with all its former strength and fierceness. Pastor Eli +Pezzack was the poor weed which the gorse smothers out of being. + +"Come outside," said Pendoggat. + +Eli picked up his hat, stumbled, and wondered. He did not venture to +disobey the master, because weak-minded creatures must always dance to +the tune piped by the strong. Pendoggat was already outside, tramping +heavily in the cold hall. Unwillingly Eli left the parlour, with its +half-visible memorials, its photographs, worthless curios, hair-stuffed +furniture and glaring pictures; blundering like a bee against a window +he followed; he heard Pendoggat clearing his throat and coughing in the +court. + +"Got a stick?" muttered the master. "Take this, then." He gave the +minister a long ash-pole. "We're going down Dartmoor. It's not far. Best +follow me, or you'll fall." + +Eli knew he was certain to fall in any case, so he protested mildly. "It +is dangerous among the rocks, Mr. Pendoggat." + +The other made no answer. He went into the stable, and came out with a +lantern, unlighted; then, with a curt "Come on," he began to skirt the +furze-brake, and Eli followed more like a patient sheep than a foolish +shepherd. + +There is nothing more romantic than a wide undulating region of high +moorland lighted by a full moon and beaten by strong wind. The light is +enough to show the hills and rock-piles. The wind creates an atmosphere +of perfect solitude. The two men came out of the dip; and the scene +about them was the high moor covered with moonlight and swept by wind. +Pendoggat's face looked almost black, and that of the Maggot was whiter +than ever by contrast. + +"Where are you taking me?" he asked gently. "Need we proceed at this +present 'igh velocity, Mr. Pendoggat? I am not used to it. I cannot be +certain of my equilibrium." + +The other stopped. Eli was deep in heather, floundering like a man +learning to swim. + +"You're an awkward walker, man. Lift your feet and plant 'em down firm. +You shuffle. Catch hold of my arm if you can't see. We're not going far. +Down the cleave--a matter of half-a-mile, but it's bad walking near the +river." + +Eli did not take the master's arm. He was too nervous. He struggled on, +tumbling about like a drunken man; but Pendoggat was walking slowly now +that they were well away from the Barton. + +"Sorry to bring you out so late," he said. "I meant to be home earlier, +and then we'd have got down the cleave by daylight." + +"But what are we going to inspect?" cried Eli. + +"Something that may make our fortunes. Something better than scratching +the back of the moor for a living. I'll make a big man of you, Pezzack, +if you do as I tell ye." + +"You are a wonderful man, and a generous man, Mr. Pendoggat," said Eli. +Then he plunged heavily into a gorse-bush. + +Pendoggat dragged him out grimly, almost crying with pain, with a +hundred little white bristles in his face and hands. He mentioned this +fact with suitable lamentations. + +"They'll work out. What's a few furze-prickles?" Pendoggat muttered. +"Get your hands hard, and you won't feel 'em. Mind, now! there's bog +here. Best keep close to me." + +Eli obeyed, but for all that he managed to step into the bog, and made +the ends of his clerical trousers objectionable. They reached the edge +of the cleave, and stopped while Pendoggat lighted his lantern. They had +to make their way across a wilderness of clatters. The moonlight was +deceptive and crossed with black shadows. The wind seemed to make the +boulders quiver. Eli looked upon the wild scene, heard the rushing of +the river, saw the rugged range of tors, and felt excited. He too felt +himself an inheritor of the kingdom of Tavy and a son of Dartmoor. He +was going to be wealthy perhaps; marry and rebuild his chapel; do many +things for the glory of God. He was quite in earnest, though he was a +simple soul. + +"I lift up mine eyes to the 'ills, Mr. Pendoggat," he said reverently. + +"Best keep 'em on your feet. If you fall here you'll smash your head." + +"When I contemplate this scene," went on Eli, with religious zeal +undiminished, "so full of wonder and mystery, Mr. Pendoggat, I repeat to +myself the inspired words of Scripture, 'Why 'op ye so, ye 'igh 'ills?'" + +Pendoggat agreed gruffly that the quotation was full of mystery, and it +was not for them to inquire into its meaning. + +Somehow they reached the bottom of the cleave, Eli shambling and sliding +down the rocks, tumbling continually. Pendoggat observed his inartistic +scramblings with as much amusement as he was capable of feeling, +muttering to himself, "He'd trip over a blade o' grass." + +They came to an old wall overgrown with fern and brambles; just below it +was the mossy ruin of a cot, the fire-place still showing, the remains +of the wall a yard in width. They were among works concerning which +history is hazy. They were in a place where the old miners wrought the +tin, and among the ruins of their industry. Perhaps a rich mine was +there once. Possibly it was the secret of that place which was guarded +so well by the Carthaginian captain, who sacrificed his tin-laden galley +to avoid capture by Roman coastguards. The history of the search for +"white metal" upon Dartmoor has yet to be learnt. They went cautiously +round the ruin, and upon the other side Eli dived across the bleached +skeleton of a pony and became mixed up in dry bones. + +A deep cleft appeared overhung with gorse and willows. Eli would have +dived again had not Pendoggat been holding him. They clambered across, +then made their way along a shelf of rock between the cliff and the +river. Beyond, Pendoggat parted the bushes, and directed the light of +his lantern towards what appeared to be a narrow gully, black and +unpleasant, and musical with dripping water. + +"Go on," he said curtly. + +The minister held back. He was not a brave man, and that black hole in +the side of the moor conjured up horrors. + +"Take my hand, and let yourself down. There's water, but not more than a +foot," said Pendoggat. + +He pushed Eli forward, then caught his collar, and lowered him like a +sack. The minister shuddered when he felt the icy water round his legs +and the clammy ferns closing about his head. Pendoggat followed. They +were in a narrow channel leading towards a low cave. Frogs splashed in +front of them. Small streams trickled down a hundred tiny clefts. + +"This is a very disagreeable situation, Mr. Pendoggat," said Eli meekly. + +"Come on," said the other gruffly. "I'll show you something to open your +eyes. Step low." + +They splashed on, bent under the arch of the cave, and entered the womb +of the moor. Hundreds of feet of solid granite roofed them in. They were +out of the wind and moonlight. Pendoggat guided the minister in front of +him, keeping him close to the wall of rock to avoid the deep water in +the centre. About twenty paces from the entry was a shaft cut at right +angles. They went along it until they had to stoop again. + +"Be'old, Mr. Pendoggat!" cried Eli, with amazed admiration. "Be'old the +colours! I have never seen anything so beautiful in my life. What is it? +Jewels, Mr. Pendoggat? You don't say they are jewels?" + +"Pretty, ain't they? More than pretty too. Now you know what I've +brought you for," said Pendoggat, as he turned up the light to increase +the splendour of the wall. + +It was a pretty sight for a child, or any other simple creature. The +side wall at the end of the shaft was streaked and veined with a +brilliant purple and green pattern. These colours were caused by the +iron in the rocks acting upon the slate, which was there abundant. +Pendoggat knew that well enough. He knew also that the sight would +impress the minister. He lifted the lantern, pointed to a streak of pale +blue which ran down the rock from the roof to the water, and said +gruffly: "You can see for yourself. That's the stuff." + +"What is it?" whispered the excited pastor. + +"Nickel. The rock's full of it." + +"But don't they know? Does anybody know of it?" + +"Only you and me," said Pendoggat. + +"Why have you told me? You are a very generous man, but why do you let +me into the secret?" + +"Come outside," said Pendoggat. + +They went out. Not a word was spoken until they reached the side of the +cleave. Then Pendoggat turned upon the minister, holding his arm and +shaking it violently as he said: "I've chosen you as my partner. I can +trust you. Will you stand in with me, share the risks, and share the +profits? Answer now, and let's have done with it." + +"I must go home and pray over it, Mr. Pendoggat," cried the excited and +shivering Eli. "I must seek for guidance. I do not know if it is right +for me to seek after wealth. But for the chapel's sake, for my future +wife's sake, for the sake of my unborn infants--" + +"Yes or no," broke in Pendoggat. "We'll finish it before we move." + +"What can I do?" said Eli, clasping his clay-like hands. "I know nothing +of these things. I don't know anything about nickel, except that I have +some spoons and forks--" + +"Don't you see we must get money to work it? You can manage that. You +have several congregations. You can persuade them to invest. My name +must be kept out of it. The commoners don't like me. I'll do everything +else. You can leave the business in my hands. Your part will be to get +the money--and you take half profits." + +"I will think over it, Mr. Pendoggat. I will think and pray." + +"Make up your mind now, or I get another partner." + +Pendoggat lifted the glass of the lantern and blew out the light. + +"Have we the right to work a mine upon the moor?" + +"Leave all that to me. You get the money. Tell 'em we will guarantee ten +per cent. Likely it will be more. It's as safe a thing as was ever +known, and it is the chance of your lifetime. Here's my hand." + +Eli took the hand, and had the gorse-prickles forced well into his. + +"I'll do my best, Mr. Pendoggat. I know you are an honest and a generous +man," he said. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +ABOUT BEETLES + + +There was a whitewashed cottage called Lewside beside the moorland road, +and at a window which commanded a view of that road sat a girl with what +appeared to be a glory round her face--it was nothing but soft red +hair--a girl of seventeen, called Boodles, or anything else sufficiently +idiotic; and this girl was learning doggerel and singing-- + + "'The West wind always brings wet weather, + The East wind wet and cold together; + The South wind surely brings us rain, + The North wind blows it back again.' + +"And that means it's always raining, which is a lie. And as I'm saying +it I'm a liar," laughed Boodles. + +It was raining then. Only a Dartmoor shower; the sort of downright rain +which makes holes in granite and plays Wagner-like music upon roofs of +corrugated iron. + +"There's a bunny. Let me see. That's two buns, one man and a boy, a cart +and two horses, three wild ponies, and two jolly little sheep with horns +and black faces--all been along the road this afternoon," said Boodles. +"Now the next verse-- + + 'If the sun in red should set. + The next day surely will be wet; + If the sun should set in grey. + The next will be a rainy day.' + +"That's all. We can't go on lying for ever. I wish," said Boodles, "I +wish I hadn't got so many freckles on my nose, and I wish my hair wasn't +red, and thirdly and lastly, I wish--I wish my teeth weren't going to +ache next week. I know they will, because I've been eating jam pudding, +and they always ache after jam pudding; three days after, always three +days--the beasts! Now what shall I sing about? Why can't people invent +something for small girls to do upon a rainy day? I wish a battle was +being fought on the moor. It would be fun. I could sit here and watch +all day; and I would cut off bits of my hair and throw them to the +victorious generals. What a sell for me if they wouldn't pick them up! I +expect they would, though, for father says I'm a boodle girl, and that +means beautiful, though it's not true, and I wish it was. Another lie +and another wish! And when I'm dressed nicely I am boodle-oodle, and +that means more beautiful. And when the sun is shining on my hair I am +boodle-oodliest, and that means very beautiful. I suppose it's rather +nonsense, but it's the way we live here. We may be silly so long as we +are good. The next song shall be patriotic. We will bang a drum and wave +a flag; and sing with a good courage-- + + 'It was the way of good Queen Bess, + Who ruled as well as mortal can, + When she was stugged, and the country in a mess, + She would send for a Devon man.' + +"Well now, that's the truth. Miss Boodles. The principal county in +England is Devonshire, and the principal town is Tavistock, and the +principal river is the Tavy, and the principal rain is upon Dartmoor, +and the principal girl has red hair and freckles on her nose, and she's +only seventeen. And the dearest old man in Devon is just coming along +the passage, and now he's at the door, and here he is. Father," she +laughed, "why do people ask idiotic questions, like I'm doing now?" + +"Because they are the easiest," said Abel Cain Weevil, in his gentle +manner and bleat-like voice. + +"I was sitting here one day, and Mary Tavy came along," went on Boodles. +"She said: 'Aw, my dear, be ye sot by the window?' And I said: 'No, +Mary, I'm standing on my head.' She looked so frightened. The poor thing +thought I was mad." + +"Boodles, you're a wicked maid," said Weevil fondly. "You make fun of +everything. Some day you will get your ears pulled." + + +The two were not related, except by affection, although they passed as +father and daughter. Boodles had come from the pixies. She had been left +one night in the porch of Lewside Cottage, wrapped up in a wisp of fern, +without clothing of any kind, and round her neck was a label inscribed: +"Take me in, or I shall be drowned to-morrow." Weevil had taken her in, +and when the baby smiled at him his eccentric old soul laughed back. He +entered into partnership at once with the baby-girl, and she had been a +blessing to him. He knew that she had been left in his porch as a last +resource; if he had not taken her in she would have been drowned the +next day. It was all very pretty to imagine that Boodles had come from +the pixies. The truth was nobody wanted her; the unmarried mother could +not keep the child, Weevil was believed to be a tender-hearted old fool, +so the baby was wrapped in fern and left in his porch; and the tenant of +Lewside Cottage lived up to his reputation. Boodles knew her history. +She sat at the cottage window every day, watching every one who passed; +and sometimes she would murmur: "I wonder if my mother went by to-day." +She had once or twice inserted an unpleasant adjective, but then she had +no cause to love her unknown parents. Much of her love was given to Abel +Cain Weevil; and all of it went out to some one else. + +The old man was one of those mysteries who crop up in desolate places. +Nobody knew where he came from, what he had been, or what he was doing +in the region watered by the Tavy. He was poor and harmless. He kept out +of every one's way. "Quite mad," said St. Peter. "An honest madman," +answered St. Mary. "He had at least the decency to recognise that child, +for of course she is his daughter." St. Peter had his doubts. He did not +like to think too highly of old Weevil. That was against his principles. +He suggested that Weevil intended to make some base use of the girl, and +St. Mary agreed. They could generally agree upon such matters. + +Weevil was quite right to keep out of the world. He was handicapped in +every way. There was his name to begin with. He had no objection to +Abel, but he saw no necessity in the redundant Cain. It had been given +him, however, and he could not escape from it. Every one called him Abel +Cain Weevil. The children shouted it after him. As for the name Weevil, +it was objectionable, but no worse than many another. It was not +improper like some surnames. + +"An insect, my dear," he explained to Boodles. "A dirty little beetle +which lives upon grain." + +"I'm a weevil too," said she. "So I'm a dirty little beetle." + +The old man wouldn't allow that. Boodles belonged to the angels, and he +told her so with foolish expressions; but she shook her glorious red +head at him and declared that beetles and angels had nothing in common. +She admitted, however, that she belonged to a delightful order of +beetles, and that on the whole she preferred chocolates to grain. The +silly old man reminded her that she belonged to the boodle-oodle order +of beetles, and so far she was the only specimen of that choice family +which had been discovered. + +A man is eccentric in this world if he does anything which his +neighbours cannot understand. He may go out in the garden and cut a +cabbage-leaf. That is a sane action. But if he spreads jam on the +cabbage-leaf, and eats the same publicly, he is called a madman. Nothing +is easier than to be thought eccentric. You have only to behave unlike +other people. Stand in the middle of a crowded street and gaze vacantly +into the air. Every one will call you eccentric at once, just because +you are gazing in the air and they are not. Weevil was mad because he +was unlike his neighbours. The adoption of Boodles was not a sane +action; even if she were his daughter it was equally insane to +acknowledge her with such shameless publicity. A sane person would have +allowed Boodles to share the fate of many illegitimate children. + +They were happy these two, papa Weevil and his Boodles. They had no +servant. The girl kept house and cooked. The old man washed up and +scrubbed. Boodles knew how to make, not only a shilling, but even the +necessary penny go all the way. She was a treasure, good enough for any +man; there were no dark spots upon her heart. If she had been made away +with one of the best little souls created would have gone back into +limbo. + +No storm disturbed Lewside Cottage, except Dartmoor gales, and as for +religion they were sun-worshippers; like most people who come out in +fine raiment and glory in the sun, and when it is wet hide indoors, talk +of the sun, think of the sun, long for the sun, until he appears and +they can hurry out to worship. The savage calls the sun his god in so +many words; and the human nature which is in the savage is in the +primitive folk of open and desolate places also; it is present in the +most civilised of beings, but only those who live on a high moor through +the winter know what a day of sunshine means. The sun has places +dedicated to him upon Dartmoor. There is Bel Tor and there is Belstone. +A tradition of the Phoenician occupation still exists, handed down from +the remote time when the sun was directly worshipped. The commoners +still believe that good luck will attend the man who shall see the +rising sun reflected on the rock-basin of Bellivor. An altar to the sun +stood once upon that lonely tor. Weevil worshipped the sun quietly. +Boodles offered incense with enthusiasm. She deserved her name when the +sun shone upon her radiant head and made a glory round it. When the +greater gorse was in flower, and Boodles walked through it hatless, +wearing her green frock, she might have been the spirit of the prickly +shrub; and like it her head was in bloom all the year round. + +"Have we got anything for supper, Boodle-oodle?" asked the silly old +male beetle. + +"Ees, lots," said the small golden one. + +It was not unpleasant to hear Boodles say "ees." She split the word up +and made a kind of anthem out of it. The first sound was very soft, a +mere whisper, and spoken with closed lips. The rest she sang, getting +higher as the final syllable was reached--there were more syllables in +the word than letters--then descending at the drawn-out sibilant, and +finishing in a whisper with closed lips. + +"Oh, I forgot," she cried. "No eggs!" + +They looked at each other with serious faces. In that simple household +small things were tragedies. There were no eggs. It was a matter for +serious reflection. + +"Butter?" queried the old man nervously. "Milk? Cheese? Bread?" + +"Heaps, piles, gallons. The kitchen is full of cheese, and you can't +move for bread, and the milk is running over and dripping upon +everything like a milky day," said penitent Boodles. "I have been saying +to myself: 'Eggs, eggs! Yolks, shells, whites--eggs!' I made puns that I +shouldn't forget. I egged myself on. I walked delicately, and said: 'I'm +treading on eggs.' I kept on scolding myself, and saying: 'Teach your +grandmother to suck eggs.' I reminded myself I mustn't put all my eggs +in one basket. Then I went and sat in the window, forgot all about them, +and now I'm a bad egg." + +"Boodles, what shall we do?" said the chief beetle. + +"I think you ought to torture me in some way," suggested the forgetful +one. "Drag me through the furze. Beat me with nettles. Torture would do +me a lot of good, I expect, only not too much, because I'm only a baby." + +That was her usual defence. Whatever happened she was only a baby. She +was never likely to grow up. + +"Don't jest. It is too serious. If I don't have two eggs for my supper I +shall have no sleep. I shall be ill to-morrow." + +"I'll give you two poached kisses," promised Boodles. + +"I cannot exist on spiritual food alone. I must have my eggs. Custom has +made it necessary." + +"I'll make you all sorts of nice things," she declared. + +But the eccentric old beetle could not be pacified. He had eggs upon the +mind. The produce of the domestic fowl had become an obsession. He +explained that if the house had been well stocked with eggs he might +have gone without. He would have known they were there to fall back upon +if desire should seize him during the silent watches of the night. But +the knowledge that the larder was destitute of eggs increased his +desire. He would have no peace until the deficiency was made good. + +"Well," said Boodles resignedly, "it's my fault, so I'll suffer for it. +I don't want to hear you screaming for eggs all night. I'll go and get +wet for your salvation. I expect Mary can let me have some." + +Weevil was himself again. He trotted off for the child's boots. He +always put her boots on, and took them off when she came in. Boodles was +a little sun-goddess, and as such she accepted adoration. It was part of +the tribute due to the sun-like head. When the boots were on--each ankle +having previously been worshipped as a part of the tribute--she assumed +a jacket, packed her hair under a fluffy green hat, stabbed it on four +times with long pins, picked up her walking-stick; and was off, Weevil +gazing after her adoringly until she passed out of sight. "There goes +the pride o' Devon," murmured the silly old man as the green hat +vanished. + +The sight of Boodles took the weather's breath away. It forgot to go on +raining; and the sun was so anxious to shine upon her hair that he +pushed the clouds off him, as a late slumberer tosses away his blankets, +and came out to work a little before evening. It became quite pleasant +as Boodles went beside Tavy Cleave. + +Peter was not visible, but Mary was. She was plodding about in her huge +boots with an eye upon her geese, especially upon the chief of the +flock. Old Sal, who, as usual, was anxious to seek pastures new. When +Boodles came up Mary smiled. She was very fond of the child. Boodles +seemed to have been made out of such entirely different materials from +the odds and ends which had gone towards her own construction. The +little girl's soft flesh was as unlike Mary's tough leather as the white +bark of the birch is unlike the rugged bark of the oak. + +"Well, Mary, how are you?" said Boodles. + +"I be purty fine, my dear, purty middling fine. Peter be purty fine tu. +And how be yew, my dear, and how be the old gentleman? Purty fine yew +be, I reckon." + +"We are splendid," said Boodles. "How is the old goose, Mary?" + +"Du'ye mean Old Sal, my dear? There he be trampesing 'bout Dartmoor as +though 'twas his'n. Aw, he be purty fine, sure 'nuff." + +"She must be very old," said Boodles. + +"Aw ees, he be old. He be a cruel old artful toad, my dear," said Mary. + +"How old is she?" + +"Well, my dear, he be older than yew. He be twenty-two come next +Michaelmas, I'm thinking." + +"You will never kill her?" said Boodles. "You couldn't, after having her +for so long. You won't kill her, will you, Mary?" + +"Goosies was made to kill. Us keeps 'en whiles they be useful, and then +us kills 'en," said Mary. + +"But twenty-two years old!" cried Boodles. "She would be much too tough +to eat." + +"Aw, my dear life," chuckled Mary. "He wouldn't be tough. I would kill +'en, and draw 'en, and rub a little salt in his belly, and hang 'en up +for a fortnight, and he would et butiful, my dear." + +Boodles laughed delightfully, and said she thought no amount of salt or +hanging, to say nothing of sage and onions, could ever make the +venerable Sal palatable. + +"Peter wun't let 'en be killed. Peter loves Old Sal," Mary went on. "He +laid sixteen eggs last year, and he'm the best mother on Dartmoor. Aw +ees, my dear. He be a cruel fine mother, and Peter ses he shan't die +till he've a mind to." + +Then Boodles got to business and asked Mary for eggs, not those of Old +Sal, but the produce of the hen-house. Mary said she would go and +search. As it was dirty in that region Boodles declined to go with her. +"Please to go inside. There be only Gran'vaither. Go and have a look at +'en, my dear," said Mary, who always referred to Grandfather as if he +had been a living soul. "Hit 'en in the belly, and make 'en strike at +ye." + +Boodles went into Hut Circle Number One, which was Peter's residence, +and stood in the presence of Grandfather. Obeying Mary's instructions, +she hit him "in the belly." The old sinner made weird noises when thus +disturbed. He appeared to resent the treatment, as most old gentlemen +would have done. He refused to strike, but he rattled himself, and +wheezed, and made sounds suggestive of expectoration. Grandfather was a +savage like Peter. He was a rough uneducated sort of clock, and he had +no passion for Boodles. Pendoggat would have been the man for him. +Grandfather would have shaken hands with Pendoggat had it been possible. +His own quivering hands were stretched across his lying face, announcing +quarter-past nine when it was really five o'clock. Grandfather was a +true man of Devon. He had no sense of time. + +Boodles had nothing but contertipt for the old fellow. Having assaulted +him she opened his case. Evidently Grandfather had been drinking. His +interior smelt strongly of cider. There were splashes of it everywhere; +rank cider distilled from the lees; in one spot moisture was pronounced, +suggesting that Grandfather had recently been indulging. Apparently he +liked his liquor strong. Grandfather was a picker-up of unconsidered +trifles also. He was full of pins; all kinds of pins, bent and straight. +Item, Grandfather had a little money of his own; several battered +coppers, some green coins which had no doubt been dug up outside, or +discovered upon the "deads" beside one of the neighbouring wheals, and +there was a real fourpenny-bit with a hole through it. Fastened to the +back of the case behind the pendulum was a scrap of sheepskin as hard as +wood, and upon it some hand had painfully drawn what appeared to be an +elementary exercise in geometry. Boodles frowned and wondered what it +all meant. + +"Here be the eggs, my dear. Twenty for a shillun to yew, and ten to a +foreigner," said Mary, standing in the door, making an apron out of her +ragged skirt, and blissfully unconscious that she was exposing the +sack-like bloomers which were her only underwear. + +"Twenty-one, Mary. There's always one thrown in for luck and me," +pleaded Boodles. + +"Aw ees. One for yew, my dear," Mary assented. + +That was the way Boodles got full value for her money. + +"My dear life! What have yew been a-doing of?" cried Mary with alarm, +when she noticed Grandfather's open case. "Aw, my dear, yew didn't ought +to meddle wi' he. Grandfather gets cruel tedious if he be meddled with." + +"I was only looking at his insides," said Boodles. "He's a regular old +rag-bag. What are all these things for--pins, coins, coppers? And he's +splashed all over with cider. No wonder he won't keep time." + +"Shet 'en up, my dear. Shet 'en up," said superstitious Mary. "Aw, my +dear, don't ye ever meddle wi' religion. If Peter was to see ye he'd be +took wi' shivers. Let Gran'vaither bide, du'ye. Ain't ye got a pin to +give 'en? My dear life, I'll fetch ye one. Gran'vaither got tedious wi' +volks wance, Peter ses, and killed mun; ees, my dear, killed mun dead as +door nails; ees, fie 'a did, killed mun stark." + +Boodles only laughed, like the wicked maid that she was. She couldn't be +bothered with the niceties of religion. + +Peter and Mary were only savages. According to their creed pixies dwelt +in Grandfather's bosom; and it was necessary to retain the good-will of +the little people, and render the sting of their possible malevolence +harmless, by presenting votive offerings and inscribing spells. The rank +cider had been provided for midnight orgies, and, lest the pixies should +become troublesome when under the influence of liquor, the charm upon +the sheepskin had been introduced, like a stringent police-notice, +compelling them to keep the peace. + +"It's all nonsense, you know," said Boodles, as she took the eggs, with +the sun flaming across her hair. "The pixies are all dead. I went to the +funeral of the last one." + +Mary shook her head. She did not jest on serious matters. The friendship +of the pixies was as much to her as the lack of eggs had been to Weevil. + +"Anyhow," went on wicked Boodles, "I should put rat-poison in there if +they worried me." + +"Us have been bit and scratched by 'em in bed," Mary declared. "Peter +and me have been bit cruel. Us could see the marks of their teeth." + +"Did you ever catch one?" asked Boodles tragically. + +"Catch mun! Aw, my dear life! Us can't catch mun." + +"You could, if you were quick--before they hopped," laughed Boodles. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +ABOUT THOMASINE + + +Thomasine sat in the kitchen of Town Rising, sewing. It was a dreary +place, and she was alone and surrounded with stone. The kitchen walls +were stone; so was the floor. The window looked out upon the court, and +that was paved with stone. Beyond was the barn wall, made of blocks of +cold granite. Above peeped the top of a tor, and that was granite too. +Damp stone everywhere. It was the Stone Age back again. And Thomasine, +buried among it all, was making herself a frivolous petticoat for +Tavistock Goose Fair. + +Among undistinguished young persons Thomasine was pre-eminent. She was +only Farmer Chegwidden's "help"; that is to say, general servant. +Undistinguished young persons will do anything that is menial under the +title of "help," which as a servant they would shrink from. To the lower +classes there is much in a name. Thomasine knew nothing. She was just a +work-a-day girl, eating her meals, sleeping; knowing there was something +called a character which for some inexplicable reason it was necessary +to keep; dreaming of a home of her own some day, but not having the +sense to realise that it would mean a probably drunken husband on a few +shillings a week, and a new gift from the gods to feed each year; +comprehending the delights of fairs, general holidays, and evenings out; +perceiving that it was pleasant to have her waist squeezed and her mouth +kissed; understanding also the charm in being courted in a ditch with +the temperature below freezing-point. That was nearly all Thomasine +knew. Plenty of animals know more. Her conversation consisted chiefly in +"ees" and "no." + +It is not pleasant to see a pretty face, glorious complexion, well-made +body, without mind, intellect, or soul worth mentioning; but it is a +common sight. It is not pleasant to speak to that face, and watch its +vacancy increase. A dog would understand at once; but that human face +remains dull. A good many strange thoughts suggest themselves on +fair-days and holidays in and about the Stannary Towns. There are plenty +of pretty faces, glorious complexions, and well-made bodies surrounded +with clothing which the old Puritans would have denounced as immoral; +but not a mind, not an intellect above potato-peeling, in the lot. They +come into the towns like so many birds of passage; at nightfall they go +out, shrieking, many of them, for lack of intelligent speech, and return +to potato-peeling. The warmth of the next holiday brings them out again, +in the same clothes, knowing just as much as they did before--how to +shriek--then the pots and potatoes claim them again. All those girls +have undeveloped minds. They don't know it, not having been told, so +their minds remain unformed all their lives. The flower-like faces fade +quickly, because there is nothing to keep the bloom on. The mind does +not get beyond the budding stage. It is never attended to, so it rots +off without ever opening. Sometimes one of these girls discovers she has +something besides her body and her complexion; or somebody superior to +herself impresses the fact upon her; and she uses her knowledge, +cultivates her mind, and with luck rises out of the rut. She discovers +that her horizon is not limited by pots and potato-peel. Beyond it all, +for her, there is something called intelligence. Such girls are few. +Most of them have their eyes opened, not their minds, and then they +discover they are naked, and want to go away and hide themselves. + +Thomasine's soul was about the size and weight of a grain of mustard +seed. She was a good maid, and her parents had no cause to be sorry she +had been born. She had come into the world by way of lawful wedlock, +which was something to be proud of in her part of the country, and was +living a decent life in respectable employment. She sat in the stone +kitchen, and built up her flimsy petticoat, with as much expression on +her face as one might reasonably expect to find upon the face of a cow. +She could not think. She knew that she was warm and comfortable; but +knowledge is not thought. She knew all about her last evening's +courting; but she could not have constructed any little romance which +differed from that courting. In a manner she had something to think +about; namely, what had actually happened. She could not think about +what had not happened, or what under different circumstances might have +happened. That would have meant using her mind; and she didn't know she +had one. Yet Thomasine came of a fairly clever family. Her grandfather +had used his mind largely, and had succeeded in building up, not a +large, but a very comfortable, business. He had emigrated, however; and +it is well known that there is nothing like a change of scene for +teaching a man to know himself. He had gone to Birmingham and started an +idol-factory. It was a quaint sort of business, but a profitable one. He +made idols for the Burmese market. He had stocked a large number of +Buddhist temples, and the business was an increasing one. Orders for +idols reached him from many remote places, and his goods always gave +satisfaction. The placid features of many a squatting Gautama in dim +Eastern temples had been moulded from the vacant faces of Devonshire +farm-maids. He was a most religious man, attending chapel twice each +Sunday, besides teaching in the Sunday-school. He didn't believe in +allowing religion to interfere with business, which was no doubt quite +discreet of him. He always said that a man should keep his business +perfectly distinct from everything else. He had long ago dropped his +Devonshire relations. Respectable idol-makers cannot mingle with common +country-folk. Thomasine's parents possessed a framed photograph of one +of the earlier idols, which they exhibited in their living-room as a +family heirloom, although their minister had asked them as a personal +favour to destroy it, because it seemed to him to savour of +superstition. The minister thought it was intended for the Virgin Mary, +but the good people denied it with some warmth, explaining that they +were good Christians, and would never disgrace their cottage in that +Popish fashion. + +Innocent of idols, Thomasine went on sewing in her stone kitchen amid +the granite. She had finished putting a frill along the hem of her +petticoat; now she put one higher up in regions which would be invisible +however much the wind might blow, though she did not know why, because +she could not think. It was a waste of material; nobody would see it; +but she felt that a fair petticoat ought to be adorned as lavishly as +possible. She did not often glance up. There was nothing to be seen in +the court except the usual fowls. It was rarely an incident occurred +worth remembering. Sometimes one stag attacked another, and Thomasine +would be attracted to the window to watch the contest. That made a +little excitement in her life, but the fight would soon be over. It was +all show and bluster; very much like the sparring of two farm hands. +"You'm a liar." "So be yew." "Aw well, so be _yew_." And so on, with +ever-increasing accent upon the "yew." Not many people crossed the +court. There was no right of way there, but Farmer Chegwidden had no +objection to neighbours passing through. + +Whether Thomasine was pretty could hardly be stated definitely. It must +remain a matter of opinion whether any face can be beautiful which is +entirely lacking in expression, has no mind behind the tongue, and no +speaking brain at the back of the eyes. Many, no doubt, would have +thought her perfection. She was plump and full of blood; it seemed ready +to burst through her skin. She was somewhat grossly built; too wide at +the thighs, big-handed, and large-footed, with not much waist, and a +clumsy stoop from the shoulders. She waddled in her walk like most +Devonshire farm-maids. Her complexion was perfect; so was her health. +She had a lust-provoking face; big sleepy eyes; cheeks absolutely +scarlet; pouting lips swollen with blood, almost the colour of an +over-ripe peach. It was more like paint than natural colouring. It was +too strong. She had too much blood. She was part of the exaggeration of +Dartmoor, which exaggerates everything; adding fierceness to fierceness, +colour to colour, strength to strength; just as its rain is fiercer than +that of the valleys, and its wind mightier. Thomasine was of the Tavy +family, but not of the romantic branch. Not of the folklore side like +Boodles, but of the Ger Tor family, the strong mountain branch which +knows nothing and cannot think for itself, and only feels the river +wearing it away, and the frost rotting it, and the wind beating it. The +pity was that Thomasine did not know she had a mind, which was already +fading for want of use. She knew only how to peel potatoes and make +herself wanton underwear. Although twenty-two years of age she was still +a maid. + +There were steps upon the stones, and Thomasine looked up. She saw +nobody, but sounds came through the open window, a shuffling against the +wall of the house, and the stumbling of clumsy boots. Then there was a +knock. + +There was nothing outside, except miserable objects such as Brightly +with an empty and battered basket and starving Ju with her empty and +battered stomach and her tongue hanging out. They were still trying to +do business, instead of going away to some lonely part of the moor and +dying decently. It was extraordinary how Brightly and Ju clung to life, +which wasn't of much use to them, and how steadfastly they applied +themselves to a sordid business which was very far less remunerative +than sound and honest occupations such as idol-making. Brightly looked +smaller than ever. He had forgotten all about his last meal. His face +was pinched; it was about the size of a two-year-old baby's. He looked +like an eel in man's clothing. + +"Any rabbit-skins, miss?" he asked. + +"No," said Thomasine. + +Brightly crept a little nearer. "Will ye give us a bite o' bread? Us be +cruel hungry, and times be hard. Tramped all day yesterday, and got my +cloam tored, and lost my rabbit-skins and duppence. Give me and little +dog a bite, miss. Du'ye, miss." + +"If master was to know I'd catch it," said Thomasine. + +"Varmer Chegwidden would give I a bite. I knows he would," said +Brightly. + +Chegwidden would certainly have given him a bite had he been present, or +rather his sheep-dog would. Chegwidden was a member of the Board of +Guardians in his sober moments, and it was his duty to suppress such +creatures as Brightly. + + +"I mun go on," said the weary little wretch, when he saw that Thomasine +was about to shut the door. "I mun tramp on. I wish yew could ha' given +us a bite, miss, for us be going to Tavistock, and I don't know if us +can. Me and little dog be cruel mazed." + +"Bide there a bit," said Thomasine. + +There was nobody in the house, except Mrs. Chegwidden, who was among her +pickle jars and had never to be taken into consideration. Chegwidden had +gone to Lydford. The girl had a good heart, and she didn't like to see +things starving. Even the fowls had to be fed when they were hungry, and +probably Brightly was nearly as good as the fowls. She returned to the +door with bread and meat, and a lump of cheese wrapped in a piece of +newspaper. She flung Ju a bone as big as herself and with more meat upon +it, and before the fit of charity had exhausted itself she brought out a +jug of cider, which Brightly consumed on the premises and increased in +girth perceptibly. + +"Get off," said Thomasine. "If I'm caught they'll give me the door." + +Brightly was not well skilled in expressing gratitude because he had so +little practice. He was generally apologising for his existence. He +tried to be effusive, but was only grotesque. Thomasine almost thought +he was trying to make love to her, and she drew back with her strained +sensual smile. + +"I wun't forget. Not if I lives to be two hundred and one, I wun't," +cried Brightly. "Ju ses her wun't forget neither. Us will get to +Tavistock now, and us can start in business again to-morrow. Ye've been +cruel kind to me, miss. God love ye and bless ye vor't, is what I ses. +God send ye a good husband vor't, is what I ses tu." + +"You'm welcome," said Thomasine. + +Brightly beamed in a fantastic manner through his spectacles. Ju wagged +what Nature had intended to be a tail, and staggered out of the court +with her load of savoury meat. Then the door was closed, and Thomasine +went back to her petticoat. + +The girl could not exactly think about Brightly, but she was able to +remember what had happened. A starving creature supposed to be a man, +accompanied by a famished beast that tried to be a dog--both shocking +examples of bad work, for Nature jerry-builds worse than the most +dishonest of men--had presented themselves at the door of her kitchen, +and she had fed them. She had obeyed the primitive instinct which +compels the one who has food to give to those who have none. There was +nothing splendid about it, because she did not want the food. Yet her +master would not have fed Brightly. He would have flung the food into +the pig-sty rather than have given it to the Seal. So it was possible +after all that she had performed a generous action which was worthy of +reward. + +It must not be supposed that Thomasine thought all that out for herself. +She knew nothing about generous actions. She had listened to plenty of +sermons in the chapel, but without understanding anything except that it +would be her duty some time to enter hell, which, according to the +preacher's account, was a place rather like the top of Dartmoor, only +hotter, and there was never any frost or snow. Will Pugsley, with whom +she was walking out just then, had summed up the whole matter in one +phrase of gloomy philosophy: "Us has a cruel hard time on't here, and +then us goes down under." That seemed to be the answer to the riddle of +the soul's existence: "having a cruel hard time, and then going down +under." + +Thomasine had never read a book in her life. They did not come her way. +Town Rising had none, except the big Bible--which for half-a-century had +performed its duty of supporting a china shepherdess wreathing with +earthenware daisies the neck of a red and white cow--a manual upon +manure, and a ready reckoner. No penny novelette, dealing with such +matters of everyday occurrence as the wooing of servant-girls by earls, +had ever found its way into her hands, and such fictions would not have +interested her, simply because they would have conveyed no meaning. A +pretty petticoat and a fair-day; these were matters she could +appreciate, because they touched her sympathies and she could understand +them. They were some of the things which made up the joy of life. There +was so much that was "cruel hard"; but there were pleasures, such as +fine raiment and fair-days, to be enjoyed before she went "down under." + +Thomasine was able to form mental pictures of scenes that were familiar. +She could see the tor above the barn. It was easy to see also the long +village on the side of the moor. She knew it all so well. She could see +Ebenezer, the chapel where she heard sermons about hell. Pendoggat was +sometimes the preacher, and he always insisted strongly upon the +extremely high temperature of "down under." Thomasine very nearly +thought. She almost associated the preacher with the place which was the +subject of his discourse. That would have been a very considerable +mental flight had she succeeded. It came to nothing, however. She went +on remembering, not thinking. Pendoggat had tried to look at her in +chapel. He could not look at any one with his eyes, but he had set his +face towards her as though he believed she was in greater need than +others of his warnings. He had walked close beside her out of chapel, +and had remarked that it was a fine evening. Thomasine remembered she +had been pleased, because he had drawn her attention towards a fact +which she had not previously observed, namely, that it was a fine +evening. Pendoggat was a man, not a creeping thing like Brightly, not a +lump of animated whisky-moistened clay like Farmer Chegwidden. No one +could make people uncomfortable like him. Eli Pezzack was a poor +creature in comparison, although Thomasine didn't make the comparison +because she couldn't. Pezzack could not make people feel they were +already in torment. The minister frequently referred to another place +which was called "up over." He reminded his listeners that they might +attain to a place of milk and honey where the temperature was normal; +and that was the reason why he was not much of a success as a minister. +He seemed indeed to desire to deprive his congregations of their +legitimate place of torment. What was the use of talking about "up +over," which could not concern his listeners, when they might so easily +be stimulated with details concerning the inevitable "down under"? +Pezzack was a weak man. He refused to face his destiny, and he tried to +prevent his congregations from facing theirs. + +Thomasine looked at the clock. It was time to lift the peat from the +hearth and put on the coal. Chegwidden would soon be back from Lydford +and want his supper. She admired the petticoat, rolled it up, and put it +away in her work-basket. + +"Dear life!" she murmured. "Here be master, and nothing done." + +A horseman was in the court, and crossing it. The window was open. The +rider was not Chegwidden. It was the master of Helmen Barton, his head +down as usual, his eyes apparently fixed between his horse's ears; his +head was inclined a little towards the house. Thomasine stood back and +watched. + +A piece of gorse in full bloom came through the window, fell upon the +stone floor, and bounded like a small beast. It jumped about on the +smooth cement, and glided on its spines until it reached the dresser, +and there remained motionless, with its stem, which had been bared of +prickles, directed upwards towards the girl like a pointing finger. +Pendoggat had gone on. His horse had not stopped, nor had the rider +appeared to glance into the kitchen. Obviously there was some connection +between Pendoggat, that piece of gorse, and herself, only Thomasine +could not work it out. She picked it up. She could not have such a thing +littering her tidy kitchen. The sprig was a smother of blossom, and she +could see its tiny spears among the blooms, their points so keen that +they were as invisible as the edge of a razor. She brought the blooms +suddenly to her nose, and immediately one of the tiny spears pierced the +skin and her strong blood burst through. + +"Scat the vuzz," said Thomasine. + +Iron-shod hoofs rattled again upon the stones, and the light of the +window became darkened. Pendoggat had changed his mind and was back +again. He tumbled from the saddle and stood there wagging his head as if +deep in thought. Supposing she was wanted for something, the girl came +forward. Pendoggat was close to the window, which was a low one. She did +not know what he was looking at; not at her certainly; but he seemed to +be searching for her, desiring her, sniffing at her like an animal. + +"Du'ye want master, sir? He'm to Lydford," said Thomasine. + +A drop of blood fell from her nose and splashed on the stone floor +between them. She searched for a handkerchief and found she had not got +one. There was nothing for it but to use the back of her hand, smearing +the blood across her lips and chin. Pendoggat saw it all. He noticed +everything, although he had his eyes on the window-sill. + +"You're a fine maid," he said. + +"Be I, sir?" said Thomasine, beginning to tremble. Pendoggat was her +superior. He was the tenant of Helmen Barton, a commoner, the owner of +sheep and bullocks, and married, or at least she supposed he was. She +felt somehow it was not right he should say such a thing to her. + +"Going to chapel Sunday night?" he went on, with his head on one side, +and his face as immobile as a mask. + +"Ees," murmured Thomasine, forgetting the "sir" somehow. The question +was such a familiar one that she did not remember for the moment the +standing of the speaker. This was the man who had drenched her with +hell-fire from the pulpit. + +"How do ye come home? By the road or moor?" + +"The moor, if 'tis fine, sir. I walks with Willum." + +"Young Pugsley?" + +"Ees, sir." + +"You're too good for him. You're too fine a maid for that hind. You +won't walk with him Sunday night. I'll see you home." + +"Ees, sir," was all Thomasine could say. She was only a farm-maid. She +had to do as she was told. + +"Going to the fair?" he asked. + +The answer was as usual. + +"I'll meet you there. Take you for rides, and into the shows. Got your +clothes ready?" + +The same soft word, which Thomasine made a dissyllable, and Boodles sang +as an anthem, followed. Goose Fair was the greatest day in the girl's +year, and to be treated there by a man with money was to glide along one +of the four rivers of Paradise, only that was not the expression which +occurred to Thomasine. + + +Pendoggat reached in and took her hand. It was large with labour, and +red with blood, but quite clean. He pulled her towards him. There was +nobody in the court; only the unobservant chickens, pecking diligently. +A cloud had settled upon the top of the tor, which was just visible +above the barn, an angry cloud purple like a wound, as if the granite +had pierced and wounded it. Thomasine wondered if it would be fine for +Goose Fair. + +Her sleeve was loose. Pendoggat pressed his fingers under it, and +paddled the soft flesh like a cat up to her elbow. + +"Don't ye, sir," pleaded Thomasine, feeling somehow this was not right. + +"You're a fine, lusty maid," he muttered. + +"'Tis time master was back from Lydford, I reckon," she murmured. + +"You're bloody." + +"'Twas that bit o' vuzz." + +He drew her closer, threw his arm clumsily round her neck, dragged her +half through the window, kissing her savagely on the neck, lips, and +chin, until his own lips were smeared with her blood, and he could taste +it. She began to struggle. Then she cried out, and he let her go. + +"Good blood," he muttered, passing his tongue over his lips. "The +strongest and best blood on Dartmoor." + +Then, he flung himself across his horse, as if he had been drunk, and +rode out of the court. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +ABOUT VOCAL AND INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC + + +There was a concert in Brentor village in aid of that hungry creature +the Church, which resembles so many tin- and copper-mines, inasmuch as +much more money goes into it than ever comes out. Brentor is overdone +with churches. There is one in the village, and the little one on the +tor outside. Maids like to be married on the tor. They think it gives +them a good start in life, but that idea is owing to tradition, which +connects Brentor with the worship of Baal. The transition from Paganism +to Christianity was gradual, and in many cases the old gods were merely +painted up and made to look like new. The statue of Jove was bereft of +its thunderbolt, given a bunch of keys, and called Peter; the goddess of +love became a madonna; the sun-temple was turned into a church. Where +the original idea was lost sight of a legend was invented; such as that +of the merchant who, overtaken by a storm when beating for shore, vowed +to build a church upon the first point of land which should appear in +sight. There is no getting away from sun-worship upon Dartmoor, and no +easy way of escape from tradition either. That is why maids like to be +sacrificed upon Brentor, even when the wind is threatening to sweep them +down its cliffs. + +Local talent was not represented at the concert. People from Tavistock +came to perform; all sorts and conditions of amateurs in evening dress +and muddy boots. The room was crowded, as it was a fine evening, and +therefore there was nothing to prevent the inhabitants of the two holy +Tavys from walking across the moor, and a jabbering cartload had come +from Lydford also. There was no chattering in the room. The entire +audience became appalled by respectability as represented by gentlemen +with bulging shirt-fronts and ladies with visible bosoms. They stared, +they muttered hoarsely, they turned to and fro like mechanical figures; +but they did not chatter. They felt as if they were taking part in a +religious ceremony. + +The young lady who opened proceedings, after the inevitable duet on the +piano--which, to increase the sense of mystery, was called on the +practically illegible programme a pianoforte--with a sentimental song, +made an error. She merely increased the atmosphere of despondency. When +she had finished some of the audience became restless. They were +wondering whether the time had come for them to kneel. + +"Bain't him a cruel noisy thing?" exclaimed Mary, with a certain amount +of enthusiasm. "What du'ye call 'en?" she asked a small, dried-up +ancient man who sat beside her, while indicating the instrument of music +with an outstretched arm. + +The old man tried to explain, which was a thing he was famous for doing. +He was a superannuated school-master of the nearly extinct type, the +kind that knew nothing and taught as much, but a brave learned man +according to some of the old folk. + +Peter sat by his sister, trying to look at his ease; and he too listened +intently for what school-master had to say. Peter and Mary were +blossoming out, and becoming social and gregarious beings. + +This was the first grand entertainment they had ever attended. Tickets +had been given them, or they would certainly not have been there. As +Peter had failed in his efforts to sell the tickets they had decided to +use them, although dressing for the event was something of an ordeal. +Mary had a black hat and a silk dress, both of early Victorian +construction, and beneath, her huge nailed boots innocent of blacking. +Peter wore a tie under his chin, and a wondrous collar some three inches +lower down. The rest of his costume was also early nineteenth century in +make, but effectual. He was very much excited by the music, but +dreadfully afraid of showing it. + +"That there box," said Master, with an air of diving deep in the well of +wisdom "he'm full o' wires and hammers." + +"My dear life!" gasped Mary. "Full o' wires and hammers! Du'ye hear, +Peter?" + +Her brother replied in the affirmative, although in a manner which +suggested that the information was superfluous. + +"Volks hit them bones, and the bones dra' on the hammers, and the +hammers hit the wires," proceeded Master. + +"Bain't that artful now?" cried Mary. + +"Sure 'nuff," agreed Peter, unable to restrain his admiration. + +"Couldn't ye mak' one o' they? You'm main cruel larned wi' your hands," +Mary went on. + +Peter admitted that was so. Given the material, he had no doubt of his +ability to turn out a piano capable of producing that music which his +sister described as cruel noisy. + +"It taketh a scholard to understand how to mak' they things," said +Master, with some severity. "See all that carved wood on the front of +him? You couldn't du that, and the piano wouldn't mak' no music if +'twasn't for the carved wood. 'Twould mak' a noise, you see, Peter, but +not music. 'Tis the noise coming out through the carving what makes the +music. Taketh a scholard to du that." + +"Look at she!" cried Mary violently, as another lady rose to warble. +This songster had a good bust, and desired to convince her audience of +the fact. "Her ha' grown out of her clothes sure 'nuff. Her can't hardly +cover her paps." + +"Shet thee noise, woman," muttered Peter. + +"Her be in full evening dress," explained Master. + +Mary subsided in deep reflection. She knew perfectly well what "full" +meant. There were plenty of full days upon Tavy Cleave. It meant a heavy +wet mist which filled everything so that nothing was visible. For Mary +every word had only one meaning. She could not understand how the word +"full" could bear two exactly opposite meanings. + +The back seats were overflowing. Only threepence was charged there, but +seats were not guaranteed. The majority stood, partly to show their +independence, chiefly to look as if they had just dropped in, not with +any idea of being entertained, but that they might satisfy themselves +there was nothing objectionable in the programme. Several men stood +huddled together as near the door as possible, showing their disapproval +of such frivolity in the usual manner, by standing in antagonistic +attitudes and frowning at the performers. Chegwidden was there, +containing sufficient liquor to make him grateful for the support of the +wall. He had tried to get in for nothing, by explaining that he was a +member of the Board of Guardians, and had been from his youth a +steadfast opponent of the Church as by law established. These excuses +having failed, he had paid the threepence under protest, explaining at +the same time that if he heard anything to shock his innocent mind he +should demand his money back, visit his solicitor when next in Tavistock +with a view to taking action against those who had dared to pervert the +public mind, and indite letters to all the local papers. The +entertainment committee had a troublesome threepennyworth in Farmer +Chegwidden. He had already spent a couple of shillings in liquor, and +would spend another couple when the concert was over. That was money +spent upon a laudable object. But the threepence demanded for admission +was, as he loudly proclaimed, money given to the devil. + +Near him stood Pendoggat, his head down as usual, and breathing heavily +as if he had gone to sleep. He looked as much at home there as a bat +flitting in the sunlight among butterflies. Every one was surprised to +see Pendoggat. Members of his own sect decided he was there to collect +material for a scathing denunciation of such methods from the pulpit of +Ebenezer. Chegwidden pushed closer, and asked hoarsely, "What do 'ye +think of it, varmer?" + +"Taking money in God's name to square the devil," answered Pendoggat. + +"Just what I says," muttered Chegwidden, greatly envying the other's +powers of expression. "Immortality! That's what it be, varmer. 'Tis a +hard word, but there ain't no other. Dirty immortality!" He meant +immorality, but was confused by righteous indignation, the music, and +other things. + +"Can't us do nought?" Chegwidden went on. "Us lets their religion bide. +They'm mocking us, varmer. That there last song was blasphemy, and +immortality, and a-mocking us all through." + +Pendoggat muttered something about a demonstration outside later on, to +mark their disapproval of such infamous attempts to seduce young people +from the paths of rectitude. Then he relapsed into taciturnity, while +Chegwidden went on babbling of people's sins. + +Most of the ill-feeling was due to the fact that the room had been used +several years back as a meeting-house, where the pure Gospel had flowed +regularly. Chegwidden's father had carried his Bible into a front seat +there. Souls had been saved in that room; anniversary teas had been held +there; services of song had been given; young couples, whose +Nonconformity was unimpeachable, had conducted their amours there; and +upon the outside of the door had been scrawled shockingly crude +statements concerning such love-affairs, accompanied by anatomical +caricatures of the parties in question. It was holy ground, and +representatives of a hostile sect were defiling it. + +Greater evils followed. An eccentric gentleman rose and recited a story +about a lady trying to mount an overcrowded street-car, and being +dragged along the entire length of a street, chatting to the conductor +the while; quite a harmless story, but it made Brentor to grin. +Church-people laughed noisily, and even Methodists tittered. +Nonconformist maids of established reputations giggled, and their young +men cackled like geese. It was in short a laughing audience. The +threepenny-bits shivered. Fire from heaven was already overdue. Complete +destruction might be looked for at any moment. One nervous old woman +crept out. She had heard the doctrine of eternal punishment expounded in +that place, and she explained she could remain there no longer and +listen to profanity. The performer again obliged; this time with a comic +song which set the seal of blasphemy upon the whole performance. +Chegwidden turned his face to the wall, moaned, and demanded of a +neighbour what he thought of it all. + +"Brave fine singing," came the unscrupulous answer, which seemed to +denote that the speaker had also been carried away by enthusiasm. + +This was the last straw. Even the lights of Ebenezer were flickering and +going out. Chegwidden and Pendoggat appeared to be the only godly men +left. The farmer turned upon the irreligious speaker, and crushed him +with weighty words. + +"'Twas here father prayed," he said, in a voice unsteady with grief and +alcohol. "Twice every Sunday, and me with 'en, and he've a-shook me in +this chapel, and punched my ear many a time when I was cracking nuts in +sermon time. Father led in prayer here, and he've a-told me how he once +prayed twenty minutes by the clock. Some said 'twas nineteen, but father +knew 'twas twenty, 'cause he had his watch in his hand, and never took +his eyes off 'en. Never thought he'd do the last minute, but he did. +They was religious volks in them days. Father prayed here, I tells ye, +and I learnt Sunday-school here, and 'twas here us all learnt the +blessed truths of immorality."--again he blundered in his meaning--"and +now it be a place for dancing, and singing, and play-acting, and us will +be judged for it, and weighed in the balances and found wanting." + +"Us can repent," suggested the neighbour. + +Chegwidden would not admit this. "Them what have laughed here to-night +won't die natural, not in their beds," he declared. "They'll die sudden. +They'll be cut off. They've committed blasphemy, which is the sin what +ain't forgiven." + +Then Chegwidden turned upon the doorkeeper and demanded his money back. +He was not going to remain among the wicked. He was going to spend the +rest of the evening respectably at the inn. + +After that the programme continued for a little without interruption. +Then a young lady, who had been especially imported for the occasion, +obliged with a violin solo. She played well, but made the common mistake +of amateurs before a rural audience; preferring to exhibit her command +over the instrument by rendering classical music, instead of playing +something which the young men could whistle to. It was a very soft +piece. The performer bent to obtain the least possible amount of sound +from a string; and at that critical moment a loud weary voice startled +the religious silence of the room-- + +"Aw, my dear life! Bain't it a shocking waste o' time?" + +It was Mary, who was feeling bored. The novelty of the performance had +worn off. She was prepared to sit there and hear a good noise. She liked +the piano when it was giving forth plenty of crashing chords; but that +whining scraping sound was intolerable. It was worse than any old cat. + +There was some commotion in the front seats, and shocked faces were +turned upon Mary, while the performer almost broke down. She made +another effort, but it was no use, for Mary continued at the top of her +voice-- + +"Ole Will Chanter had a fiddle like thikky one. Du'ye mind, Peter?" + +Indignant voices called for silence, but Mary only looked about in some +amazement. She couldn't think what the people were driving at. As she +was not being entertained there was nothing to prevent her from talking, +and it was only natural that she should speak to Peter; and if the folks +in front did not approve of her remarks they need not listen. The +violinist had dropped her arms in despair; but when she perceived +silence was restored she tried again. + +"Used to play 'en in Peter Tavy church," continued Mary, with much +relish. "Used to sot up in the loft and fiddle cruel. Didn't 'en, +Master? Don't ye mind ole Will Chanter what had a fiddle like thikky +one? His brother Abe sot up wi' 'en, and blowed into a long pipe. Made a +cruel fine noise, them two." + +Mary was becoming anecdotal, and threatening to address the audience at +some length, so the violinist had to give up and make way for a vocalist +with sufficient voice to drown these reminiscences of a former +generation. + +After the concert there were disturbances outside. One faction cheered +the performers; another hooted them. Then a light of Ebenezer kindled +into religious fire and hit an Anglican postman in the eye. The response +of the Church Militant loosened two Nonconformist teeth. Chegwidden +reappeared on horseback, swaying from side to side, holding on by the +reins, and raising the cry of down with everything except Ebenezer and +liquor-shops. + +Pendoggat stood aloof, looking on, hoping there would be a fight. He did +not mix in such things himself. It was his custom to stand in the +background and work the machinery from outside. He liked to see men +attacking one another, to watch pain inflicted, and to see the blood +flow. Turning to the man whose mouth had been damaged he muttered: "Go +at him again." + +"I'm satisfied," came the answer. + +"He called you a dirty monkey," lied Pendoggat. + +The insult was sufficient. The Anglican postman was walking away, having +fought a good fight for the faith that was in him, by virtue of two +shillings a week for various duties, and his Opponent seizing the +opportunity attacked him vigorously from the rear. Peter and Mary +watched the conflict, and their savage souls rejoiced. This was better +than all the pianos and fiddles in the world. They felt at last they +were getting value for their free tickets. + +Sport was terminated by the sudden appearance of the Maggot. He had been +drafting a prospectus of the "Tavy Nickel Mining Company, Limited," and +had issued forth to look for the managing director. He stopped the fight +and lectured the combatants in spiritual language. He comprehended how +the ex-chapel had been desecrated that night by godless people, and he +appreciated the zeal which had prompted a member of his congregation to +defend its sanctity; but he explained that it was not lawful for +Christians to brawl upon the streets. To take out a summons for assault +was far holier. The man with the loosened teeth explained that he should +do so. It was true he had incited the postman to fight by striking him +first; but then he had struck him with Christian charity in the eye, +which entailed only a slight temporary discomfort and no permanent loss; +whereas the postman had struck him with brutal ferocity on the mouth, +depriving him of the services of two teeth; and had moreover added +obscene language, as could be proved by impartial witnesses. Pezzack +assured him that the teeth Bad fallen in a good cause; men and women had +been tortured and burnt at the stake for their religion; and he quoted +the acts of Bloody Mary, that bigoted lady who has become the hardy +perennial of Nonconformist sermons, with a strong emphasis upon the +qualifying, adjective. The champion went away delighted. He had won his +martyr's crown, and his teeth were not so very loose after all. A little +beer would soon tighten them. + +The crowd was dwindling away with its grievances. The folks would +chatter furiously for a few days; then the affair would drop and be +forgotten, and a fresh scandal would fill the vacancy. They would never +bite so long as they had liberty to bark. Chegwidden had galloped off +across the moor in his usual wild way. Every week he would visit some +inn, upon what might have been called his home circuit, and at closing +time would commit his senseless body to his horse with the certain hope +of being carried home. To gallop wildly over Dartmoor at night might be +ranked as an almost heroic action. The horse had brains fortunately. +Chegwidden was only the clinging monkey upon its back. The farmer had +fallen on several occasions, but had escaped with bruises. One night he +would break his neck, or crack his head upon a boulder, and die as he +had lived--drunk. Drunkenness is not a vice upon Dartmoor; nor a fault +even. It is a custom. + +The Maggot found Pendoggat. They greeted one another in a fraternal way, +then began to walk down from the village. The night was clear ahead of +them, but above Brentor, with its church, which looked rather like an +exaggerated locomotive in that light, the sky, or "widdicote," as Mary +might have called it, was red and lowering. + +"Well, what about business?" said Pendoggat. + +"I am not finding it easy, Mr. Pendoggat," said the minister. "Folks are +nervous, and, as you know, there is not much money about. But they trust +me, Mr. Pendoggat. They trust me," he repeated fervently. + +"Got any promises?" + +"A few half-promises. I could do better if I was able to show them the +mine. If you would come forward, with your wisdom and experience, I +think we should do well. I mentioned that you were interested." + +"I told you to keep my name out of it," said Pendoggat. + +"But that is impossible. I cannot tell a lie, Mr. Pendoggat," said Eli, +with the utmost deference. + +"You're suspicious," said the other sharply. "You don't trust me. Say it +out, Pezzack." + +"I do trust you, Mr. Pendoggat. I have given you this 'and," said Eli, +extending a clay-like slab. "I have seen with my own eyes the sides of +that cave gleaming with precious metal like the walls of the New +Jerusalem. I can take your 'and now, and look you in the heye, and say +'ow I trust you. We 'ave prayed side by side, and you 'ave always prayed +fair. Now that we are working side by side I know you'll work fair. But +I 'ave thought, Mr. Pendoggat, 'ow you seem to be putting too much upon +me." + +"I'll tell you how it is. I'm pushed," Pendoggat muttered. "Nobody knows +it, but I'm deep in debt. Do you think I'd be such a fool as to give +this find of mine away for nothing, as you might say, unless I'd got +to?" he went on sullenly. "I've known of it for years. I've spent days +planting willows and fern about the entrance to that old shaft, to close +it up and make folk forget it's there. I meant to bide my time till I +could get mining folk in London to take it up and make a big thing out +of it. I'm a disappointed man, Pezzack. I'm in debt, and I've got to +suffer for it." + +He paused, scowling sullenly at his companion. + +"My 'eart bleeds for you, Mr. Pendoggat," said simple Eli. He thought +that was a good and sympathetic phrase, although he somewhat exaggerated +the actual state of his feelings. + +"I've kept 'em quiet so far," said Pendoggat. "I've paid what I can, and +they know they can't get more. But if 'twas known about this mine, and +known I was running it, they'd be down on me like flies on a carcase, +and would ruin the thing at once. The only chance for me was to look out +for a straight man who could float the scheme in his name while I did +the work. I knew only one man I could really trust, and that man is +you." + +"It is very generous of you, Mr. Pendoggat," said the buttered Eli. + +They had reached the railway bridge, and there stopped, being upon the +edge of the moor. Beneath them was Brentor station gone to sleep; +beyond, in its cutting, that of Mary Tavy. The lines of two rival +companies ran needlessly side by side, silently proclaiming to the still +Dartmoor night the fact that railway companies are quite human and hate +each other like individuals. Pendoggat was looking down as usual, +therefore his eyes were fixed upon the rival lines. Possibly he found +something there to interest him. + +"I'll get you some samples. You can take them about with you," he went +on. "We'll have a meeting too." + +"At the Barton?" suggested Eli. + +"The chapel," said Pendoggat. + +"Commencing with a prayer-meeting," said Eli. "That is a noble thought, +Mr. Pendoggat. We will seek a blessing on the work." + +"The chapel must be rebuilt," said Pendoggat. + +"The Lord's work first. Yes, that is right. That is like you, Mr. +Pendoggat. I will communicate with some friends in London. I 'ave an +uncle who is a retired grocer. He lives at Bromley, Mr. Pendoggat. He +will invest part of his savings, I am convinced. He has confidence in +me. He had me educated for the ministry. He will persuade others to +invest, perhaps." + +Pendoggat moved forward, and set his face towards the moor. "I must get +on," he said. "I'll see you on Sunday. Have something to tell me by +then." + +"Let us seek a blessing before we part," said Pezzack. + +Pendoggat turned back. He was always ready to obtain absolution. They +stood upon the bridge, removed their hats, while Eli prayed with vigour +and sincerity. He did not stop until the rumble of the night mail +sounded along the lines and the metals began to hum excitedly. The +"widdicote" above St. Michael's was still red and lowering. The church +might have been a furnace, emitting a strong glow from fires within its +tower. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +ABOUT FAIRYLAND + + +By the time Boodles was sixteen she was shaped and polished. Weevil had +done what he could; not much, for the poor old thing was neither learned +nor rich; and she had gone to Tavistock, where various arts had been +crammed into her brain, all mixed up together like the ingredients of a +patent pill. Boodles knew a good deal for seventeen; but Nature and +Dartmoor had taught her more than the school-mistress. She was a fresh +and fragrant child, with no unhealthy fancies; loving everything that +was clean and pretty; loathing spiders, and creeping things, and filth +in general; and longing ardently already to win for herself a name and a +soul a little higher than the beetles. They were presumptuous longings +for a child of passion, who did not know her parents, or anything about +her origin beyond the fact that she had been thrown out in a bundle of +fern, and taken in and cared for by Abel Cain Weevil. + +At the tender age of fourteen Boodles received her love-wound. It was +down by the Tavy, where the water swirls round pebbles and rattles them +against its rocks below Sandypark. Her love-affair was idyllic, and +therefore dangerous, because the idyllic state bears the same +resemblance to rough and brutal life as the fairy-tale bears to the true +story of that life. The tales begin with "once upon a time," and end +with "they lived happily ever after." The idyllic state begins in the +same way, but ends, either with "they parted with tears and kisses and +never saw each other again," or "they married and were miserable ever +afterwards." Only children can blow idyll-bubbles which will float for a +time. Elderly people try, but they only make themselves ridiculous, and +the bubbles will not form. People of thirty or over cannot play at +fairy-tales. When they try they become as fantastic a sight as an old +gentleman wearing a paper hat and blowing a penny trumpet. Shakespeare, +who knew everything about human nature that men can know, made his Romeo +and Juliet children, and ended their idyll as such things must end. +Customs have changed since; even children are beginning to understand +that life cannot be made a fairy-tale; and Romeo prefers the football +field to sighing beneath a school-girl's balcony; and Juliet twists up +her hair precociously and runs amok with a hockey-stick. + +Still fairy-tales lift their mystic blooms to the moon beside the Tavy, +and Boodles had seen those flowers, and wandered among them very +delicately. The boy was Aubrey Bellamie, destined for the Navy, and his +home was in Tavistock. He had come into the world, amid an odour of +respectability, two years before Boodles had crept shamefully up the +terrestrial back stairs. All he knew about Boodles was the fact that she +was a girl; that one all-sufficient fact that makes youths mad. He knew, +also, that her head was glorious, and that her lips were better than +wine. He was a clean, pretty boy; like most of the youths in the Navy, +who are the good fresh salt of Devon and England everywhere. Boodles +came into Tavistock twice a week to be educated, and he would wait at +the door of the school until she came out, because he wanted to educate +her too; and then they would wander beside the Tavy, and kiss new +knowledge into each other's young souls. The fairy-tale was real enough, +because real life had not begun. They were still in "once upon a time" +stage, and they believed in the happy ending. It was the age of +delusion; glorious folklore days. There was enough fire in them both to +make the story sufficiently life-like to be mistaken for the real thing. +Aubrey's parents did not know of the love-affair then; neither did +Weevil. In fairy-tales relations are usually wicked creatures who have +to be avoided. So for months they wandered beside the river of +fairyland, and plucked the flowers of that pleasant country which were +gleaming with idyllic dew. + +"I can't think why you love my head so," Boodles had protested, when a +thunderstorm of affection had partially subsided. "It's like a big +tangle of red seaweed. The girls at the school call me Carrots." + +"I should like to hear them," said Aubrey fiercely; "Darling, it's the +loveliest head in the world." + +And then he went on to talk a lot of shocking nonsense about flowers and +sunsets, and all other wondrous flaming things, which had derived their +colour and splendour from the light of his sweetheart's head, and from +none other source or inspiration whatsoever. + +"If I was a boy I shouldn't love a girl with red hair. There are such a +lot of girls you might love. Girls with silky flaxen hair, and girls +with lovely brown hair--" + +"They are only girls," said Aubrey disdainfully. "Not angels." + +"Do angels have red hair?" asked Boodles. + +"Only a very few," said the boy. "Boodles--and one or two others whose +names I can't remember just now. It's not red hair, sweetheart. It's +golden, and your beautiful skin is golden too, and there is a lot of +gold-dust scattered all over your nose." + +"Freckles," laughed Boodles. "Aubrey, you silly! Calling my ugly +freckles gold-dust! Why, I hate them. When I look in the glass I say to +myself: 'Boodles, you're a nasty little spotted toad.'" + +"They are just lovely," declared the boy. "They are little bits of +sunshine that have dropped on you and stuck there." + +"I'm not sticky." + +"You are. Sticky with sweetness." + +"What a dear stupid thing!" sighed Boodles. "Let me kiss your lovely +pink and white girl's face--there--and there--and there." + +"Boodles, dear, I haven't got a girl's face," protested Aubrey. + +"Oh, but you have, my boy. It's just like a girl's--only prettier. If I +was you, and you was me--that sounds rather shocking grammar, but it +don't matter--every one would say: 'Look at that ugly boy with that +boodle-oodle, lovely, _bu_tiful girl.' There! I've squeezed every bit of +breath out of him," cried Boodles. + +There was a certain amount left, as she soon discovered; enough to +smother her. + +"If you hadn't got golden hair, and freckles, I should never have fallen +in love with you," declared the boy. "If you were to lose your freckles, +if you lost only one, the tiniest of them all, I shouldn't love you any +more." + +"And if you lose that dear girl's face I won't love you," promised +Boodles. "If you had a horrid moustache to tickle me and make me sneeze, +I wouldn't give you the smallest, teeniest, wee bit of a kiss. Well, you +can't anyhow, because you've got to be an admiral. How nice it will be +when you are grown up and have a lot of ships of your own." + +"We shall be married long before then. Boodles, darling," cried the +eager boy. "Directly I am twenty-one we will be married. Only five more +years." + +"Such a lot happens in a year," sighed Boodles. "You may meet five more +girls far more sunshiny than me, with redder hair and more freckles, +since you are so fond of them--" + +"I shan't. You are the only girl who ever was or shall be." + +That is how boys talk when they are sixteen, and when they are +twenty-six, and sometimes when they are very old boys of sixty; and +girls generally believe them. + +"I wonder if it is right of you to love me," said Boodles doubtfully. + +The answer was what might have been looked for, and ended with the usual +question: "Why not?" + +"Because I'm only a baby." + +"You are fourteen, darling. You will be nineteen by the time we are +married." + +Although they were only at the beginning of the story they were already +slapping over the pages, anxious to reach the "lived happily ever after" +conclusion. Young people are always wanting to hurry on; middle-aged to +marktime; old to look back. The freshness of life is contained in the +first chapter. Youth is a time of unnatural strength, of insanity, a +dancing-round-the-may-pole sort of time. Common-sense begins to come +when one has grandchildren. Boodles and Aubrey wandered a thousand times +in love's fairyland on the romantic banks of the rattling Tavy, and knew +as much during their last walk as upon the first; knew they were in love +cleanly and honestly; knew that the joy of life was no myth; but knowing +nothing, either of them, concerning Giant Despair, who has his mantle +trimmed with lovers' hearts, or the history of the fair maid of Astolat, +or the existence of Castle Dolorous. Love is largely a pleasure of the +imagination, thus a fairy-tale, and sound practical knowledge sweeps the +romance of it all away. + +The whole of that folly--if the only real ecstatic bliss of life which +is called first love be folly--seemed gone for ever. Aubrey was packed +off to do his part in upholding the honour of Boodlesland, as his +country named itself in his thoughts; and the years that intervened +discovered him probably kissing girls of all complexions, girls with +every shade of hair conceivable, girls with freckles and without; and +being kissed by them. Boys must have their natural food, and if the best +quality be not obtainable they must take what offers. In the interval +Boodles remained entirely unkissed, and received no letters. She wasn't +surprised. His love had been too fierce. It had blazed up, burnt her, +and gone out. Aubrey had forgotten her; forgotten those wonderful walks +in Tavyland; forgotten her radiant head and golden freckles. It was all +over, that romance of two babies. It was Boodles who did not forget; +Boodles who had the wet pillow sometimes; Boodles who was constant like +the gorse, which is in flower all the year round. + +No one would call the ordinary Dartmoor postman an angel--his appearance +is too much against him--but he does an angel's work. Perhaps there is +nothing which quickens the heart of any lonely dweller on the moor so +perceptibly as the heavy tread of that red-faced and beer-tainted +companion of the goddess of dawn. He leaves curses as well as blessings. +He pushes love-letters and bills into the box together. Sometimes he is +an hour late, and the miserable watcher frets about the house. Sometimes +the wind holds him back. He can be seen struggling against it, and the +watcher longs to yoke him to wild horses. There are six precious +post-times each week, and the lonely inhabitant of the wilds would not +yield one of them to save his soul alive. + +There was an angel's visit to Lewside Cottage, and a letter for Boodles +fell from heaven. The child pounced upon it, rushed up to her room like +a dog with a piece of meat, locked the door lest any one should enter +with the idea of stealing her prize, gloated upon it, almost rolled upon +it. She did not open it for some time. She turned it over, smelt it, +pinched it, loved it. Tavistock was blurred across the stamp. There was +no doubt about that letter. It was a tangible thing. It did not fade +away like morning dew. She opened it at last, but did not dare to read +it through. She took bites at it, tasting it here and there; and had +every sentence by heart before she settled down to read it properly. So +she was still dearest Boodles, and he was the same devoted Aubrey. The +child jumped upon her bed, and bit the pillow in sheer animal joy. + +He had just come home, and was writing to her at once. She wouldn't +recognise him because he had become a tough brown sailor, and the girl's +face was his no longer. He was coming to see her at once; and they would +walk again by the Tavy and be just the same as ever; and swear the same +vows; and kiss the same kisses; and be each other's sun and moon, and +all the rest of the idyllic patter, which was as sweet and fresh as ever +to poor Boodles. For he had been all the world over and discovered there +was only one girl in it; and that was the girl with the radiant head, +and the golden skin, and the gold-dust upon her nose. He was as true as +he always had been, and as he always would be for ever and evermore. + +Boodles saw nothing mad or presumptuous in that closing sentence. It was +just what she would have said. There is no hereafter for young people in +their teens; there is an ever and evermore for them. They are like a +kitten playing with its own tail, without ever realising that it is its +tail. + +Boodles became at once very light and airy. She seemed to have escaped +from the body somehow. She felt as if she had been transformed into a +bit of sunshine. She floated down-stairs, lighted up the living-room, +wrapped herself round Abel Cain, floated into the kitchen to finish +preparations for breakfast, discovered the material nature of her hands +by breaking a milk-jug, and then humanity asserted itself and she began +to shriek. + +"Boodle-oodle!" cried old Weevil; "you have been sleeping in the +moonshine." + +"I've broken the milk-jug," screamed Boodles. + +Weevil came shuffling along the passage. Small things were greatly +accounted of in Lewside Cottage. There were most of the ingredients of +tragedy in a broken milk-jug. + +"How did you do it?" he wailed. + +"It was all because the butter is so round," laughed Boodles. + +Weevil was frightened. He thought the child's mind had broken too; and +that was even more serious than the milk-jug. He stood and stared, and +made disjointed remarks about bright Dartmoor moons, and girls who would +sleep with their blinds up, and insanity which was sure to follow such +rashness. But Boodles only laughed the more. + +"I'll tell you," she said. "The butter is very round, and I had it on a +plate. I must have tilted the plate, and it was roll, butter, roll. +First on the table, where it knocked the milk-jug off its legs. Then it +rolled on the floor, and out of the door. It's still rolling. I expect +it is nearly at Mary Tavy station by now, and it ought to reach +Tavistock about ten o'clock at the rate it was going. It's sure to roll +on to Plymouth, right through the Three Towns, and then across the Hoe, +and about the time we go to bed there will be a little splash in the +sea, and that will be the end of the butter, which rolled off the plate, +and broke the milk-jug, and started from the top of Dartmoor at +half-past eight by the clock in Lewside Cottage, which is ten minutes +fast--and that's all I can think of now," gasped Boodles. + +"My poor little girl," quavered Weevil. "The butter is on the plate in +front of you." + +"Well, it must have rolled back again. It wanted to see its dear old +home once more." + +Weevil began to pick up the fragments of the milk-jug. "There is +something wrong with you, Boodle-oodle," he said tenderly. "I don't want +you to have any secrets, my dear. You are too young. There was a letter +for you just now?" + +At that the whole story came out with a rush. Boodles could hold nothing +back that morning. She told Weevil about the fairy-tale, from the "once +upon a time" up to the contents of that letter; and she begged him to +play the part of good genie, and with his enchantments cause +blissfulness to happen. + +Weevil was very troubled. He had feared that the radiant head would do +mischief, but he had not expected trouble to come so soon. The thing was +impossible, of course. Even radiant growths must have a name of some +sort. Aubrey's parents could not permit weeds to grow in their garden. +There were plenty of girls "true to name," like the well-bred roses of a +florist's catalogue, wanting smart young husbands. There was practically +no limit to the supply of these sturdy young plants. Boodles might be a +Gloire de Devon, but she was most distinctly not in the catalogue. She +was only a way-side growth; a beautiful fragrant weed certainly, like +the sweet honeysuckle which trails about all the lanes, and is in itself +a lovely thing, but is not wanted in the garden because it is too +common; or like the gorse, which as a flowering shrub is the glory of +the moor, but not of the garden, because it is a rank wild growth. Were +it a rare shrub it would be grown upon the lawns of the wealthy; but +because it is common it must stay outside. + +"Boodles, darling, I am so sorry," the old man murmured. + +"But you mustn't be," she laughed. "Sorry because I'm so happy! You must +be a _bu_tiful old daddy-man, and say you are glad. I can't help being +in love. It's like the measles. We have to catch it, and it is so much +better to go through it when you're young. Now say something nice and +let me go. I want to run to the top of Ger Tor, and scream, and run back +again." + +"Oh, dear heaven!" muttered Weevil, playing with the bits of milk-jug. +"I can't tell the poor baby, I can't tell it." + +"Don't be weepy, daddy-dear-heart," murmured Boodles, coming and loving +him. "I know I'm only a baby, but then I'm growing fast. I'll soon be +eighteen. Such a grown-up woman then, old man! I'll never leave +him--that's the trouble, I know. I'll always boil him's eggs, and break +him's milk-jugs. Only he must be pretty to Boodles when she's happy, and +say he's glad she's got a lovely boy with the beautifullest girl's face +that ever was." + +Weevil unmeshed himself and shuffled away, pelting imaginary foes with +bits of milk-jug, blinking his eyes like a cat in the sunshine. He could +not destroy the child's happiness. As well expect the painter who has +expended the best years of his life on a picture to cut and slash the +canvas. Boodles was his own. He had made and fashioned her. He could not +extinguish his own little sun. He must let her linger in fairyland, and +allow destiny, or human nature, or something else equally brutal, to +finish the story. Elementary forces of nature, like Pendoggat, might be +cruel, but Weevil was not a force, neither was he cruel. He was only an +eccentric old man, and he wanted it to be well with the child. She would +have her eyes opened soon enough. She would discover that innocents +thrust out on the moor to perish cannot by the great law of propriety +take that place in life which beauty and goodness deserve. They must go +back; like Undine, coming out with brave love to seek a soul, succeeding +at first, but failing in the end, and going back at last to the state +that was hers. Poor little bastard Boodles! How mad she was that +morning! Weevil hardly noticed that his eggs were hard-boiled. + +"Darling," he said tenderly, anxious to divert her mind--as if it could +be diverted!--"go and see Peter, and tell him we must have that clock. +You had better bring it back with you." + +That clock was a favourite subject of conversation. If had amused +Boodles for two years, and it amused her then. It was only a common +little clock, or Peter would never have been entrusted with it. Peter, +who knew nothing, was among other things a mechanician. He professed his +ability to mend and clean clocks. Possibly Grandfather had taught him +something. He had studied the old gentleman's internal arrangements all +his life, and had, he considered, mastered the entire principle of a +clock's construction and well-being. Therefore when Boodles met him one +day, and informed him that a little clock in Lewside Cottage was choked +with dust and refused to perform its duty, Peter promised he would +attend at his earliest convenience, to lay his hand upon it, and restore +it to activity. "When will you come?" asked Boodles. + +"To-morrow," answered Peter. + +The day came, but not Peter. He was hardly expected, because promises +are meaningless phrases in the mouths of Dartmoor folk. In the matter of +an eternal "to-morrow" they are like the Spanish peasantry. They always +promise upon their honour, but, as they haven't got any, the oath might +as well be omitted. When reminded of their solemn undertaking they have +a ready explanation. Their conscience would not permit them to come. It +is the same when they agree to charge an unsuspecting person so much for +duties performed, and then send in a bill for twice the amount. +Conscience would not allow them to charge less. The Dartmoor conscience +is a beautiful thing. It urges a man to act precisely as he wants to. + +A month or so passed--the exact period is of no account in such a +place--and Boodles saw Peter approaching her. When within sight of her +he put out his arm and began to cry aloud. She hurried towards him, +afraid that something was wrong; the arm was still extended, and the cry +continued. Peter was like an owl crying in the wilderness. Drawing near, +he became at last intelligible. "I be coming," he cried. "I be coming to +mend the clock." + +"Now?" asked Boodles. + +"To-morrow," said Peter. + +This sort of thing happened constantly. Whenever they came within sight +of each other, and Peter called often at the village to purchase pints +of beer, the little man would hurry towards Boodles, with his +outstretched arm and monotonous cry: "To-morrow." He was always on his +way to Lewside Cottage, but something always hindered him from getting +there. He did not despair, however. He felt confident that the day would +arrive when he would attend in person and restore the clock. It was +merely a matter of time. Thus a year went by and the pledge remained +unfulfilled. + +One Sunday evening Boodles went to church, and it so happened that Peter +was there also. Peter had just then reasons of his own for wishing to +ingratiate himself with the church authorities, and he considered that +the appearance of his vile body in a devotional attitude somewhere in +the neighbourhood of the pulpit would be of material assistance to his +ambition. Peter entered with a huge lantern, the time being winter, and +the evening dark--the night rather, for the Dartmoor day in winter is +well over by five o'clock--flapped up the aisle with goose-like steps, +tumbled into a seat breathing heavily, and making as much noise with his +boots as a horse upon cobblestones, banged the lantern down, and gazed +about the building with an air of proprietorship. The next thing was to +blow out the candle in his lantern. He opened it, and made windy noises +which were not attended with success. "Scat 'en," cried Peter +boisterously. "When her's wanted to go out her never will, and when her +bain't wanted to go out her always du." + +At that moment Boodles entered. Peter was delighted to see her friendly +face. The lantern clattered to the floor, and its master stretched out +his arm, and exclaimed in a whisper which would have carried from one +side of Tavy Cleave to the other: "I was a-coming yesterday, but I never +got as far. Had the tweezers in my trousers, and here they be." He +brought out the implement and brandished it in the faces of the +congregation. "I'm a-coming to-morrow sure 'nuff." Then he went to work +again at the lantern. Peter had not developed the spirit of reverence; +and the service was unable to commence until he had finished blowing. + +When the proceedings were over he followed Boodles out of church and +along the road, all the time asserting that the tweezers and his +trousers had been inseparable for the last six months, that he had +started for Lewside Cottage every day, and something had always cropped +up to prevent him from reaching his destination, but that the next day +would bring him, wet or fine, upon his word of honour it would. He had +been remiss in the past, he owned, but if he failed to attend on Monday +morning at half-past eleven punctual, with the tweezers in his trousers, +he hoped the young lady and the old gentleman would never trust him +again. + +A few more weeks went by, and then Boodles put the clock into a basket, +and came out to the hut-circles. + +Peter was grievously dismayed. "Why didn't ye tell me?" he said. "I'd +ha' come for 'en. I wouldn't ha' troubled yew to ha' brought 'en. If yew +had told I there was a clock to mend, I'd ha' come for him all to wance, +and fetched him home, and mended him same day." + +It would have been useless to remind Peter of his promises and his +eternal procrastination. He would only have pleaded that he had +forgotten all about it. People such as Peter cannot be argued with. + +Boodles left the clock, and Peter promised it should be cleaned at once, +and brought back in a day or two. + +During the next few months the couple at Lewside Cottage made merry over +that clock. Left to himself Peter would have said no more about it, but +would simply have added it to his stock of earthly possessions. However, +Boodles gave him no peace. Peter could hardly enter the village for the +necessity of his existence without being accosted upon the subject; and +at last the slumbering fires of mechanism within him kindled into flame. +He declared he had never seen such a clock; it was made all wrong; it +was not in the least like Grandfather. He explained that it would be +necessary to take it entirely to pieces, alter the works considerably, +and reconstruct it in accordance with the recognised model, adding such +things as weights and pendulum; and that would be a matter of a year's +skilled labour. He pointed out, moreover, that the clock was painted +green, and that in itself would be sufficient to clog the works, as it +was well known that clocks would not keep proper time unless they were +painted brown. That was a trade secret. Boodles replied that there was +nothing whatever wrong with the works of the clock. It only required +cleaning, and she believed she could do it herself. Peter wagged his +head in amazement. The folly and ignorance of young maids eclipsed his +understanding. + + +The second year came to an end, and the clock was in precisely the same +condition as at first. Peter was glad to have it because it made a nice +ornament for his section of Ger Cottage. He had only touched it once, +and then Mary, who happened to be present, exclaimed: "Dear life, Peter, +put 'en down, or you'll be tearing 'en." + +The tenants of Lewside Cottage had become tired of the endless comedy. +So, on that morning when Boodles had her letter, it was the most natural +thing in the world for Weevil to suggest that she should go and reclaim +their property; and as the girl was longing for the open moor and the +sight of Tavy Cleave, which was on the way to fairyland, she went, +running part of the way for sheer joy, singing and laughing all the +time. + +The hut-circles were deserted. Mary was out on the "farm," which was a +ridiculous scrap of reclaimed moor about the same size as an Italian +mountaineer's vineyard; and Peter had gone to the village inn on +business. Boodles looked inside. There was Grandfather, ticking in his +usual misanthropic way; and there was the uncleaned clock in the centre +of the long shelf which ran above the big fire-place. Boodles took it, +and ran off, laughing to think of Peter's dismay when he returned and +discovered that his mantelshelf lacked its principal ornament. He would +think some one had stolen it, and the fright would be a punishment for +him. Boodles raced home, put the clock on the kitchen table, opened it, +and placing the nozzle of the bellows among the works cleaned them +vigorously. When old Weevil came shuffling in the clock was going +merrily. + +"I've done in two minutes what Peter couldn't do in two years," laughed +the happy child. + +Weevil shuffled out. He was in a restless mood. He knew he ought to tell +Boodles that she mustn't be happy, only he could not. Somebody or +something would have to use her as she had used the clock; blow wildly +into her poor little soul, and do for her in two minutes what Weevil +would never have done in two years. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +ABOUT ATMOSPHERE + + +There are secret places among the rocks of Tavy Cleave. The river has +many moods; one time in the barren lands, another time in bogland, and +then in hanging gardens and woodland. No other river displays such +startling Protean changes. The artist always fails to catch the Tavy. He +paints it winding between low banks of peat, with blossoms of pink +heather dripping into the water; but that is not the Tavy. He presents +it as a broiling milk-white torrent, thundering over rocks, with Ger Tor +wrapped in cloud, and bronzed bracken springing out of the clefts; but +that is not the Tavy. He represents it shaded with rowan and ferns, its +banks a fairy carpet of wind-flowers, and suggests a gentle river by +removing the lace-like pattern of foam and the big boulders, and +painting the water a wonderful green, with here and there a streak of +purple; but still he has not caught the Tavy. He goes down from the moor +and shows a stately stream, descending slowly a lew valley between +hills, partly wooded, partly cultivated; shows the smoke of scattered +Bartons mixing lazily with the clouds and going with them sea-ward; shows +cattle feeding and bluebells nodding; a general atmosphere that of +Amaryllis and her piping shepherd, though the lad is only a dull clod +and his pipe is of clay, and Amaryllis has dirty finger-nails; but again +the elusive Tavy has escaped somehow. Once more he tries. There is the +Tavy, like an ocean flood, coming across mud-flats, mingled with brother +Tamar of the border; a dull unromantic Tavy then. The magic mist of +bluebells has given way to the blue steel of the railroad, and wooden +battleships, their task over, float upon its waters instead of +fern-fronds. Not a fairy-tale is to be told, nor any pretty fancy to be +weaved there. The pictures go into galleries, and win fame, perhaps; but +the river of Tavy chuckles over his rocks, and knows he is not there. + +It is a river of atmosphere. Only a dream can produce the Tavy; not the +written word, nor the painted picture. Unpleasant dreams some of them, +like nightmares, but human thought produces them; and human thought is +the dirtiest, as well as the noblest, thing created. + +In one of the secret places among the rocks Pendoggat waited, and +Thomasine came to meet him there. She came because she had been told to, +and about the only thing that her mind was capable of realising was that +she must be obedient. Country girls have to do as they are told. They +are nearly as defenceless as the rabbits, and any commoner may trap them +as one of his rights. So Thomasine came down among the rocks. She had +not been out with Will Pugsley lately, because it was not allowed. She +wanted to, but Pendoggat had refused permission. He had indeed gone +further, and had threatened to murder her if she went with any other +man. Thomasine accepted the inevitable, and told her Will she could not +go out with him any more. Pugsley, having saved a little money, desired +to spend it upon matrimony, and as he could not have Thomasine he was +going about looking for another maid. One would serve his purpose as +well as another, so long as she had plenty of blood in her. + +Such a thing as love without lust was unknown to Pendoggat. His only +idea of the great passion was to catch hold of a woman, maul her, enjoy +her flesh, and her warmth, and the texture of her clothes; the coarse, +crude passion which makes a man ruin himself, and destroy the life of +another, for the pleasure of a moment's madness; that same anarchy of +mind which has dethroned princes, lost kingdoms, and converted houses of +religion into houses of ill-fame. Pendoggat would not have gone mad over +Thomasine had she been merely pretty. It was that face of hers, the +blood in her, something in the shape of her figure, which had kindled +his fire. All men burn, more or less, and must submit; and when they do +not it is because Nature is not striving very hard in them. Much is +heard of the morality of Joseph; nothing concerning the age or ugliness +of Potiphar's wife. These conventional old tales are wiped out by one +touch of desire, and nothing remains except the overmastering thing. The +trees cannot help budding in spring. Nature compels it, as she compels +the desire of the human body also. + +They were out of the wind. The heavy fragrance of gorse was in the hot +air. It was a well-hidden spot, and somewhat weird, a haunted kind of +place. The ruins of a miner's cot were close by, and what had been its +floor was then a mass of bracken. The stones were covered with flowering +saxifrage. There was a scrubby brake here and there, composed of a few +dwarf trees, rowan and oaks, only a few feet high, ancient enough but +small, because their roots obtained little nutriment from the +rock-bedded peat. Their branches twisted in a fantastic manner, reaching +across the sky like human limbs contorted with strange agony. They were +the sort of trees which force themselves into dreams. Some of them were +half dead, green on one side and black upon the other; while the dwarfed +trunks were covered with ivy and masses of polypodies; overgrown so +thickly with these parasites that the bark was nowhere visible. Such a +thickness of moss coated some of the boulders that the hardness of the +granite was not perceptible. Beneath the river tumbled; a rough and wild +Tavy; the river of rocks, the open, sun-parched region of the high moor; +the water clear and cold from Cranmere; and there was a long way to go +yet before it reached cover, the hanging trees, and the mossy bogs pink +with red-rattles, and the woods white with wind-flowers, and the stretch +of bluebell-land, the ferns, bracken, asphodel, and the pleasant winding +pathways where fairy-tales and decent love abide, and the little folk +laugh at moonlight. + +"It be a whist old place," Thomasine said; the words, but not the +thought, frightened out of her by Pendoggat's rude embrace. Like most +girls of her class she was no talker, because she did not know how to +put words together. She could laugh without ceasing when the occasion +justified it, laughter being with her what tail-wagging is to a dog, the +natural expression of pleasure or good-will; but there was not much to +laugh at just then. + +"You haven't told any one about our meetings? They don't know at Town +Rising?" said Pendoggat. + +"No, sir," answered Thomasine. + +"It wouldn't do for them to know. They'd talk themselves sick. You don't +wear much, my maid. Nothing under your blouse. If it wasn't for your fat +you'd take cold." He had thrust his hand into the front of her dress, +and clutched a handful of yielding flesh. + +"Don't ye, sir. It ain't proper," entreated Thomasine. + +She hardly dared to struggle because she was afraid. Instinct told her +certain behaviour was not proper, although it had not prevented her from +coming to that "whist old place." It was fear which had brought her +there. + +"How would you like to come to the Barton, and be my married wife? I +want a fine maid to look after me, and you're a fine lusty sweetheart if +ever there was one. 'Tis a job that would suit you, Thomasine. Better +than working for those Chegwiddens. I'd find you something better to do +than sitting in a cold kitchen, keeping the fire warm. There's a good +home and a sober master waiting for you. Better than young Pugsley and +twelve shillings a week. Say the word, and I'll have you there, and Nell +Crocker can go to the devil." + +Thomasine did not say the word. She had no conversation at all. She did +not know that Pendoggat was giving her the usual fair speech, making her +the usual offer, which meant nothing although it sounded so much. She +had heard Nell Crocker referred to as Mrs. Pendoggat, never before by +her actual name. She had come to meet him, supposing him to be a married +man, not because she wanted his company, but because she had to accept +it. She could only conclude that he really did love her. Thomasine's +ideas of love were simple enough; just to meet a man, and walk with him +in quiet places, and sit about with him, and be mauled by him. That was +the beginning and end of love according to Thomasine, for after marriage +it was all hard work. If a man made a girl meet him in secret places +among the rocks, it could only be because he loved her. There could be +no other reason. And if a man loved a girl he naturally suggested +marriage. The matter was entirely simple. Even she could understand it, +because it was elementary knowledge; the sort of knowledge which causes +many a quiet moorland nook, and many an innocent-looking back garden, to +become some smothered infant's grave. + +"You'd like to come to the Barton, wouldn't you, my maid?" said +Pendoggat in a wheedling tone. + +"Iss," murmured Thomasine at last. She didn't dare say anything else. +She was afraid he would strike her if she struggled. She was staring +without much expression at the little dwarfed oaks, and the blood was +working vigorously up and down her exposed neck and bosom as though a +pump was forcing it. She had a thought just then; or, if not quite a +thought, a wish. She wished she had taken a situation which had been +offered her at Sourton, and had never come to Town Rising. She felt +somehow it might have been better for her if she had gone to Sourton. +She might have escaped something, though she hardly knew what. She could +not have got into a town, as she was too ignorant and dull for anything +better than a moorland Barton. + +"You've done with young Pugsley?" Pendoggat muttered. + +He pulled her hair down roughly, hurting her. Thomasine had good brown +hair in abundance. He wanted to see it lying on her skin. Anything to +add fuel to the fire! + +"Iss, sir." + +"That's well. If you and he are seen together there'll be hell," he +cried savagely. "You're mine, blood and flesh, and all that's in you, +and I'll have you or die for it, and I'd kill the man who tried to get +you away from me, as I'd kill you if you played me false and ran off to +any one else. You young devil, you--you're as full of blood as a whort +is full of juice." + +While speaking he was half dragging her towards the ruined miner's cot, +and there flung her savagely on the fern. + + * * * * * + +Much lower down, where the Tavy fretted less, being freer from rocks; +where there were trees, and a shelter from the wind, and flowers also in +their season, honeysuckles and rose-bays, with fern in great +abundance--there could be no fairyland without ferns--and green water +oozing from the banks, and a fragrant kind of mist over it all; there, +where the river slanted perceptibly towards the lowland, "more down +under like," as Peter would have expressed it, two little people were +trying to strangle one another with pure affection. They were not +pixy-folk. They were only Boodles and her boy going on with the story. +They would have been out of place upon the high Tavy, on the rock-strewn +side of the cleave, among the ruins of the mines. There was nothing hard +or fierce about them. They were children, to be treated with tenderness; +kept out of the strong wind; put among the flowers where they could roll +and tumble without hurting themselves; wrapped in the clinging mist full +of that odour of sweet water and fresh foliage which cannot quickly be +forgotten when it has been enjoyed. + +"I thought I was not going to see you any more," said Boodles with a +fine indifference. + +"Should you have cared very much, sweetheart?" + +"Not a bit, really. A girl mustn't expect too much from a sailor boy. +They are fickle, and keep a sweetheart at every place they stop at. +Girls at every port. Red, white, and yellow girls. A whole heap of +them!" + +"But only one all the time," said Aubrey. "One best beautiful girl who +makes all the others seem nothing, and that's always the girl he leaves +at home and comes back to. You were always in my thoughts, darling." + +"But you never wrote," murmured she. + +"I promised mother I wouldn't," he said, with a little hesitation. + +"Then she does know," cried Boodles quickly. "Well, I think she ought +to, because we can't go on being so chummy--" + +"Lovers," he amended. + +"No, we can't," she said decidedly. "Your people must know all about it, +and like me, and tell me I'm nice enough, if we are going on in the same +old way. You see, boy, I had got used to the idea of doing without you, +and I don't want to start again, and then your people to say I'm not +nice enough. We are growing up now. I'm in long frocks, and--and at our +age things begin to get serious," went on the seventeen-year-old girl of +the radiant head somewhat dolefully, as if she was rather afraid she was +past her prime. + +"I'm going to take you to see mother. I promised her I would," said +Aubrey. "Before going away I told her I was awfully in love with you, +and she made me promise not to write, but to see what my feelings were +when I came back. And now I've come back, and I love you more than ever, +because I love you in a different way. I was only a boy then, and now I +am a man, and it is as a man that I love you, and that sweet golden head +and your lovely golden face; and if my people behave properly, I shall +get a ring, and put it on this little finger--" + +"You silly boy. That's my right hand," she laughed. + +"Then there will be only two more years to wait." + +"I shall be only a baby," sighed Boodles. + +"Darling, you will be as old as I am now; and I'm nineteen," said +Aubrey, with all the dignity and assurance of such longevity. + +"Fancy such a child with an engagement-ring! It would be absurd!" said +Boodles. + +"I shan't be well off, darling," he said, making the confession with a +boy's usual awkwardness. + +"Then I won't have you," she declared. "I must have a boy with heaps of +money, who will give me all the luxuries I have been used to. You know +we live very expensively at Lewside. We have a joint of meat every week, +and father has two eggs for breakfast, and I have two new frocks every +year--I get the stuff and make them myself. If I had a hungry boy to +keep, I should want a lot of housekeeping money, though I can make a +penny do the work of three halfpence." + +"Dear Boodles!" + +"Does that 'dear' mean expensive? Well, I am. Some of the stuff for my +frocks costs I don't know how much a yard, and it's no use trying to be +pretty to a draper, for you can't smile them down a single penny." + +"You are very silly, darling. As if I should let you make your own +frocks!" + +"You are much sillier. So silly that you are hardly fit to live. Telling +me you won't be well off! I think if it was all over between us now I +shouldn't care a bit." + +They came out upon an open space beside the river. It was clear of +trees, and the sun was able to shine upon the girl's head, so Aubrey +stopped and took off her hat with reverent hands. She looked up with a +pretty smile. He drew her close and they kissed fondly. It was a clean +healthy kiss, with less folly in it than most, as sweet as the water, +and fresh as the mist; the sort of kiss that makes the soul bud and +bring forth blossoms. They had changed a good deal since those days when +they had first entered fairyland. There was womanhood in Boodles, and a +good deal of the man in Aubrey. They felt the change. It added +responsibility, as well as pleasure, to that kiss. In much the same way +their appearance had altered. Boodles was rather thinner; she had not +quite the same soft, dumpling-like, school-girl cheeks. Aubrey had still +the girl's face, but it had become a little hardened and had lost its +down. Training and discipline had added self-reliance and determination +to his character. They were a pretty pair, little housewife Boodles and +her healthy boy. It was a pity they were transgressing the great +unwritten law of respectability by loving one another. + +"The hair hasn't altered much," murmured the radiant child. + +"Only to become more lovely. It is a deeper gold now, sweetheart--real +gold; and before it was trying to be gold but couldn't quite manage it." + +"This face is just the same to me, except for the nutmeg-graters on the +chin and lips. You have been shaving in a hurry, Aubrey." + +"You know why. I had to come and meet some one." + +"I think you are such a nice boy, Aubrey," faltered Boodles. + +Her eyes were so soft just then that he could not say anything. He took +the glowing head and placed it on his shoulder, and warmed his lips and +his heart with the radiant hair. What a life it would have been if they +could have gone on "happy ever after," just as they were then. The first +stage of love is so much the best, just as the bud is often more +beautiful than the flower. + +They walked on between the sun and the fragrant mist, having by this +time got quite away from the dull, old place called earth. Boodles +carried her hat, swinging it by the strings, and placed her other hand +naturally on his arm. Aubrey had quite made up his mind by that time +about many important matters. He would marry Boodles whatever happened. +He was fond of his parents, but he could not permit them to come between +him and his happiness. As there was only one girl in the singularly +sparsely-populated world a big price must be paid for her. Even nineteen +can be determined upon matters of the heart. + +"You know Mr. Weevil is not my father," she said timidly, hardly knowing +why she thought it necessary to make the admission; and then, rather +hurriedly, "I am only his adopted daughter." + +She had to say that. She did not want him to have unpleasant thoughts +concerning her origin. She wanted to be perfectly honest, and yet at the +same time she dreaded his learning the truth about herself. She did not +realise how ill-suited they were from the ordinary social and +respectable point of view, although she wanted to justify her existence +and to convince him how unwilling she was to deceive. + +"I am coming to see him soon," said Aubrey at once. He did not give the +matter a serious thought either. He was much too young to bother his +head about such things, and besides, he supposed that his sweetheart was +the daughter of some relation or connection of Weevil's, and that she +had been left an orphan in her childhood, and had been adopted as a +duty, not as an act of charity, by the eccentric old man. He had very +kindly thoughts of Weevil, because he knew that Boodles had been well +taken care of, and always worshipped in a devout and proper manner by +the tenant of Lewside Cottage. + +"I have told him all about you," the girl went on. "I am sure he thinks +you quite a suitable person to take perpetual charge of his little maid, +only he is funny when I talk to him about you. It must be because he +doesn't like the idea of getting rid of me." + +Aubrey supposed that was reasonable enough. He judged Weevil by his own +feelings. The idea of losing Boodles would have made him feel "funny" +too. + +"It does seem selfish and ungrateful," the child went on. "To be brought +up and petted, and given everything by a dear old man, and then one day +to run off with a nice young boy. It's very fickle. I must try and feel +ashamed of myself. Still I'm not so wicked as you. If you would leave me +alone I should abide with him always--but then you won't! You come and +put selfish thoughts into my head. I think you are rather a bad boy, +Aubrey." + +The young sailor would not admit that. He declared he was quite a +natural creature; and he reminded Boodles that if she hadn't been so +delightful he would not have fallen in love with her. So it was her own +fault after all. She said she was very sorry, but she couldn't help it. +She too had only behaved naturally. She was not responsible for so much +glowing hair and golden skin. Others had done that for her. And that +brought her back to the starting-point, and she felt vaguely there was +something she ought to say about those unknown persons, only she didn't +know what. So she said nothing at all, and they went on wandering beside +the river where it was wooded and pleasant, and thought only of the +present, and themselves, and how very nice it was to be together; until +a jarring note was struck by that disagreeable thing called Nature, who +never changes her mood, but works seven long days of spitefulness every +week. + +Aubrey had brought his dog with him, and the little beast had put aside +his social instincts in that glorious hunting-ground, and had gone to +seek his own pleasures, leaving his master to the enjoyment of his. Just +then he returned, somewhat sheepishly, as if afraid he ought to expect a +beating, and slunk along at Aubrey's heels. Boodles at once set up a +lamentable cry: "Oh, Aubrey! he's got a bun, a poor little halfpenny +bun!" + +The dog had caught a young rabbit about the size of a rat. He dropped it +with wicked delight, touched it up with his nose, made the poor little +wretch run, then scampered after it, caught and rolled upon it with much +satisfaction, shook it, tossed it in the air, made it run again, and +captured it as before. He was as happy as a child with a clockwork toy. + +"Take it away," pleaded Boodles. "It's so horrid. Look at the poor +little thing's eyes! It's panting so! If he would kill it at once I +wouldn't mind, but I hate to see him torture it." + +The boy called his dog, who refused to obey, thinking it all a part of +the glorious game. He would let Aubrey come near, then make the victim +run, and scamper after it. The clockwork was getting out of order. The +rabbit was nearly run down. Aubrey caught the dog, took the little +creature away, struck it smartly upon the back of its neck, and the +rabbit gave a little shriek, some small shivers, and died. Boodles +turned away, and felt miserable. + +"Shall I beat him?" said Aubrey, who was very fond of his dog. + +"No--please! I don't care now the poor bun is dead. That tiny scream! +Oh, you nasty little dog! You are not a bit like your master. Go away. I +hate you." + +"He can't help doing what his nature tells him, dear." + +"Is it his nature?" wondered Boodles. "I suppose it is, but it seems so +funny. He's so gentle and affectionate to us, and so very cruel to +another animal. If it is his nature to be gentle and affectionate, why +should he be cruel too?" + +That was too deep for Aubrey, although in his confident boy's fashion he +tried to explain it. He said that every animal respects those stronger +than itself, and is cruel to those that are weaker. Boodles was not +satisfied. She said that was the same thing as saying that affection is +due to fear, and that a dog only loves his master because he is afraid +of him. She was sure that wasn't true. + +They did not pursue the subject, however, for at that moment Nature +again intervened in her maliceful way. The dog was trotting on ahead, +his stump of tail erect, quite happy with himself. Suddenly he yelped, +and rushed off into the wood. + +"Now he's been and trodden on an ants' nest," said Aubrey, with some +satisfaction. + +"Or perhaps he saw a pixy under the bracken," said Boodles. + +As she spoke Aubrey caught her, swung her back to a sound of furious +hissing, and Boodles saw a viper upon a patch of bleached grass, head +erect, swaying to and fro, and exceedingly angry at being disturbed. It +was a beautiful, as well as a malevolent, creature. Its black zig-zag +markings were vivid in the sunlight, and its open mouth was as red as a +poppy-leaf. + +"You were just going to tread upon it," cried the boy. + +"The poor dog!" lamented Boodles, all her sympathies naturally with the +suffering animal. + +Then she had to be sorry for the reptile, for Aubrey declared it must +die, not so much because it had bitten the dog, as because it might have +bitten her ankle, and he went and destroyed it with his stick. + +By that time Boodles was wretched. She felt that most of the pleasure +had gone out of their walk. They had been so happy, in a serene +atmosphere, and then the weather had changed, as it were, and the +cruelty and malevolence of Nature had come along to remind them they had +no business to be so happy, and that the place was not an ideal +fairyland after all. There was an atmosphere of suffering all around, +though they could not always see it, and cruelty in every living thing. +Even the sun was cruel, for it was beginning to make the radiant head +ache. + +They went after the dog, and found him much distressed, because he had +been bitten in the neck, and swelling had commenced. Living upon +Dartmoor, Boodles knew all about viper-bites, and she ordered Aubrey to +take the dog back and attend to the wound at once. Then she had to gulp +down a lump in her throat and rub her eyes. The weather had changed +badly, and things had gone quite wrong. When they had walked in the wood +as little children nothing unpleasant had ever happened, or at least +they had never noticed anything disagreeable. Now they were grown up, as +she thought, all sorts of troubles came to spoil their ramble. The dog +had tortured the rabbit; the viper had bitten the dog; Aubrey had killed +the viper. The tale of suffering seemed to be running up the scale +towards herself. Was there any creature, stronger than themselves, who +could be so brutal as to take pleasure in biting or torturing such +harmless beings as Aubrey and herself? + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +ABOUT A KNAVE AND A FOOL + + +Clever men are either philosophers or knaves; and as the world is +crawling with fools the clever men who are philosophers spend their time +making laws which will protect the fools from the clever men who are +knaves. Sharp practice can only be punished, not stopped, so long as +simpletons are willing to give a florin for a purse which they think +contains two half-crowns, which is the sort of folly which gives rise to +wonder how many men are really rational beings. The fool will believe +anything if the knave talks long enough. No sort of folly is too +hopeless when there is a clever man at the head of it. Shouting will +establish a patent pill, found a new religion, produce a revolution; do +any marvel, except make people decent. + +Pendoggat was a clever man in his own way; and Pezzack would have been a +fool anywhere. The minister had piped to others, a little jig of mines +and speculations, and some of them had danced in a half-hearted way. In +his quaint but sincere fashion he had preached of gold and precious +jewels; of bdellium and the onyx stone. It was the doctrine of "get +rich" that he proclaimed, and his listeners opened their ears to that as +they would scarcely have opened them to any more orthodox message of +redemption. "Do good to your body, and your soul will do good to +itself," was in effect what Pezzack was teaching, although he didn't +know it, and would have been grieved had any one suggested it. He +desired to place his listeners in comfortable circumstances, from the +retired grocer of Bromley to the Dartmoor widow who had five pounds' +worth of pence saved up in a teapot; to take unto himself a helpmeet; +last and least--although again he did not put it in that way--to rebuild +Ebenezer. So he preached of treasures hidden in the earth, and promised +his hearers that every sovereign sown therein would germinate without a +doubt, and bring forth in due season a healthy crop of some ten per +cents, and some twenty per cents. + +People did not tumble over one another in any haste to respond. They +might not be clever, but they could be suspicious, and they asked at +once for particulars, desired to see the good thing for themselves, and +some of them wanted the twenty per cent, paid in advance by way of +guarantee against loss. There were plenty of wild stories concerning the +treasures of the moor. Were there not, upon every side, evidences of the +existence of precious minerals in the shape of abandoned mines? There +were tales of rich lodes which had been lost, but were sure to be picked +up again some day. The mining tradition was strong; but it was notorious +that copper and tin could hardly be worked at a profit. Pezzack answered +that he had discovered nickel, which was something far better, and his +announcement certainly did cause some of the flutter which Pendoggat had +looked for. The retired grocer took advantage of an excursion train to +Plymouth, ascended upon the moor, and having been sworn to secrecy was +conducted by Pendoggat, acting as Pezzack's manager, to the treasure +cave, and shown the ripe nickel running down its sides. Pendoggat also +knocked off a piece of the wall and appeared to give it to the retired +grocer as a sample. What he actually gave him was a fragment of +dirty-grey metal, which had not come from that cave or anywhere near it, +but had been procured by Pendoggat at some expense, seeing that it +really was a sample of nickel. The retired grocer had come down in +doubt, but returned converted to Bromley, submitted the sample to an +analyst, and subsequently acted foolishly. He was meddling with what he +did not understand, which is one of the most attractive things in life. +Adulterated groceries he could comprehend, because he had won retirement +out of them; but the mining industry was something quite outside his +experience. Apparently he thought that nickel could be taken off the +sides of a cave in much the same way as blackberries are picked off a +hedge. He confided the matter to a few friends, making them swear to say +nothing about it; and when they had told all their acquaintances +applications for shares in the good thing began to reach the retired +grocer, who unfortunately had nothing to occupy his time. He was soon +feeling himself a man of some importance, and this naturally assisted +him to entertain a very avuncular regard for nephew Pezzack, and a +friendly feeling for the "simple countryman Pendoggat" and the precious +metal called nickel. He thought of himself as a financial magnate, and +subscribed to the _Mining Journal_. He talked no more of prime Dorset, +nor did he discuss concerning the most suitable sand to mingle with +sugar; but he rehearsed the slang of the money-market instead, remarked +that he had struck a gilt-edged security, looked in the paper every +morning and observed to his wife that copper was recovering, or that +diamonds continued to droop. The head-quarters of the Tavy Cleave Nickel +Mining Company were really not upon Dartmoor at all, but at Bromley in a +straight little jerry-built street; which was exactly what the "simple +countryman Pendoggat" wanted. + +A meeting of prospective shareholders was held in the chapel, but it +turned out a wet stormy evening and very few attended. Brother Pendoggat +led in prayer, which took a pessimistic view of things generally; +Pezzack delivered an impressive address on the need of more stability in +human affairs; and when the party had been worked into a suitable state +of enthusiasm, and were prepared to listen to anything, they got to +business. + +The minister was destined to be astounded that evening by his brother in +religion and partner in business. Eli told the party what it was there +for, which it knew already, and then unfolded his prospectus, as it +were, before their eyes, telling them he had discovered a rich vein of +nickel, and contemplated forming a small company to work the same. It +was to be quite a private affair, and operations would be conducted as +unobtrusively as possible. The capital suggested was £500, divided into +five-shilling shares. While Eli talked Pendoggat sat motionless, his +arms folded, and his eyes upon his boots. + +"Where's the mine?" asked a voice. + +Pezzack replied he was not at liberty to say at that stage of the +proceedings; but he had brought a sample to show them, which was +produced and handed round solemnly, no one examining it with more +interest than Pendoggat, who had provided it. Every one declared that it +was nickel sure enough, although they had never seen the metal before, +and had scarcely an idea between them as to its value or the uses to +which it could be put. + +"Us had best talk about it," suggested one of the party, and every one +agreed that was a sound idea, but nobody offered to say anything, until +an old farmer arose and stated heavily-- + +"Us knows there be rich trade under Dartmoor. My uncle, he worked on +Wheal Betsey, and he worked on Wheal Virtuous Lady tu, and he told I +often there was a plenty of rich trade down under, but cruel hard to get +at. He told I that many a time. Wouldn't hardly pay to work, 'twas so +hard to get at, he said. Such a main cruel lot o' watter, he said. Fast +as they gotten it out back it comed again. That's what he said, but he +be dead now." + +The old fellow sat down with the air of a man who had cleared away +difficulties, and the others dragged their boots upon the boards with a +melancholy sound. Then some one else rose and asked if water was likely +to interfere with the mining of the nickel. Eli replied that there +certainly was water, and that announcement brought the old farmer up to +say: "It wun't pay to work." He added reasons also, in the same strain +as before. + +An interval of silence followed. A deadlock had been reached. Those +present were inclined to nibble, but they all wanted the nickel for +themselves. They did not like the idea of taking shares and sharing +profits. They wanted to be told the precise locality of the mine, so +that they could go and help themselves. Pezzack had nothing more to say. +The old farmer had only his former statements about his uncle to repeat; +and he did so several times, using the same words. + +At last Pendoggat got up, began to mumble, and every one leaned forward +to listen. Most of them did not like Pendoggat because they were afraid +of him; but they believed him to be a man of superior knowledge to +themselves, and they were inclined on the whole to follow his +leadership. + +"We all trust the minister," Pendoggat was saying. "He's found nickel, +and he thinks there is money to be got out of it. He's right enough. +There is nickel. I've found it myself. That sample he had handed round +is as good a bit of nickel as ever I saw. But there's not enough of it. +We couldn't work it so as to pay expenses. It's on the common too, and +we would have to get permission from the Duchy, and pay them a royalty." + +"Us could get out of that," a voice interrupted. "Them who cracks +granite be supposed to pay the Duchy royalties, but none of 'em du." + +"Mining's different," replied Pendoggat. "The Duchy don't worry to +collect their granite royalties. 'Twould cost 'em more trouble than the +stuff is worth. There's more money in minerals than in granite. They +don't let a mine be started without knowing all about it. Minister has +told us what he knows, and we believe him. He won't deceive us. He +wouldn't tell a lie to save his life. We are proud of our minister, for +he's a good one." + +"He be," muttered a chorus of approving voices. + +"Looks like a bishop, sitting up there," exclaimed one of the admirers. + +"So he du. So he be," cried they all. + +The meeting was waking up. Eli sat limply, gazing at Pendoggat, very +unhappy and white, and looking much more like a large maggot than a +bishop. + +"There's the trouble about the water," Pendoggat went on. "The whole +capital would go in keeping that pumped out, and it would beat us in the +end. All the money in the world wouldn't keep Tavy Cleave pumped dry. +I'm against the scheme, and I've got up to say I won't have anything to +do with it. I'm not going to put a penny of my money into any Dartmoor +mine, and if I did I should expect to lose it. That's all I've got to +say. The minister's not a commoner, and he don't know Dartmoor. He don't +know anything about mining either, except what he's picked up from +folks. He's a good man, and he wants to help us. But I tell him, and I +tell you, there's not enough nickel on the whole of Dartmoor to pay the +expense of working it." + +Pendoggat shambled back into his chair, while his listeners looked at +one another and admitted he had spoken wisely, and Eli writhed +worm-like, wondering if there could be anything wrong with his ears. He +had been prepared to hear a certain amount of destructive criticism; but +that the whole scheme should be swept aside by Pendoggat as hopeless was +inexplicable. The old farmer seized the opportunity to stand upright and +repeat his former observations concerning his uncle, and the wheals, and +the "cruel lot o' watter" in them. Then the meeting collapsed +altogether. Pendoggat had killed it. The only thing left was the +mournful conclusion of a suitable prayer; and then to face the rain and +a wild ride homewards. There was to be no local support for the Nickel +Mining Company, Limited. Pendoggat's opposition had done for it. + +The tenant of Helmen Barton had risen several points in the estimation +of those present, with the obvious exception of the staggered Pezzack. +He had proved himself a bold man and fearless speaker. He had not shrunk +from performing the unpleasant duty of opposing his pastor. Eli always +looked like a maggot. Now he felt like one. Pendoggat had set his foot +upon him and squashed him utterly. He would not be a wealthy man, there +was no immediate prospect of matrimony, nor would there be any new +Ebenezer, the presence of which would attract a special blessing upon +them, and the architecture of which would be a perpetual reproach to +that portion of the moor. It was an exceedingly troubled maggot that +wriggled up to Pendoggat, when the others had departed, and the door had +been fastened against the wind. + +"This is an appalling catostrophe, Mr. Pendoggat." Eli often blundered +over long words, never having learnt derivations. "The most excruciating +catostrophe I can remember. I am feeling like chaff scattered by the +wind." + +He was trying to rebuke Pendoggat. He was too much in awe of him to +speak more bitterly. Besides, he was a good Christian, and Eli never +lost sight of that fact, knowing that as a minister it was his duty not +to revile his fellow-creatures more than was necessary. + +Pendoggat stood under a cold lamp, which cast a cold light upon his +black head, and his eyes were upon his boots. Eli stumbled against a +chair, and in trying to regain his balance fell against his companion, +causing him to lose control over himself for an instant. He struck out +his arm and sent Pezzack sprawling among the chairs like an ash-faggot, +a prospect of long black coat and big flat boots. Eli did not mind +tumbling, because he was used to it, not having been endowed with much +sense of gravity. He went about on a bicycle, and was constantly falling +off, and cutting fantastic figures in the air, between Brentor and +Bridestowe. But just then he had an idea that brute force had been used +against him. Pendoggat had struck him, not like the righteous who smite +in friendly reproof, but like the heathen who rage together furiously. +"Why did you strike me, Mr. Pendoggat?" he muttered, dragging himself to +a sitting posture upon a chair and looking whiter than ever. "You cast +me aside like a potter's vessel. Your precious palm might have broke my +'ead." + +"Why can't you stand up, man?" said Pendoggat amicably. "You fell +against my arm where I pinched it this morning in the linny door. I +couldn't help pushing you away, and maybe I pushed harder than I meant, +for you hurt me. You tumbled over your own feet. Not hurt, are ye?" + +"Yes, Mr. Pendoggat," whispered Eli. It was so silent in that dreary +chapel that the least sound was audible. "Not 'ere, not in my body, but +in my 'eart; not by the push you gave me, but by the words you 'ave +spoken. I stood up to-night, and I spoke like a fool, and I felt like a +fool. I was doing the work that you gave me to do, Mr. Pendoggat, and +you spoke against me." + +Eli was growing bold. He had scraped some skin from his leg, and the +smart gave him courage. He was feeling bitter also, and life seemed to +be a failure just then. There was nothing for it but to grub along and +preach the Gospel in poverty, a very laudable existence, but equally +unsatisfying. He was waking from a golden dream to discover himself in +the cold, just as Brightly dreamed of mythical Jerusalem and remained +upon the dungheap. A little more of such treatment and Eli might have +developed a tendency towards chronic misanthropy. + +Pendoggat was amused. He realised that the minister was really +suffering, both in body and mind. Eli was like some wretched rabbit in +the iron jaws of a trap; and Pendoggat was the one who had set the trap, +and was standing over it, able to let the creature out, and intending to +do so, but not until a fair amount of suffering had been exacted. +Pezzack was as much in his power as the rabbit in the hands of the +trapper. He was weak and Pendoggat was strong. Eli was a poor stunted +thing grown in a London back yard; Pendoggat was a tough moorland +growth. + +"I reckon you did speak like a fool," he said, while Eli wondered what +he was looking at: himself, the floor, or the granite wall with its +little beads of moisture glistening in the lamplight. "You put it to +them all wrong. If I hadn't stood up they might have got it into their +heads you were trying to trick 'em. You spoke all the time as if you +didn't know what you were talking about. You're a good preacher, +Pezzack, though not outspoken enough, but you're no good at business. +You wouldn't make a living outside the pulpit." + +Eli was crushed again. His anger had departed, and he was nursing his +leg and his sorrows patiently. He believed that Pendoggat, with all his +roughness, was a man in whom he could trust. The commoner did not come +with a smooth smile, canting to his face, then departing to play him +false. He behaved like the honest rugged man he was; giving him a rough +grasp of the hand, pushing him off harshly when he hurt him, telling him +plainly of his faults, chiding him for his folly, speaking that which +was in his mind. Eli thought he knew something about human nature, and +that knowledge convinced him that if he should refuse to follow +Pendoggat he would lose his best friend. Pendoggat might behave like a +bear; but there was nothing of the bear about him except the skin. + +"I was doing my best. I said all I could, but I know my words must 'ave +sounded poor and foolish," he said mournfully. "Now it's all over, and I +must write to Jeconiah, and tell her we can't be married just yet. It is +a cruel blow, but the things of this world, Mr. Pendoggat, are but as +dross. The moth corrupteth, and the worm nibbleth, and we are shadows +which pass away and come not again." Eli shivered and subsided. He was +mournful, and the interior of Ebenezer was as cold as an ice-house. + +Pendoggat came forward and fastened his hands upon Eli's bony shoulders. +He thought it was time to take him out of the trap. The creature was +becoming torpid and indifferent to suffering, and there was no more +pleasure to be obtained from watching it. Besides, he was hungry, and +wanted to get home that his own needs might be satisfied. + +"We'll do it yet," he said in his low mumbling voice. "We can get along +quite well without these folks. They haven't got much money, and if any +of 'em had invested a few pounds they would have been after us all the +time and given us no rest. We'll rely on your uncle and his friends. I +reckon they can invest enough among them to start the affair. I'll pull +you through, Pezzack. I'll make a rich man of you yet." + +Pendoggat was proving his title to be ranked among the clever men who +are knaves. He had served himself well that evening; by making the +neighbourhood think better of him; by exposing himself to Pezzack as a +man of rough honesty; by rejecting local support, which would always +have been dangerous, and was after all worth little; and by fastening +his hopes upon the grocer of Bromley and his friends, who were a day's +journey distant, were worthy ignorant souls, and could not drop in +casually to ascertain how affairs were progressing. He had also seen the +maggot wriggling in his trap. + +"Don't write to the maid," Pendoggat went on. "Have her down and marry +her. It's safe enough. There will be plenty of money coming your way +presently." + +Eli looked up. He could not see the speaker because Pendoggat was +standing behind the chair. The minister could see nothing except the +chilly damps of Ebenezer. But his soul was rejoicing. Pendoggat was +making the rough places smooth. "I knew you wouldn't deceive me," he +said. "You gave me your 'and that night in Tavy Cleave, and told me I +could trust you. When you spoke to-night I did not understand, Mr. +Pendoggat. I almost thought you were going to leave me destitute. I will +write to Jeconiah. I shall tell her you are a generous man." + +"Why not marry?" muttered Pendoggat. "It will be safe enough. The money +will come. I'll guarantee it." + +"There is no immediate necessity, Mr. Pendoggat," said Eli with +ludicrous earnestness. "There has been nothing wrong between us. We are +able to wait. But we desire to enter the 'oly estate. We are always +talking when we meet of the 'appiness that must be found in that +condition. You 'ave always been as good as your word, Mr. Pendoggat. If +you can promise me the money will come, I think--I do really think, my +dear brother, Jeconiah and me might reasonably be welded together in the +bonds of matrimony at a very early date. I might even suggest next +month, Mr. Pendoggat." + +Eli was becoming somewhat incoherent and extravagant in speech. + +"I'll promise you the money. I'll see you through," said Pendoggat. + +The minister could hardly put out the lamps, his hands were shaking so. +He stumbled out of Ebenezer, shivering with delight, and slobbering with +gratitude and benevolence. + +Pendoggat went on his way alone. He was walking, and the road took him +beside Lewside Cottage. Rain was still falling, but he did not feel it +because it was being blown against his back. As he came near the cottage +he heard a sound of singing. The blinds had not been drawn down, and the +lamplight passed across the road to melt into the darkness of the moor. +Boodles was singing merrily. She was happy like Eli, and for much the +same reason, only she expressed her happiness in a delightful fashion, +just because she was a nice little girl, and he was only a poor weak +thing of a man. Pendoggat looked in at the window. The child was +standing under the lamp, sewing and singing industriously. The light was +full upon the radiant head. Opposite the window were some great +gorse-bushes, and the yellow blooms with which they were covered came +also within the lamplight. The girl's head and the gorse-flowers were +somewhat similar in colour. + +Pendoggat suddenly lifted his stout stick at one of the gorse-bushes, +and struck a quantity of the golden blossoms off it. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +ABOUT THE VIGIL OF ST. GOOSE + + +Mary's greatest possession was her umbrella, which was no ordinary +article, and would have been of little service to the orthodox woman, +because she would have lacked strength to raise it aloft in a breeze. +When unfurled it covered about as much ground as a military tent, and +cast a shade like an oak-tree. Not that Mary often unfurled it. The +umbrella was far too precious to be used. She carried it about on those +rare occasions when she went abroad, as a sort of symbol of the state of +civilisation to which she had attained. It was with her very much what +the pastoral staff is to a bishop; a thing unused, but exhibited. +Umbrellas are useless things upon Dartmoor, because the wind makes +wreckage of them at once. The Marian gamp was a monstrous creation, very +old and patched, possibly had been used once as a carriage umbrella, and +it was more baggy than its mistress's bloomers. Its stock was made of +holly, not from a branch, but a good-sized stem, and a yard of twine was +fastened about it to keep the ribs from flapping. Mary carried it +usually beneath her arm, and found it always terribly in the way. + +Grandfather was tacitly admitted to be Peter's property. He had no +proprietary interest in the umbrella. Mary never ventured to touch +Grandfather, and Peter had not been known to place his hands upon the +umbrella. Primitive people like to take their possessions about with +them, that they may show others how well off they are. A little servant +girl goes out to the revel smothered with all her wearing apparel, +winter things on top of summer things, regardless of season, and with +all the cut glass in rolled-gold settings stuck about her that she can +lay her hands on. Two sisters are able to present a fine show by going +out in turn. Annie ventures forth clad with all the property in common, +while Bessie stays at home, not much better draped than a Greek statue. +Mary took her umbrella about, not because she wanted it, but to convince +strangers that she owned something to be proud of. Nobody was jealous. +She could have left the umbrella anywhere, and not a soul would have +touched it. Peter would have taken Grandfather about with him had it +been possible; but as the clock was twice Peter's size, and could not be +attached to a brass chain and slung in his waistcoat pocket, it had to +remain in Number One, Hut-Circles, and wheeze away the hours in +solitude. + +There was suppressed excitement in New Gubbings Land. Peter was more +absent-minded than ever, and Mary was quite foolish. She served up +before her brother the barley-meal which her geese did eat, after +scattering their own dinner to the birds. It was all because they were +going on a long journey. Peter had remained quiescent for years; and, +like most men who have travelled much, he felt at last the call of the +outer world and the desire to be again in motion. Mary had the same +feeling, which was the more strange as she had never travelled. It was +the fault of the concert. Since that festival Mary had become unsettled. +It had taught her there were experiences which she had not enjoyed. Mary +thought she had done a good deal, but as a matter of fact she had never +been in a train, nor had she slept a night out of the parish. When Peter +said he meant to travel again, Mary declared she was coming too. Peter +tried to discourage her, explaining that travelling was expensive, and +dangerous also. A hardened wanderer like himself was able to face the +risks, but she would not be equal to the strain. It was a terrifying +experience to be carried swiftly along the railway, and had frightened +him badly the first time. He advised Mary to walk, and let him have the +money she would otherwise have squandered. Arguments were useless. Comic +songs had ruined Mary's contentment. She was sorry she had not travelled +before, and declared she was going to take her umbrella and begin. So +they decided to venture to Tavistock to keep the festival of St. Goose. + +Mary had been to Goose Fair before, walking there and back; and for +Peter the experience was nothing. Peter had trodden the streets of +Plymouth, and had been long ago to Winkleigh Revel, although he could +recall little of that expedition--the morning after the event he +remembered nothing--but the certainty that he had made the great journey +into the wilds of mid-Devon remained, and there was proof in the +presence of a large mug with a tin handle upon the mantelshelf, bearing +the touching inscription, "Tak' a drop o' gin, old dear," in quaint +lettering, which mug, Peter declared, had come with him from Winkleigh +Revel, although any one curious enough to have turned it upside down +might have discovered "Manor Hotel, Lydford," stamped underneath. + +Peter had always felt superior to his sister, apart from the sublime +fact of his manhood. He was not only highly educated, but he had +travelled, and he feared that if Mary travelled too her eyes would be +opened, and she might consider herself his equal. Therefore he had a +distinct motive in begging her to bide at home, although his eloquence +was in vain, for Mary was going to travel. She stated her intention of +walking across the moor to Lydford and catching the train there, which +was needless expense, as she might have gone down to St. Mary Tavy +station; but she desired to make a great journey, something to boast of +in days to come. + +A vigil suggests sleeplessness, a watching through the night which +precedes the day of the feast; and Mary observed the vigil more +thoroughly than any nun. Plenty of girls were equally devout at the same +time; keeping awake, not because they wanted to, but because excitement +rendered sleep impossible. Thomasine observed the vigil, and even +Boodles watched and wished the dark gone. It was a long night all over +Dartmoor. Even Siberian Princetown was aroused; and those who were being +punished for their sins had the additional mortification of knowing that +they would be behind prison bars on the day when the greatest saint in +the calendar according to the use of Dartmoor, the blatant and waddling +St. Goose, was to be honoured by a special service of excursion trains +and various instruments of music. + +Dawn impelled every maid to glance at the chair beside her bed, to be +sure that the pixies had not run away with her fair-clothes. Thomasine +looked for her completed petticoat, Boodles for her boy's photograph, +Mary for her umbrella. There had been no pixy-pranks, and the day came +in with a promise of sunshine. There were no lie-a-beds that morning. +Even Peter had been restless, and Grandfather possibly noticed that the +little man had not snored so regularly as usual. + +To the dweller in the wilds there is no getting away from fair-day, the +great country holiday of the year. Those who would wish to abolish such +festivals should remember that country-folk have few pleasures, and the +fair is about the last, and is certainly one of the greatest, +inducements to keep them on the land. To a large number it is the single +outing of the year; a thing to talk about for months before and +afterwards; the day of family reunion, when a girl expects to see her +parents, the young man meets his brother, and the old folk keep +associations going. The fair is to country-folk very much what Christmas +is to the better classes. And as for the pleasures they are nothing like +so lurid as have been represented. Individuals are vicious; a +pleasure-seeking crowd is not. There is a vast deal of drunkenness, and +this is by far the worst feature, and one which cannot be eliminated +except by compulsory closing of all houses of refreshment, which would +be only possible under a Saturnian régime. As evening approaches there +is also much of that unpleasantness which is associated with +drunkenness, and is described in police-reports as obscene language. The +fair-ground is not the best place for highly respectable people. It is +the dancing-place of the lower classes; and as such the fair is a +success and practically harmless. The girls are out for fun, and when +they see a good-looking young man are not above making advances; and the +stranger who steps up and introduces himself is sure of a welcome on his +face value. It is all free and natural. Nearly every one is the better, +and very few are the worse, for the holiday. Liquor is the principal +cause of what evils there are. Tavistock Goose Fair after dark is far +more respectable than Hyde Park at midnight. + +Peter and Mary set forth on their walk across the moor to Lydford +station, both of them attired in the festive garments which had been +last assumed for the concert, Mary's large right hand clutching the +umbrella by its ribs, Peter smoking industriously. They made a bee-line +for their destination, heedless of mossy bogs, which were fairly firm at +that time of the year. There were no rocks to hinder them. It is a bald +stretch of moor between St. Mary Tavy and Lydford. Mary was breathing +furiously from sheer excitement and nervousness, being dreadfully afraid +they would miss the train. There was the station "down under," not more +than half-a-mile away, and the train was not due for an hour, but Mary +continued on the double. She did not understand mathematics and +timetables. Peter trudged behind in a state of phlegmatic calm, natural +to an old traveller, who had been to Plymouth by the sea and to +Winkleigh on the hill. + +For some time they had the platform to themselves. Then the moor began +to give forth its living: young men and maidens, old men and wives, all +going a-fairing, some treating the matter irreverently with unmusical +laughter, others regarding the occasion as meet for an austere +countenance. Peter was among those who cackled, while Mary was on the +side of the anxious. She had to remind herself continually that she was +enjoying life, although she would much rather have been at home chasing +Old Sal among the furze-bushes. When the signals fell, and the bell +rang, and the station began to rumble as the train approached, she +clutched Peter and suggested they should return home. "Don't ye get +mazed," said Peter crossly. "Come along wi' I." + +Mary endeavoured to do so, but lost her head entirely when the train +drew up, and went on to behave very much like a dog at a fair. She lost +sight of her brother, scurried up and down the platform looking for him, +and became still more confused when the cry, "Take your seats, please," +sounded in her ears. The guard, who was used to queer passengers, took +her by the arm with the idea of putting her into a carriage, but Mary +defended herself against his designs with her umbrella, and breaking +loose endeavoured to join the engine-driver. Meeting with no +encouragement there she turned back, and was seized by Peter, who told +her plainly she was acting foolishly, and again commanded her to come +along with him. Mary obeyed, and everything was going favourably, and +they were just about to enter a compartment when the umbrella slipped +oat of her nervous hand, bumped upon the edge of the platform, and slid +beneath the train. + +Mary resumed her normal condition at once, caring no longer for train, +crowd, or fair, while the fear of travelling ceased to trouble when she +perceived that the umbrella had departed from her. She stood upon the +platform, and declared with an oath that the system of the railway +should work no more until the umbrella had been restored to her hands. +Time was of no account to Mary. She refused to enter the train without +her umbrella; neither should the train proceed, for she would hold on to +it. Peter upheld his sister. The umbrella was a family heirloom. The +station-master and guard urged and blasphemed in vain. The homely +epithets of the porter were received with contempt and the response, "Us +bain't a-going. Us be going to bide." + +Passengers in the adjoining compartment were perturbed, because it was +rumoured among them that the poor woman had dropped a baby beneath the +train, and they believed that the officials were contending that there +was nothing in the regulations about ordinary humanity, and it was +therefore their duty to let the child remain there. The guard and +station-master became unpopular. The passengers were in no great hurry +to proceed, as they were out for a day's enjoyment; and as for Mary, +great was her lamentation for the lost umbrella. + +"'Tis a little gal, name of Ella," explained a stout commoner with his +head out of the window, for the benefit of others in the carriage. + +"Sounded to me like Bella," replied his wife, differing from him merely +as a matter of principle. + +"There's no telling. They give 'em such fancy names now-a-days," said +another excursionist. + +"Her be screaming cruel," said the stout commoner. + +"I don't hear 'en," declared his wife. They got along very well +together, those two, and made conversation easily, one by offering a +statement, the other by differing. + +"I du," said a young woman in a white frock, which was already showing +about the waist some finger-impressions of her young man, who sat beside +her. "She'm right underneath the carriage. Don't ye hear she, Ben?" + +Ben gave a nervous smile, gulped, arranged his tie, which would keep +slipping up to his chin, moistened his lips, then parted them to utter +the monosyllable which was required. He heard the child screaming +distinctly. Having stated as much, he proceeded to record his +fingerprints accurately upon the young woman's waist. + +A farmer from Inwardleigh, who had entered the train at Okehampton, and +had slept peacefully ever since, woke up at that moment, looked out, saw +the bare moor, remarked in a decided voice that he wouldn't live on +Dartmoor for a thousand pounds, and went to sleep again. The stout +commoner took up his parable and said-- + +"There be a little man got out now, and he'm poking about wi' a stick, +trying to get the baby out. Did ever hear of trying to get a baby up wi' +an ash-stick, woman?" + +His wife replied that she had never heard of a baby getting underneath a +train before, and she thought people ought to be ashamed of themselves +getting drunk so early in the morning. + +"Babies oughtn't to be took to the vair," said the young woman in the +white frock. "I shan't tak' mine when I has 'em." + +This remark caused young man Ben to smile nervously again. + +The Inwardleigh farmer opened his eyes and wanted to know why the train +was motionless. He was getting so thirsty that he could sleep no more. +"Us might sing a hymn," he suggested; and proceeded forthwith to make a +noise like a chaff-cutting machine, preparatory to describing himself in +song as a pure and spotless being whose sins had been entirely washed +away. Had he given his face and hands the attention which, according to +his own statement, his soul had received, he would have been a more +presentable object. The young woman in the white frock knew the hymn, +and joined in vigorously, claiming for her soul a whiteness which her +dress could not equal. The farmer was so delighted with her singing that +he leaned forward and kissed the damsel rapturously. The unhappy Ben +dared not remonstrate with his elders and betters, but merely sat and +gulped. By this time Peter had dropped his stick beneath the train, +where it reposed side by side with the umbrella. + +"They'm going to run the train back," said the stout commoner. + +"The baby 'll be dead," remarked his wife cheerfully. She was not going +to be depressed upon a holiday. + +Peter and Mary stood upon the platform, a statuesque, obstinate pair, +determined to give the railway company no mercy. It was nothing to them +that the train was being delayed. Their property was underneath it, and +all the Gubbings blood in them rebelled. + +"I'll bide till I gets my umbrella. Tak' your mucky old train off 'en," +said Mary, wagging her big hand at the men in authority; while Peter +added that his intention was also to bide until his ash-stick should be +returned to him. + +Finally the train was backed, the umbrella and stick were recovered, and +the savages permitted themselves to be bundled into the first +compartment handy, amid laughter from the heads at the windows and +profanity from the mouths of the officials. The train drew out of the +station, and Mary subsided into a corner and held on tightly, shouting +to her brother, "Shet the window, Peter, du'ye. Us may be falling out." + +Peter tried to explain that would not be easy, but Mary was unable to +listen. Her former fears had returned. She clutched her umbrella, +trembled, and prayed to the gods of Brentor and the gods of +Ebenezer--Mary's religion was a misty affair--for a safe deliverance +from the perils of the railway. She had a feeling as if she was about to +part with her breakfast. She had also a distinct admiration just then +for all those who went down to the towns in trains, and for her brother, +who sat calmly upon the cushions--it was a first-class compartment which +they had invaded--and spat contentedly upon the carpet. The speed of the +train exceeded thirty miles an hour, and poor Mary's bullet head was +rolling upon her shoulders. + +"Aw, my dear life!" she moaned. "I feels as if my belly were running +back to home again. Where be us, Peter?" + +"On the railway," her brother answered, with truth, but without +brilliance. The remark was reassuring to Mary, however. She thought the +train had got upon the moor somehow and was speeding furiously down a +steep place towards destruction upon the rocks. A glance from the window +gave no comfort. It was terrible to see the big tors tumbling past like +a lot of drunken giants. + +"Mind what I told ye," observed Peter. "Yew wun't like travelling, I +ses. 'Tis easy when yew begins young, but yew be too old to begin." + +"Us ha' got legs, and us was meant to use 'em. Us was never meant to run +abroad on wheels," said Mary. "If ever I gets home, I'll bide." + +Peter refilled his pipe, and began to boast of his experiences upon sea +and land; how he had ventured upon the ocean and penetrated to a far +country. Mary had heard it all before, but she had never been so +impressed as she was then by her brother's account of his famous +crossing of the Hamoaze in a fishing-boat, and his alighting upon the +distant shore of Torpoint to stand upon Cornish soil. But while Peter +was describing how he had been rocked "cruel and proper" upon the waves +of what it pleased him to style the Atlantic, brakes fell heavily upon +the wheels, a whistle sounded, and the train dragged itself gradually to +a standstill. There was no station in sight. The moor heaved on both +sides of the line. Even Peter was at a loss to explain the sudden +stoppage for a moment. + +"The train be broke," said Mary, who was bold now that she had ceased +from travelling. "They've run 'en over a nail, and us mun bide till 'em +blows the wheels out again." + +Mary comprehended bicycles, and had contemplated tourists, who were so +foolish as to bring their machines upon Dartmoor, pumping away at +punctured tyres. Peter did not contradict because he was perturbed. He +understood that the train had not broken down; but he believed that an +accident was impending. Out of his worldly wisdom he spoke: "It be a +collusion, I reckon." + +Suspiciously Mary demanded an explanation. + +"'Tis when two trains hit one into t'other," explained Peter, striking +his left fist into his right palm. "That be a collusion. Same as if yew +was to run into a wall in the dark," he added. + +The meaning of these words did not dawn upon Mary for some moments. When +she did grasp them she made for the door, with the intention of +abandoning the railway forthwith; but the train gave a sudden jerk, +which threw her upon the seat, and then began to glide back. Peter +thrust his head out of the window and perceived they were making for a +siding. He and his sister had delayed the train so long that an express +which was due to follow had almost caught them up, and had made it +necessary for the local train, which has to wait for everything, to get +off the main line. Peter did not understand that. Even old travellers +make mistakes sometimes. He considered that the situation was desperate. + +"They'm trying to get away, trying cruel hard," he said drearily. + +"What be 'em getting away from?" gasped Mary. + +"T'other train," her brother answered. + +"Aw, Peter, will 'em du it?" + +"Bain't hardly likely," said Peter dolefully. + +"Be t'other train going to run into we?" + +Peter admitted that it was so, adding: "I told ye to bide to home." + +"Will us get hurt?" moaned Mary. + +"Smashed to bits. They newspapers will tell us was cut to pieces," said +Peter, in his gloomiest fashion. "How much have ye got in the +money-box?" he asked. + +With prophetic insight Peter perceived that he would be spared. Mary +would be destroyed, together with all the other passengers, and Peter +naturally was anxious to know the amount of hard cash he was likely to +inherit. + +But Mary gave no heed to the avaricious question. She groaned and rubbed +her eyes with the umbrella. It was the umbrella she was thinking of +rather than herself. Somehow she could not imagine her own body mangled +upon the line; but a melancholy picture of the wrecked umbrella was +clear before her eyes. + +In the next compartment the farmer was still singing hymns, accompanied +by a chorus. Mary thought they were praying. This was travelling, +enjoying life, a day's pleasure, St. Goose's Day! Mary wished with all +her heart she had never left her geese and her hut-circle. In the +meantime Peter was keeping her well informed. + +"They be running the train off on Dartmoor," he explained. "There's a +gurt cleave down under, and they be going to run us down that. Us mun +get smashed either way." + +"Why don't us get out and run away?" suggested frightened Mary. + +As she spoke the train stopped. It was safe in the siding, although the +savages did not know that. They supposed that the motive power had +failed, or the engine-driver had come to realise that escape was +hopeless, and had abandoned the train to secure his own safety. Peter +saw a man running along the line. He was only a harmless pointsman going +about his business, but Peter supposed him to be the base engine-driver +flying for his life, and he told Mary as much. Even Peter's nerve was +somewhat shaken by this time. Mary said plainly she should follow the +example of the engine-driver. "My legs be as good as his," she cried. "I +hain't a-going to bide here and be broke up like an old goosie's egg. I +be a-going out." + +"They'll fine ye," cried Peter. "There be a notice yonder. For +trampesing on the line a sum not exceeding forty shilluns--" + +"Bain't that better than getting smashed to pieces?" shouted Mary. + +Peter was not sure. He could not translate the phrase "not exceeding," +but he had a clear notion that it meant considerably more than forty +shillings. + +Mary was struggling with the door. In another moment she would have +opened it, but a terrific interruption occurred. There sounded a wild +whistling, and a roar which stunned her, and caused her to fall back +upon the seat to prepare hurriedly for her doom, to recall various +religious memories and family associations, and to mutter fervently such +disjointed scraps of sun-worship and Christianity as: "Our Vaither, +hollered be the name, kingdom come. Angels and piskies, long-stones and +crosses, glory to 'em all. Amen." + +Then the express thundered past, shaking everything horribly. The +tragedy was soon over, and Peter emerged into the light with worm-like +wrigglings. For all his courage and experience he had dived beneath the +seat, conscious somehow that any change of position would be better than +no change. Everything seemed to have become very quiet all at once. They +could hear the wind whistling gently over the moor, and the water +splashing below. Mary had no idea what had happened, but she quite +believed that Peter's worst fears had been realised, and that the +"collusion" had actually occurred. So she groaned, and did not venture +to move, and muttered feebly: "I be cut to pieces." + +"No, you bain't," said Peter cheerfully. "Us got away after all." + +With a little more encouragement Mary stretched herself, discovered that +she and the umbrella were both intact, and from that moment the joy of +life was hers again. They had escaped somehow. The express had missed +them, and Peter assured her it was not likely to return. He admitted +they had gone through a terrifying experience, which was as novel to him +as to Mary; and his conclusion of the whole matter was that the +engine-driver had undoubtedly saved their lives by cool and daring +courage in the presence of fearful danger. + +"He saw t'other train coming, and got us out o' the way just in time. +Yew saw how near t'other train was. Only just missed us," explained +Peter. + +"He'm a cruel larned man," declared Mary. "He ought to be given +something. Ought to be fined forty shilluns." Poor Mary was anxious to +learn the English language; but when she made use of strange words she +betrayed her ignorance. + +"You means rewarded," Peter corrected out of the depths of his +education. + +"Aw ees," said Mary. "Us will reward 'en wi' a shillun." + +Peter did not see the necessity. As they were perfectly safe, and as no +further advantage could possibly accrue to them from the engine-driver's +heroism, he thought they might as well keep the shilling. The train drew +out of the siding, continued its journey, and Mary became quite +comfortable, even venturing to lean forward and look out of the window, +though the telegraph-poles and bridges frightened her at first. They +looked as if they were going to run into her, she said. + +Nothing else eventful happened until they reached Tavistock, although +there was a good deal of human nature at work in the adjoining +compartment, where the Inwardleigh farmer had exchanged hymn-singing for +amorous suggestions, and had proceeded to appropriate the unfortunate +Ben's white-frocked young woman to himself. It was especially hard upon +the poor young clown, as he had paid for the railway tickets; but he had +only a couple of shillings for fairing, and the Inwardleigh farmer had +gold in his fob, so the girl naturally preferred to spend the day with +the man of well-filled pockets. Weak-minded young bumpkins sometimes +murder their sweethearts, and it is not very surprising. Even +degenerates get weary of playing the singularly uninteresting part of +the worm that is trampled on. + +"Tavistock! Good Lord!" exclaimed Mary, with great relief, as the train +entered the station. + +She and Peter tumbled out. Such people always tumble out of railway +carriages. They merely bang the door open, fall forward, and find their +feet somehow. It is easy to tell whether a person is well-bred or not by +the way he or she leaves a railway carriage. A young lady comes forth +after the manner of a butterfly settling on a flower. The country maid +emerges like a falling sack of wheat. Peter and Mary tumbled out, and +were considerably astonished not to find a procession of grateful +passengers advancing towards the engine to thank the driver for the +courage he had displayed in saving their lives. Every one seemed anxious +to quit the platform as soon as possible. Peter was shocked to discover +so much ingratitude. It was ignorance perhaps, indifference possibly, +but to Peter and Mary it seemed utter callousness. They felt themselves +capable of something better. So they pushed through the crowd, reached +the engine, and insisted upon shaking hands, not only with the driver, +but with the fireman also, and thanked them very much for bringing them +safely into Tavistock, and for having; avoided the "collusion," which +they, the speakers, confessed had at one time appeared to them as +inevitable. Peter invited them to come and have a drop of gin, and Mary +asked sympathetically after the "volks to home." + +The men enjoyed the joke immensely. They thought that the quaint couple +were thanking them for having backed the train at Lydford in order that +Mary might recover her umbrella and Peter his ash-stick. They chaffed +them in a subtle fashion, and after a minute's complete mutual +misunderstanding bade them farewell with the ironical hope they might +some day save them again. + +Mary was overflowing with generosity. As she and her brother turned away +she produced two shillings and instructed Peter to reward the heroes +suitably. Peter slipped the shillings unobtrusively into his own pocket. +With all his faults he was a strict man of business. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +ABOUT THE FEAST OF ST. GOOSE + + +The cult of the goose, so far as it concerns Tavistock Fair, is +gastronomic entirely, and has no religious significance. At dedication +festivals of a church some particular saint is flattered with +decorations and services, and his existence upon this world at one time +is taken for granted. In certain places a few bones are produced for the +edification of the faithful, and advertised as the great toe or the jaw +of the patron in question. Goose bones are displayed at the "gurt vair" +in lieu of the living creature, and they are unmistakably genuine, for +there is plenty of sound meat upon them. St. Goose is honoured with the +fun of the fair, while he himself is offered up on a charger. The +congregation of countryfolk devour their canonised bird, and wash him +down with beer and cider. There is not a living goose to be seen about +the town, but the atmosphere of the principal street is thick and +fragrant with sage and onions. + +Peter and Mary trod the wide roads as delicately as large boots could, +feeling far too nervous to enjoy themselves. Peter would not enter into +the pleasure of the fair until he had swallowed several stimulating +pints, and even Mary was willing to take a little cordial for the sake +of her nerves. It was not so much the noises which disconcerted +her--there was plenty of howling wind and roaring water down Tavy +Cleave--as their unaccustomed nature. She was not used to steam +roundabouts, megaphones, and all the drums and shoutings of the showmen. +When Peter proposed an aërial trip upon wooden horses, Mary moved an +amendment in favour of light refreshment. Peter could not object to a +suggestion so full of sense, so they passed beside the statue of Francis +Drake, crossed the road, and were getting clear of the crowd, when a +familiar laugh reached their ears, and Mary saw a fresh and happy pair +of youngsters. Boodles and Aubrey, in high spirits and good health, +laughing at everything merely because they were together for a good long +day. Boodles had never looked nicer. West-country beauty is nothing but +fair hair and tinted skin; but Boodles was all glorious just then. She +was a flame rather than a flower. Her hair had never looked so radiant, +or her skin more golden. She was as happy as she could be; and when a +girl is like that she has to look splendid, whether she likes it or no. + +Mary was soon after her, bellowing like a bullock, lunging with the +umbrella, shouting! "Aw, Miss Boodles! Aw, my dear! I be come to the +vair tu. Me and Peter has come to Goosie Vair. Where be ye going, my +dear?" + +Boodles turned with a look of amazement. She had her flaming hair up, +beneath a big straw hat which was trimmed with poppies, and her dainty +frock just touched her ankles. She looked so deliciously clean that Mary +hardly liked to come near her, and she smelt, not like a chemist's shop, +but like the sweet earth after a shower. Mary drew her right hand +swiftly across her big tongue, rubbed the palm upon her buttock, and +held it out. She always shook hands with Boodles whenever they met. She +felt that the civilising contact lent her some of the womanhood which +nature had withheld. + +"It's so jolly!" cried the child. "Such a lovely day, and everything +perfect. I'm glad you have come--and Peter too! Aubrey, this is Mary who +gives us eggs and butter. She and Peter live upon Tavy Cleave. You +know!" + +Mary cleansed her right hand again. + +"Why, Where's Peter?" cried Boodles. + +Peter was already across the road, following his little turned-up nose +in the direction of a door which suggested pewters. + +"He'm thirsty," explained Mary. + +"Poor Peter!" laughed Boodles. "You must look after him, Mary. Don't +bring him home staggery." + +Mary was not listening. Of course Peter would go home staggery. It was +the proper thing to do. How could a man be said to enjoy a fair if he +went home sober? Mary was regarding the young man. She was able to +reason with a good deal of clearness sometimes. It was not easy to +believe that the title _man_ included beings So far apart as Aubrey and +her brother, just as she found it hard to understand how the word +_woman_ could serve for Boodles and herself. + +"Bain't he a proper young gentleman?" she exclaimed. "A main cruel +butiful young gentleman. Aw ees, my dear! I'd like to kiss a gentleman +like yew." + +Mary had not felt so womanly for a long time. She comprehended there was +something in life beyond breeding geese, and cleaning turnips, and +bringing the furze-reek home; something that was not for her, because +she was too much of a man to be a woman. + +Their answering laughter did not upset her, although it was in a way +expressive of the truth that there could never be any pleasant gilt upon +her gingerbread. + +"It wouldn't do here. Rather too public," said the boy, with a sly look +in his blue eyes, squeezing his sweetheart's fingers as he spoke. + +Boodles had flushed with pleasure. She would rather have heard Aubrey +praised than be praised herself. She was quite right when she had +declared Aubrey was the prettiest boy ever made. It was obvious even to +poor old wooden-faced half-man Mary. + +Boodles and Aubrey hurried on, representatives of fun and laughter, +which were otherwise somewhat wanting. It was too early in the day for +excitement. The countryfolk were not yet warmed up; they were reserved, +and took the holiday seriously; hanging about the streets with a lost +expression, unwilling to change their shillings into pence, oppressed +with the idea that it would be necessary soon to enjoy themselves, +studiously avoiding the pleasure-ground in order that they might cling +to their cash a little longer, and quite content to look on and listen, +and welcome acquaintances with prolonged handshakes. The spending of the +first penny was difficult; the rest would be easy. There were some who +had not a penny to spend, and even they would be happy when the +temperature went up. A poor plain girl from some remote village will +stand in a puddle all day, and declare when she gets home she has never +enjoyed herself so much in her life. It is a sufficient pleasure, for +those who live in lonely places, to stand at a corner and stare at a +rollicking crowd for a few hours. + +There was the fair within the town, and the fair without. That within +was beside the Tavy and among the ruins of the Abbey; that without was +also beside the Tavy, but upon the opposite bank. There was also the +business-fair, where beasts were bargained for: ponies, bullocks, pigs, +sheep, everything except geese. It was a festival which would have +delighted the hearts of Abbot Cullyng's gay monks, who, it is recorded, +wore secular garments about the town, divided their time between hunting +the deer on Dartmoor and holding drunken suppers in their cells, and +cared not at all for religious discipline or black-lettered tomes. Part +of the fair is held upon the former site of those monastic buildings, +and the ruin of Betsey Grimbal's tower looks down upon more honest +pleasures from what was once the Abbey garden. The foundation was +despoiled of its gold and silver images, and the drones were smoked out +of their nest, centuries ago, and what was their refectory is now by the +irony of fate a Unitarian chapel; and St. Goose has become a greater +saint than St. Rumon, who was claimed as a bishop of renown by his +Church, although secular history suggests no such gentleman ever lived. + +Certain objects were against the railings of the church, objects neither +beautiful nor necessary; Brightly and his mongrel, hungry and +business-like as ever. They occupied very little space, and yet they +were in the way, principally because they were not pleasant to look +upon, being rather like heaps of refuse which the street-cleaners had +overlooked. Brightly was not there for the fun of the thing. He did not +know the meaning of such words as holiday and pleasure. Had any one +given him five shillings, and told him to go and enjoy himself, he would +not have known what to do. Both he and Ju were thinner, though that was +only interesting as a physiological fact. Brightly held up his +ridiculous head and sniffed continually. Ju did the same. The atmosphere +was redolent of sage and onions; and they were trying to feed upon it. + +"Trade be cruel dull," muttered Brightly. + +Ju did not acknowledge the remark. She had heard it so often, or words +to the same effect, that she deemed it unnecessary to respond with a +tail-wag. Besides, that sort of thing required energy, and Ju had none +to spare. She was wondering, if she followed up that wonderful odour, +whether she would obtain gratuitous goose at the other end. + +"Tie-clips, penny each. Dree for duppence. Butiful pipes, two a penny," +sang Brightly; but his miserable voice was drowned by the roundabouts +and megaphones. + +Brightly was celebrating the general holiday by exchanging one form of +labour for another. It would have been useless to follow his usual +calling of purveyor of rabbit-skins that day, so he had become for the +time being a general merchant. He had obtained a trayful of small goods +on credit. Brightly had one fault, a grave one in business; he was +honest. So far he had sold nothing. He was merely demonstrating the +marvellous purchasing powers of a penny. It never occurred to him that +he was opposing his miserable little trayful of rubbish to all the +booths and pleasures of the great fair. Tie-clips and clay-pipes were +all he had to offer in competition with attractions which had delighted +kings and princes, if the honesty of the showmen could be accepted as +advertised. Even the fat woman admitted that royal personages had +pinched her legs. If Brightly had followed the fat lady's example, and +declared in a loud enough voice that autocrats smoked nothing but his +clay-pipes, and kept their decorations in place with his tie-clips, he +might have acquired many pennies. + +Above the town, where the cattle-fair was in full swing, various hawkers +had established themselves; men who looked as if they had been made out +of metal, with faces of copper and tongues of brass. One man was giving +away gold rings, and if a recipient was not satisfied he threw in a +silver watch as well. He couldn't explain why he did such things. It was +his evil fate to have been born a philanthropist. He owned he had come +to the fair with the idea of selling his goods; but when he found +himself among so many happy, smiling people, fine young men, beautiful +girls, dear old folks who reminded him of his own parents, all making +holiday and enjoying themselves, with the sun shining and Nature at her +best, he felt totally unable to restrain his benevolence. He couldn't +take their money. It was weak and foolish of him, he knew, but he had to +give them the rings and watches, which, as they could see for +themselves, had cost him pounds, shillings, and pence, because he wanted +to send them home happy. His only idea was to give them a little present +so that they would remember him, and tell their friends what a simple +and generous creature they had encountered at the fair. So he flowed on, +with an eloquence which any missionary would have envied. And then he +produced a black bag, and said he wished to draw their attention to +something which he must really ask them to buy, not because he wanted +their money, but because he knew that people never really valued a thing +unless they gave something for it. It was a fatal thing, this +philanthropy, but it made him happy to be kind to others. Out of the bag +came some more rubbish, and the rascal was soon doing a roaring trade. +What chance had Brightly against a metallic creature like that? + +Higher up the road another gentleman established himself. He was well +dressed, his mottled hands were gleaming with immense rings, and his +clean-shaven face was as red as rhubarb. He assumed an academic cap and +gown, casually informing those who gathered around that he was entitled +to do so, as he was not only a man of gentle birth, but a graduate of +"one of our oldest universities," and a duly qualified physician also. +He stated with emphasis, and a slight touch of cynicism, that he was no +philanthropist. He belonged to an overcrowded profession; he had no +settled practice; and knowing how unwilling country-people were to come +to a medical man until they had to, when it was usually too late, and +knowing also how grievously afflicted many of them were with divers +diseases, he had decided to come out by the wayside and heal them. It +was entirely a matter of business. He was going to cure them of a number +of ailments which they were harbouring unawares, and they would pay him +a trifling sum in return. He wasn't going to give anything away. He +couldn't afford to be generous. He begged the people not to crowd about +him so closely, as there was plenty of time, and he would undertake to +attend to every one. + +This man ought to have been a genius, if he hadn't been a rogue. He went +on to warn his listeners against quack doctors and patent medicines. +They were all frauds, he assured them, and he described in homely +language how he had often restored some poor sufferer whose health had +been undermined by the mischievous attentions of unqualified impostors. +He took a small boy, set him in the midst, and in flowing phrase +explained his internal structure. It was the liver which was the origin +of disease among men; liver, which caused women to faint, and men to +feel run down. Heart disease, consumption, eczema, cold feet, red nose, +and a craving for liquor were all caused by an unhealthy liver, and were +so many different names for the same disease. So far nobody but himself +had discovered any safe cure for the liver. There were a thousand +remedies mentioned in the _British Encyclopædia_--possibly he meant +pharmacopoeia--but not a genuine medicine among them. He had devoted his +life and fortune to discovering a remedy, and he had discovered it; and +his listeners should be allowed to benefit by it; for it needed but a +glance at their faces to convince him that the liver of every man and +woman in that circle was grievously out of order. + +At that moment Peter and Mary came up, considerably elevated, and gazed +with immense satisfaction at the figure in cap and gown, Mary exclaiming +in her noisy way: "Aw, Peter! 'Tis a preacher." + +The quack wiped his hands and face with a silk handkerchief, opened a +bag, and producing a small green bottle half full of grimy pellets, +continued solemnly; "The result of a life devoted to medical studies, my +friends. The one and only liver cure. The triumph of the human +intellect; more wonderful than the Pyramids of America; long life and +happiness in a small bottle; and the price only one shilling." + +There was not much demand at first for long life and happiness in bottle +form. The listeners had come to Goose Fair to enjoy themselves, not to +buy pills. They were all obviously as healthy as wayside weeds. But the +artful rogue had only been playing with them so far. He made his living +by the gift of a tongue, and so far he had not used it. The time had +come for him to terrify them. He removed his cap, threw his shoulders +back and his arms out, and lectured them furiously; telling them they +were dying, not merely ill, but hovering every one of them on the brink +of the grave; that tan of health upon their faces was a deception; it +was actually a fatal symptom, a sign of physical degeneracy, a herald of +bodily impotence. They were all suffering from liver in some shape or +form, and with the majority, he feared, the disease was already too far +advanced to be arrested by any treatment, except one only--the little +green bottle of pills, which might be theirs for one shilling. He choked +them with eloquence for ten minutes, frightening, converting, and making +them feel horribly ill. He was irresistible, especially when he spoke +with pathos of his devotion for his fellow-creatures, and his pain when +he saw them suffering. That man would have made an ideal preacher, if he +had known how to speak the truth. + +Mary listened open-mouthed. A bee flew in, and she spat it out and +gasped. For the first time in her life she realised she was in a state +of delicate health. + +The quack advanced to Peter, who was looking particularly despondent, +being fully persuaded he had not long to live, and with a grave shake of +the head punched him in the body. "Does that hurt?" he asked. + +"Cruel," said Peter. + +"Enlarged liver, my friend," said the rogue. "It is not too late to save +the patient if he takes the remedy at once. Let me tell you how you +feel," and he went on to describe a condition of ill-health, which most +of his other hearers felt coming upon themselves also under the potent +influence of mere suggestion. + +"Du'ye feel like that, Peter?" demanded Mary with great anxiety. + +"I du," said Peter miserably. + +"So du I," declared Mary. "I feels tired when I goes to bed, just like +he ses." + +"Better have three bottles each," said the friend of mankind. "One +arrests the disease, three remove it." + +That would have meant six shillings, which of course was not to be +thought of. Even ill-health was to be preferred to such an expenditure. +As Peter reminded his sister, he could almost bury her for that sum. +Finally they bought one bottle of pellets. Not even the quack's +conviction that Mary was suffering from an undue secretion of bile could +persuade them to purchase more. The rogue collected a pound's worth of +silver from the circle, and went on his way to capture a fresh lot of +gulls; and so the dishonesty and fun of the fair went on side by side; +while there was half-blind Brightly, squeezing against the railings of +the church, with his ridiculous honesty, and his trayful of pipes and +tie-clips which never grew less. Honesty is a money-making policy in the +land of Utopia, but not elsewhere; and Utopia means nowhere. +Christianity has been preached for nearly two thousand years, and still +the man is a fool who leaves his silver-mounted stick outside the door. + +The next thing was luncheon, as elegant folk have it; or a proper old +guzzle, according to Peter. The savages had made up their minds to do +the fair properly, and eating was certainly a chief item of the +programme. Savoury goose, with plenty of sage and onions, was the dish +of the day. Peter put the pills in his pocket, and forgot that his liver +was out of order, as Mary ignored the untruth that she suffered from +"too much oil." It was useless to try strange words upon her. While she +was eating that portion of goose appointed for the day she tried to make +her brother explain how the oil had got into her system, but Peter was +much too busy to answer. He was guzzling like a monkey, with his face in +the plate, half choking in his hurry, gulping, perspiring, gasping with +sheer greediness, and splashing in the rich gravy very much as the goose +he was feeding on had once flopped through some moorland bog. + +Boodles and Aubrey went to the Queen's Hotel for their goose dinner; a +place where good English fare may still be seen and eaten. Boodles had +witnessed the pleasure-fair only, the gay and noisy side of things, and +though the debased faces of some of the booth proprietors had alarmed +her at first, she had seen nothing actually nasty. Cruelty was not +there, or at least it had been out of sight. She did not go upon the +other side, where the rogues foregathered, and where beasts were bought +and sold; where sheep were penned in a mass of filth, with their mouths +open, tasting nothing but heat and dust; where ponies were driven from +side to side, half mad with fright, while drovers with faces like a +nightmare yelled and waved their hats at them, and brought their cudgels +down like hammers upon their sweating flanks; where calves, with big +patient eyes protruding with pain and terror, were driven through the +crowd by a process of tail-twisting; where fowls were stuffed in crates +and placed in the full heat of the sun; and stupid little pigs were +kicked on their heads to make them sensible. Boodles saw nothing of +that, and it was just as well, for it might have spoilt her day, and +have reminded her that, for some cause unexplained, the dominant note of +all things is cruelty; from the height of the unknown God, who gives His +beings a short life and scourges them through it, to the depth of the +invisible mite who rends a still smaller mite in pieces. Living +creatures were placed in the world, it is said, to perform the duty of +reproducing their species. It seems as reasonable to suggest that their +duty is to stamp out some other species; for the instinct of destruction +is at least as strong as the instinct of reproduction, making the world +a cold place often for the tender-hearted. + +It was not a cold place for Boodles that day, because she was in a happy +state of love and ignorance. She was not worrying herself about Nature, +who vivisects most people under the base old plea of physiological +research. She and Aubrey went up a sage-and-onion-scented street, into +the similarly perfumed hotel, up a flight of stairs fragrant with +stuffing, and into a long room, to find themselves in a temple of +feasting, with incense to St. Goose streaming upward, and two score +famished and rather ill-bred folk licking their lips ostentatiously and +casting savage glances at the knives and forks. + +Everything was on the grand scale. It was just such a meal as the +eighteenth-century post-houses gave passengers on the road before +railways had come to ruin appetites. It was a true Hogarthian dinner; +not a meal to approach with a pingling stomach; not a matter of "a +ragout of fatted snails and a chicken not two hours from the shell"; but +mighty geese, and a piece of beef as big as a Dartmoor tor--the lusty +cook's knees bowed as he staggered in with it--mounds of vegetables, +pyramids of dumplings, gravy enough to float a fishing-smack, and beer +and cider sufficient to bathe in. The diners were in complete sympathy +with the vastness of the feast, being mostly from ravenous Dartmoor. A +beefy farmer was voted to the chair, and carved until perspiration +trickled down his nose. A gentleman of severe appearance insisted upon +saying grace, but nobody took any notice. They were too busy sniffing, +and one who had been already helped was making strange noises with his +lips and throat. Boodles was laughing at his manners, and pinching +Aubrey's hand. "Such fun," she whispered. + +"Ladies first," cried the carver. + +"Quite right," gasped the man who had been served first, having snatched +the plate from the waiter as he was about to pass him. Then he gaped and +admitted an entire dumpling, nearly as big as a cricket-ball, and had +nothing else to say, except "Bit more o' that stuffing," for ten +minutes. + +"What am I to do with it?" sighed Boodles, when the heaped plate was set +in front of her. + +"Eat 'en, my dear!" said a commoner, who was wolfing bread until his +time came. "'Tis Goosie Vair," he added encouragingly. + +"Take it, Aubrey," she said, with a slight titter. + +"Go ahead," he replied. "Eat what you can, and leave the rest." + +"I wish we were alone," she whispered. "These people are pigs." + +Had they been alone they would probably have fed off the same plate, and +given each other kisses between every mouthful. As it was they could do +nothing, except play with each other's feet beneath the table. Everybody +else was hard at work. Faces were swollen on every side, and the sounds +were more suggestive of a farmyard at feeding time than a party of +immortal beings taking a little refreshment. There was no conversation. +All that had been done during the time of waiting. "'Tis a butiful day, +sure enough," and "A proper fine vair," had exhausted the topics. +Boodles was rather too severe when she called the feasters pigs, but +they were not pleasant to watch, and they seemed to have lost the divine +spark somehow. Philosophers might have wondered whether the species was +worth reproducing. + +The young people soon left the table, and a couple very differently +constituted pressed themselves into the vacant places. The others were +not half satisfied. Some of them would stuff to the verge of apoplexy, +then roll down-stairs, and swill whisky-and-water by the tumblerful. It +was holiday; a time of over-eating and over-drinking. They had little +self-control. They unbuttoned their clothes at table, and wiped their +streaming faces with the cloth. + +"I'm glad we went to goose dinner, but I shouldn't go again. It was +gorging, not eating," said Boodles, as they went along the street. + +"Let's go and see the living pictures," said Aubrey. + +"But we've seen them." + +"We'll go again. Perhaps they will turn on a fresh lot." + +They liked the living pictures, because the lights were turned down, and +they could snuggle together like two kittens and bite each other's +fingers. + +"Then we'll go for a walk--our walk. But no," sighed Boodles; "we can't. +It will be time for the ordeal." + +The fairy-tale was getting on. Ogre time had come. Boodles was to go and +drink tea with her boy's parents. + +"Perhaps we can go our walk later on." + +"It won't be a real day if we don't," said she. + +"Our walk" was beside the Tavy, where they had kissed as babies, and +loved to wander now that they were children. They thought they were +grown up, but that was absurd. People who are in love remain as they +were, and never grow up until some one opens the window and lets the +cold wind in. "Our walk" was fairyland; a strange and pleasant place +after goose dinner and Goose Fair. + +Brightly was against the railings, and had done no business, although +the day was far spent. There was no demand for tie-clips or clay-pipes. +Somebody was playing the organ in the church, and Brightly had that +music for his dinner. Everybody seemed to be doing well, and he was the +one miserable exception. He put up his sharp face, and chirped +pathetically: "Wun't ye buy 'em, gentlemen? Tie-clips, penny each. Dree +for duppence. Butiful pipes, brave and shiny, two a penny." + +The roundabout over the way was taking pennies by the bushel; but the +roundabout supplied a demand, and Brightly did not. A fat be-ribboned +dog passed and snapped at Ju. She took it patiently, having learnt the +lesson from her master. Then two young people swept round, and one of +them collided with Brightly, and almost knocked his thin figure through +the railings. + +"I beg your pardon," said a bright young voice. "I hope I didn't hurt +you." + +"You'm welcome, sir," said Brightly, wondering what on earth the young +gentleman was apologising for. + +"Why, it's the man with the rabbit-skins. What does he do with them? Now +he's selling pipes. Aubrey, I'm going to buy some. Oh, look at the poor +little dog! How it shivers! What is the matter with it?" + +"She'm hungry," explained Brightly. + +"You look as if you were hungry too," said Aubrey with boyish candour. + +"I be a bit mazed like, sir," admitted Brightly. + +"I want some pipes, please--a lot. Don't laugh, Aubrey," said Boodles, +looking down on the tray, with moisture in each eye and a frown on her +forehead. She had no money to spare, poor child, only a threepenny-bit +and four coppers; but she would have parted with the lot to feed the +hungry had not Aubrey taken and restrained her charitable little hand. + +"Give him this," he whispered. + +"Feed the little dog," said Boodles, as she gave Brightly the coin, +which was half-a-crown, as white and big, it seemed to Brightly, as the +moon itself. Then they went on, while Brightly was left to see visions +and to dream. He called out to tell them they had taken neither pipes +nor tie-clips, but his asthmatic voice was drowned as usual by the +noises of the fair, and it was quite a different set of faces and +figures that went before him. He picked Ju up, tucked her under his arm, +and shuffled away to buy food. He had seen the girl's face with pity on +it through his big glasses, only dimly, but it was enough to show him +what she was; something out of the church window, or out of the big +black book they read from, the book that rested upon the wings of a +golden goose, or perhaps she had come from the wonderful restaurant +called Jerusalem just to show him and Ju there was somewhere or other, +either in Palestine or above Dartmoor, some very superior Duke of +Cornwall who took a kindly interest in worms, himself, and other +creeping things. Brightly stopped, oblivious to holiday-makers, and +tried to think of Boodles' name. He found it just as he reached the +place where he could obtain a royal meal of scraps for threepence. +"Her's a reverent angel, Ju," he whispered. + + * * * * * + +Beyond the bridge, which crossed the Tavy near the entrance to the field +where the main pleasure-fair was making noises curiously suggestive of a +savage war-dance, Thomasine walked slowly to and fro. She had been doing +that ever since eleven o'clock, varying the occupation by standing still +for an hour or so gazing with patient cow's eyes along the road. +Pendoggat had promised to meet her there, and treat her to all the fun +of the fair. He had told her not to move from that spot until he +arrived, and she had to be obedient. She had been waiting four hours in +her best clothes, sometimes shaking the dust from her new petticoat, or +wiping her eyes with her Sunday handkerchief, but never going beyond the +bridge or venturing into the fair-field. One or two young men had +accosted her, but she had told them in a frightened way she was waiting +for a gentleman. She had seen her former young man. Will Pugsley, pass +with a new sweetheart upon his arm; and although Thomasine was unable to +reason she was able to feel miserable. Pendoggat was upon the other +side, kicking a calf he had purchased along the road, enjoying himself +after his own manner. He had forgotten all about Thomasine, and all that +his promise and the holiday meant to her. Besides, Annie Crocker was +with him like a sort of burr, clinging wherever he went, and not to be +easily shaken off; and she too wanted to be in the fair-field; only, as +she kept on reminding him, it was no place for a decent woman alone, and +she couldn't go unless he took her. To which Pendoggat replied that she +wasn't a decent woman, and if she had been nobody would want to speak to +her. They swore at each other in a subdued fashion whenever they found +themselves in a quiet corner. + +"Come on, my love! Come along wi' I, and have a ride on the whirligig," +shouted a drunken soldier with a big wart on his nose, staggering up to +Thomasine, and grabbing at her arm. The girl trembled, but allowed the +soldier to catch hold of her, because she did not know she had a legal +right to resist. After all this was a form of courtship, though it was +rather rough and sudden. Like many girls of her class Thomasine did not +see anything strange in being embraced by a man before she knew what his +name was. The soldier dragged her to the parapet of the bridge and +kissed her savagely, heedless of the passers-by. Then he began to take +her to the fair-ground, swearing at her when she hung back. + +"I've got to bide here," she pleaded. "I'm waiting for a gentleman." + +The drunken soldier declared he would smash the gentleman, or any one +else, who tried to take his prize from him; but he proved to be a man +whose words were mightier than his deeds, for when he saw a big +policeman approaching with a question in his eye he abandoned Thomasine +and fled. The girl dusted her clothes in a patient fashion and went on +waiting. + +The next local excitement was the arrival of Peter and Mary in a kind of +whirlwind, both of them well warmed with excitement and Plymouth gin. +Thomasine nodded to them, but they did not see her. Mary had been buying +flower-seeds for her garden, a whole packet of sweet-peas and some +mignonette. Peter had objected to such folly when he discovered that the +produce would not be edible. Their garden was small, and they could not +waste good soil for the purpose of growing useless flowers. But Mary was +always insisting upon being as civilised as she could. "Miss Boodles du +grow a brave lot o' flowers in her garden, and she'm a proper young +lady," she said. Mary knew she could not become a proper lady, but she +might do her best by trying to grow "a brave lot o' flowers" in her +garden. + +Later Thomasine saw Boodles and Aubrey pass over the bridge, walking +solemnly for the first time that day. The little girl was about to be +tried by ordeal, and she was getting anxious about her personal +appearance. Her shoes were so dusty, and there was a tiny hole in her +stocking right over her ankle, and her face was hot, and her hat was +crooked. "You did it, Aubrey," she said. She wasn't looking at all nice, +and her hair was tumbling, and threatening to be down her back any +moment. "And I'm only seventeen, Aubrey. I know they'll hate me." + +They went up the hill among the green trees; and beneath the wall, where +nobody could see them, Aubrey dusted his sweetheart's shoes, and put her +hat straight, and guided her hands to where hairpins were breaking loose +from the radiant head, and told her she was sweetness itself down to the +smallest freckle. "Well, if they are not nice I shall say I'm only a +baby and can't help it. And then you must say it was all your fault, +because you came and kissed me with your pretty girl's face and made me +love it." + +Thomasine watched Boodles as she went out of sight, trying to think, but +not succeeding. She regarded Boodles as a young lady, a being made like +herself, and belonging to her species, and yet as different from her as +Pendoggat was different from old Weevil. Boodles could talk, and +Thomasine could not; Boodles could walk prettily, while she could only +slouch; Boodles adorned her clothes, while she could only hang them upon +her in a misfitting kind of way. The life of the soul was in the eyes of +Boodles; the life of the body in Thomasine's. It was all the difference +between the rare bird which is costly, and the common one which any one +may capture, had Thomasine known it. She knew nothing except that she +was totally unlike the little girl of the radiant head. She did not know +how debased she was, how utterly ignorant, and how vilely cheap. She had +been accustomed to put a low price upon herself, because the market was +overstocked with girls as debased, ignorant, and cheap, as herself; +girls who might have been feminine, but had missed it somehow; girls +whose bodies cost twopence, and whose souls a brass ring. + +The Bellamies had a pretty home on the hill above Tavistock overlooking +the moor. There was a verandah in front where every fine evening the +mistress sat to watch the tors melting in the sunset. She and her +husband were both artistic. Aubrey might have been said to be a proof of +it. Tea was set out upon the verandah, where Mr. Bellamie was frowning +at the crude noises of the fair, while his wife observed the old fashion +of "mothering" the cups. They were a fragile couple, and everything +about them seemed to suggest egg-shell porcelain--their faces, their +furniture, and even the flowers in their garden. It was useless to look +for passion there. It would have broken them as boiling water breaks a +glass. They never lost their self-control. When they were angry they +spoke and acted very much as they did when they were pleased. + +"Here is the little girl," said Mr. Bellamie in his gentle way. "The red +poppies in her hat go well with her hair. Did you see her turn then? A +good deal of natural grace there. She does not offend at present. It is +a pretty picture, I think." + +"Beauty and love--like his name. He is always a pretty picture," +murmured the lady, looking at her son. "I wish he would not wear that +red tie." + +"It suits on this occasion, with her strong colour. She is quite +artistic. The only fault is that she knocks her ankles together while +walking. That is said, though I know not why, to be a sign of innocence. +She is Titianesque, a combination of rich surface with splendid tints. +Not at all unfinished. Not in the least crude." + +"Mother, here she is!" cried Aubrey, "I had to drag her up the hill. She +is so shy." + +"It's not true," said Boodles. She advanced to Mrs. Bellamie, her golden +lashes drooping. Then she put up her mouth quite naturally, her eyes +asking to be kissed; and it was done so tastefully that the lady +complied, and said: "I have wanted to see you for a long time." + +"A soft voice," murmured Mr. Bellamie. "I was afraid with that colour it +might be loud." + +"They are very young. It will not last," said the lady to herself. "But +she will not do Aubrey any harm." + +Boodles was soon talking in her pretty sing-song voice, describing all +their fun, and saying what a jolly day it had been, and how nice it was +to have Aubrey at home, and she hoped he would never be away for so long +again, until Mr. Bellamie roused himself and began to question her. The +child had to describe Lewside Cottage and her quiet dull life; and it +came out gradually--for Boodles was perfectly honest--how poor they +were, and the respectable Bellamies were shocked to hear of the numerous +housekeeping difficulties, and the limited number of the little girl's +frocks, and what was still worse, the fact that old Weevil was no +relation; until Mr. Bellamie began to fear that things were getting +inartistic, and his fragile wife asked gently whether the child's +parents were still living. + +"I don't know," said Boodles, flushing painfully because she felt +somehow she had done wrong. + +Aubrey could not stand that. He jumped up and tried to choke his +sweetheart with small cakes, while Mr. Bellamie began to examine her +concerning her favourite pictures, and found she hadn't any, as she had +not been east of Exeter, and knew nothing whatever about the big town, +which is chiefly in Middlesex and Surrey, and partly in most of the +other counties. Mr. Bellamie was rather upset. No girl could be really +artistic if she had not seen the picture galleries. He began to feel +that it would be necessary either to check Aubrey's amorous propensities +or to divert them into some more artistic channel. Mrs. Bellamie had +already arrived at much the same conclusion. Girls who know nothing of +their parents could not possibly be well-bred, and might easily become a +source of danger to those who were. Aubrey, of course, was not of their +opinion. While his father was weighing Boodles in the æsthetic balance +and finding her wanting, he went round to his mother, passed his arm +about her neck, and whispered fervently: "Isn't she sweet? I may get her +a ring, mother, mayn't I?" + +"Don't be foolish, Aubrey," she whispered back. "You are only children." + +They went soon afterwards, but not back to the fair, which was beginning +to be marred by the drunkard and his language; they went into the very +different atmosphere of Tavy woods; and there picked up the thread of +the story, with the trees and the kind weather about them. But it was +not the same somehow. Boodles had been to the gate of Castle Dolorous, +had looked inside, and thought she had seen the skulls and bones of the +young men and maidens, who had wandered in the woods to hear +nightingales and pick the tender grapes of passion, but had been caught +instead by the ogre, that he might trim his mantle with their hearts. +She began at last to wonder whether it could be a sin to have no +recognised parents and no name. Even the mongrel can be faithful, and +the hybrid flower beautiful; and in their way they are natural, and for +themselves they are loved. But they have no names of their own. The +plant may cast back in its seed to the weed stage, and the owner of the +mongrel may grow ashamed of it at last. Such a splendid name as Bellamie +could hardly be hyphened with a blank. Still Boodles was very young, +only a baby, as she said; and she soon forgot the ogre; and they went +down by the river and smeared their kisses with ripe blackberries. + +Aubrey's parents strolled in their garden, and agreed that Miss Weevil's +head was perfect. They also agreed that the boy had better fall in love +with some one else. + +"He is so constant. It is what I love in him," said the mother. "He has +been devoted to the child always, and now that he is approaching the age +when boys do foolish things without consulting their parents, he loves +her more than ever. I thought the last time he went away he would come +back cured. What a nose she has!" + +"She is a perfect Romney," said, her husband. + +"I don't believe she knows her name. Boodles, she told me, means +beautiful, and her foster-father is called Weevil. Boodles Weevil does +not go at all with Aubrey Bellamie," said the lady. + +The fragile gentleman agreed that the girl's name violated every canon +of art. "If Aubrey will not give her up--" he began, breaking off a twig +which threatened to mar the symmetry of the border. + +"I shall not influence him. It is foolish to oppose young people. Leave +them alone, and they usually get tired of each other as they get older. +She is a good child. Aubrey is perfectly safe. He may go about with her +as much as he likes, but we must see he does not run off with her and +marry her." + +"We had better find out everything that is to be known," said Mr. +Bellamie. "I will go and see this old Weevil. He may be a fine old +gentleman with a Rembrandt head for all we know. She may be well-born, +only it is remarkable that she remembers nothing about her parents. She +would be a daughter to be proud of, if she had studied art. She offended +slightly in the matter of drapery. I noticed a hole in her stocking, but +it might have been caused during the day." + +"You did not kiss her, I think?" said his wife quickly. + +"No, certainly not," came the answer. + +"I don't want you to. Her mouth is pretty." + +"We must go in," said Mr. Bellamie decisively. "They are beginning to +light up the fair. How horribly inartistic it all is!" + +Peter and Mary were being pushed about in the crowd below, still +enjoying themselves, although somewhat past riding on wooden horses, for +Mary was stupid and Peter was sleepy and absent-minded. They had +followed custom and done the fair thoroughly, and had not forgotten the +liquor. It was an unusual thing for Mary to have a head like a swing and +a body like a roundabout, but Peter was used to it. He had been throwing +at cocoa-nuts, without hitting anything except a man's knee; and for +some time he had admired the ladies dancing in very short skirts to the +tune of a merry music-hall melody until Mary, who was terribly hampered +by her big umbrella, dragged him away from a spectacle so degrading. It +was time for them to return home. They got clear of the crowd, and set +their faces, as they supposed, towards the station. + +Thomasine was upon the bridge no longer. She had been joined by Will +Pugsley, who had lost sight of his new sweetheart, as they had managed +to drift apart in the crowd, and were not likely to meet again. She had +probably been picked up by some one and would be perfectly happy with +her new partner. Thomasine went off with young Pugsley, and it was only +in the natural order of things that she should meet Pendoggat at last, +not alone, but accompanied by Annie Crocker. It was unfortunate for +Thomasine that she should have Pugsley's arm round her waist, although +it was not her fault, as he had placed it there, and she supposed her +waist had been made for that sort of thing. It was impossible to tell +whether Pendoggat had seen her, as he never looked at any one. It was +not a happy holiday for Thomasine, although she did go home between +Pugsley and another drunken man, a young friend of his, who ought to +have made her feel common, had she been capable of self-examination. + +It was at the bridge that Peter and Mary went wrong. They ought to have +crossed it, only they were so confused they hardly knew what they were +doing. It was another bridge of sighs. Lovers, who had probably met for +the first time that day, were embracing upon it; and a couple of young +soldiers were outraging the clear water of the Tavy by being sick over +the parapet. Peter and Mary stumbled on, found themselves in darkness +and a lonely road, and soon began to wonder what had become of the town +and the station. They had no idea they were walking straight away from +Tavistock in the direction of Yelverton. + +"Here us be!" cried Mary at length. "A lot o' gals in white dresses +biding for the train. Us be in time." + +"There be hundreds and millions of 'em," said Peter sleepily. + +The road was very dark, but they could see a low wall, and upon the +other side what appeared to be a host of dim white figures waiting +patiently. They went up to a building and found an iron gate, but the +gate was locked, and the house was in darkness. It looked as if the last +train had gone, and the station was closed for the night. + +"Us mun climb the wall," said Mary. She began to shout at the girls in +the white dresses: "Open the gate, some of ye. Open the gate." + +There was no reply from the white figures; only the murmuring of the +river, and a dreary rustling of dry autumnal foliage. Peter rubbed his +eyes and stared, and put his little peg-nose over the wall. + +"It bain't the station," he muttered, with a violent belch. "It be a +gentleman's garden." + +"Aw, Peter, don't ye be so vulish. It be vull o' volks biding to go +home." + +They climbed the wall, far too sleepy and intoxicated to know they were +in the cemetery; and finding themselves upon soft grass they went to +sleep, using the mound of a young girl's grave for their bolster, adding +their drunken slumbers to the heavier sleep of those who Mary thought +were "biding to go home." + +About the middle of the night Peter awoke, much refreshed and less +absent-minded, and discovered the nature and the dampness of their +resting-place. The little man was not in the least dismayed. He aroused +Mary with his fist and facetious remarks. "Us be only lodgers. Us bain't +come to bide," he said cheerfully. + +Mary also saw the fun of the thing. It was a fitting climax to her +travelling experiences. Without being at all depressed by her +surroundings she said: "Aw, Peter! To think us be sleeping among the +corpses like." To the novelty of this experience was to be added the +fact that she had slept at last outside her native parish. + +They went back to Tavistock, to find the town at rest, and the fair dark +and silent. Returning to the house where they had eaten at midday, they +banged upon the door and shouted for sleeping accommodation, which was +at last provided. Peter felt a thrill of satisfaction when he +comprehended that he was putting up at what he was pleased to style an +hotel. While he was examining the furniture, the insecure bed, the chair +without a back, the cracked crockery, and all the other essentials of +the civilised bedroom, Mary began to shout violently-- + +"Aw, Peter, du'ye come along and see the light! 'Tis a hot hair-pin in a +bottle on a bit o' rope, and yew turns 'en on and off wi' a tap like +cider." + +Peter had to admit that electric light was something startling. He +perceived that the same phenomenon occurred in his bedroom, and he was +at a loss to account for it. Mary's shouts had alarmed the young slut of +a maid who had introduced them to their rooms, and she hurried up to see +what was wrong, well accustomed, poor wench, to be on her feet most of +the day and night. She found Peter and Mary regarding their luminous +bottles with fear and amazement, not venturing to go too close lest some +evil should befall them. + +"Where be the oil?" asked Mary. + +The ignorant little wench said there wasn't any oil; at least she +thought not. She knew nothing about the light, except how to turn it on +and off. It had only been put into the house lately, and she confessed +it saved her a lot of work. She believed it was expensive, as her master +had told her not to waste it. A man had come in one day and hung the +little bottles in the rooms, and they had given light ever since when +they were wanted. They did not seem to wear out, and nothing was ever +put into them. Some telegraph-wires had been put about the house at the +same time, but she didn't know what they were for, as they did not +appear to have anything to do with the post-office. That was all the +little slut could tell them. She demonstrated how easy it was to turn +the light on and off. She plunged them into darkness, and restored them +to light. She couldn't tell them how it was done, but there was a big +barrel in the top attic, and perhaps the light was kept in that. + +Peter was unable to concur. He had recovered from his first +bewilderment, and his learning asserted itself. He considered that the +light was natural, like that of the sun. It was merely a matter of +imprisoning it within an air-tight bottle; but what he could not +understand was where the light went to when the tap was turned. This, +however, was nothing but a little engineering problem, which a certain +amount of application on his part would inevitably solve. He could make +clocks and watches; at least he thought he could, though he had never +tried; and the lighting of Ger Cottage with luminous bottles would, he +considered, be an undertaking quite within his powers. + +"Us wun't have no more lamps," he said. "Us will hang up thikky bottles. +Can us buy 'em?" he asked the little slut. + +"There be a shop where they sells 'em, bits o' rope and all. I seed 'em +in the window," said the girl. + +"Us will buy two or dree in the morning," declared Mary. "Can us hang +'em up, du'ye reckon, Peter?" + +Her brother replied that the task would be altogether beyond her; but it +was not likely to present any serious difficulties to him. He promised +to hang up one light-giving bottle in his own hut-circle, and another in +Mary's. She would pay for the fittings, and he would in return charge +her a reasonable sum for his services. + +The proprietor of the lodging-house made a poor bargain when he took in +Peter and Mary. They spent most of the remainder of the night turning +the wonderful light on and off, "like cider," as Mary said. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +ABOUT THE OCTAVE OF ST. GOOSE + + +Things had gone wrong with Peter and Mary ever since the festival. +Excitement, Plymouth liquors, and ignorance were largely to blame for +the general "contrairiness" of things; but the root of the trouble lay +in the fact of their refusal to be decent savages; of Peter's claims to +be a handy man, and of Mary's desire to be civilised. + +Old Sal had last been seen wandering towards Helmen Barton; that was the +principal grievance. Others were the complete failure of Peter as an +electrical engineer; the discovery that nearly a pound's worth of +precious shillings had been dissipated at the fair in idle pleasures +alone; and the loss of a number of little packages containing such +things as tea, sugar, and rice, which Mary had bought in Tavistock and +placed, as she thought, in a position of safety. The pills and +flower-seeds had proved also a source of trouble. A bottle of almighty +pills had been thrust upon Peter for his liver's sake, and Mary had +later on acquired packets of sweet-peas and mignonette in order that her +garden might be made glorious. + +The loss of the groceries caused the first lamentation. Mary had a clear +recollection of buying them, or at least she remembered paying for them, +but beyond that memory did nothing for her. She had no impression of +walking about the streets with her arms full of packages; they were not +in her pocket, nor had they ever been in Peter's; she could not have +left them in the shop; she was ready to swear she had not dropped them. +The only possible conclusion was that the pixies had stolen them. Peter +the hypocrite grunted at that. Although he offered sacrifice continually +to the pixies that dwelt in Grandfather's bosom, he declared there were +no such things. School-master had told him they were all dead. Education +had in some obscure way shot, trapped, or poisoned the lot. + +"You'm a gurt vule," was Mary's retort. "Dartmoor be vull o' piskies, +allus was, and allus will be. When I was a little maid and went to +schule wi' Master, though he never larnt I more than ten fingers and ten +toes be twenty, though I allus remembered it, for Master had a brave way +of larning young volks--What was I telling, Peter? Aw ees, I mind now. +'Twas when I went to schule wi' Ann Middleweek, her picked up a pisky +oven and broke 'en all to bits, 'cause her said the piskies were proper +little brutes, and her was beat cruel that night wi' brimmles and +vuzzy-bushes 'cause her'd broke the oven, and her was green and blue +next day. 'Twas the piskies stole my tea and sugar, sure 'nuff. If I'd +ha' spat on 'em, and marked 'em proper wi' a cross betwixt two hearts, +they'd ha' been here now." + +Mary worried so much over her lost groceries that she felt quite ill. As +Peter also became apprehensive of the state of his health every time +that he looked at the bottle of pills, they decided to take a few. Then +Peter went out into the garden to sow the flower-seeds, while Mary +tramped over the moor to search for her missing goose. + +Peter imagined that he had mastered the science of horticulture. At +least he would not have accepted advice upon the subject from any one. +Vegetables he had grown all his life, and in exactly the same way as +they had been grown in his boyhood, and he was quite as successful as +his neighbours. He was a ridiculous little man, and in several ways as +much of a savage as his ancestors, but he had inherited something from +them besides their unpleasant ways. His pretensions to being skilled +with his hands and clever with his brain were grotesque enough; but he +possessed a faculty which is owned by few, because it is not required by +civilised beings, a faculty which to strangers appeared incredible. When +a bullock or a pony was pointed out to him, as it stood outlined against +the sky on the top of some distant tor, or even as it walked against the +dull background of the moor, he would put his hand to his eyes, and +almost at once, and always correctly, give the owner's name. He earned +several shillings at certain seasons of the year, and could have earned +more had he not been lazy, by going out to search for missing animals. +Peter was always in demand by the commoners about the time of the drift. + +Flowers were useless things according to Peter, and concerning their +culture he knew nothing. However, Mary insisted upon the seeds being +planted, to give her garden a civilised appearance, so Peter set about +the task. The packet of sweet-peas had broken in his pocket during the +fair, and upon returning he had placed them in a small bottle. The +mignonette was his first care. The instructions outside stated that the +seed was to be sown "in February, under glass." Peter shook his head at +that. February was a long way off, but he went on to argue that if the +seed would grow during the winter it was certainly safe to sow it during +the far warmer month of October. It was the "under glass" that puzzled +him. This was evidently something new in gardening, and Peter objected +to new-fangled methods. It occurred to him that the expression might +have been intended for "under grass," but that seemed equally absurd. +School-master would know, but Peter was not going to expose his +ignorance by asking questions. Besides, it would mean a long walk, and +Master's cottage possessed the distinct disadvantage of being a +considerable distance from the inn. Peter had no idea what sort of a +plant mignonette might be, but he supposed it was a foreign growth which +managed to flourish upon certain nutritive qualities possessed by glass. +There were plenty of bottles in the linhay. Peter broke up a couple with +the crowbar, collected the fragments--the instructions omitted to state +how much glass--scattered the seeds in an unimportant corner of the +garden, strewed the pieces of glass over them, and trod the whole down +firmly. Then he dug a trench and buried the sweet-peas. + +Soon afterwards he began to feel ill; and when Mary returned without +news of Old Sal she said she was "cruel sick-like tu." They conferred +together, agreed that the trouble was caused by "the oil in their +livers," and concluded they had better go on with the pills. Presently +they were suffering torments; the night was a sleepless time of groans +and invocations; and in the morning they were worse. Peter was the most +grievously afflicted, at least he said he was; and described the state +of his feelings with the expressive phrase: "My belly be filled wi' +little hot things jumping up and down." + +"So be mine. Whatever be the matter wi' us?" groaned Mary. + +"They pills. Us ha' took tu many." + +"Mebbe us didn't tak' enough. Us ha' only took half the bottle, and he +said dree bottles for a cure." + +"Us wun't tak' no more. I'll smash that old bottle on they seeds. 'Twill +dung 'em proper," said Peter, shuffling painfully across the floor and +reaching for the bottle. + +A moment later he began to howl. He had discovered something, and terror +made him own to it. + +"Us be dead corpses! Us be pizened! Us ha' swallowed they peas!" he +shouted. + +"Aw, my dear life! Where be the pills, then?" cried Mary. + +"I've tilled 'em," said Peter. "They be in the garden, and them peas be +growing in our bellies." + +"Aw, Peter, us will die! I be a-going to see Master," groaned Mary. + +Peter said he should come too. He was afraid to be left alone, with +Grandfather ticking sardonically at him, and sweet-peas germinating in +his bowels. If it had been only Mary who was suffering he would have +prescribed for her; but as he was himself in pain he argued that it +would be advisable to seek outside assistance. Master was a "brave +larned man," and he would know what ought to be done to save their +lives. They made themselves presentable, and laboured bitterly across +the moor to St. Mary Tavy village. + +Master was never out. He lived in a little whitewashed cottage near the +road, gazing out of his front window all day, with a heap of books on a +little table beside him, and pedantic spectacles upon his nose. He was +nearly eighty, and belonged to the old school of dames and masters now +practically extinct, an entirely ignorant class, who taught the children +nothing because they were perfectly illiterate themselves. Master was +held in reverence by the villagers. That pile of books, and the +wonderful silver spectacles which he was always polishing with knowing +glances, were to them symbols of unbounded knowledge. They brought their +letters to the old man that he might read them aloud and explain obscure +passages. Not a pig was killed without Master's knowledge, and not a +child was christened until the Nestor of the neighbourhood had been +consulted. + +"Please to come in, varmer. Please to sot down, Mary," said Master, as +he received the groaning pilgrims into his tiny owlery, "varmer" being +the correct and lawful title of every commoner. "Have a drop o' cider, +will ye? You'm welcome. I knows you be main cruel fond of a drop o' +cider, varmer." + +Peter was past cider just then. He groaned and Mary moaned, and they +both doubled up in their chairs; while Master arranged his beautiful +spectacles, and looked at them in a learned fashion, and at last hit +upon the brilliant idea that they were afflicted with spasms of the +abdomen. + +"You've been yetting too many worts?" he suggested with kindly sympathy. + +"Us be tilling peas in our bellies," explained Mary. . + +Master had not much sense of humour. He thought at first the remark was +made seriously, and he began to upbraid them for venturing on such +daring experiments. But Mary went on: "Us bought pills to Goosie Vair, +'cause us ha' got too much oil in our livers, and us bought +stinking-peas tu. Us ha' swallowed the peas, and tilled the pills. Us be +gripped proper, so us ha' come right to wance to yew." + +Master replied that they had done wisely. He played with his books, +wiped his spectacles, and dusted the snuff from his nose with a +handkerchief as big as a bath-towel. Then he folded his gnarled hands +peacefully across his brass watch-chain, and talked to them like a good +physician. + +"I'll tell ye why you'm gripped," he said. "'Tis because you swallowed +them peas instead o' the pills. Du'ye understand what I be telling?" + +Peter and Mary answered that so far they were quite able to follow him, +and Mary added: "A cruel kind larned man be Master. Sees a thing to +wance, he du." + +"Us ha' got innards, and they'm called vowels," Master went on. "Some +calls 'em intestates, but that be just another name for the same thing. +Us ha' got five large vowels, and two small ones. The large ones be +called _a, e, i, o, u_, and the small ones be called _w_ and _y_. I +can't tell ye why, but 'tis so. Some of them peas yew ha' swallowed have +got into _a_, and some ha' got into _o_, and mebbe some ha' got into _w_ +and _y_. Du'ye understand what I mean?" + +The invalids replied untruthfully that they did, while Peter stated that +Master had done him good already. + +"They be growing there, and 'tis the growing that gripes ye. Du'ye +understand that?" continued Master. + +Peter ventured to ask how much growth might be looked for. + +"They grows six foot and more, if they bain't stopped," said Master +ominously. + +"How be us to stop 'em?" wailed Mary. + +"I'll tell ye," said Master. "Yew mun get home and bide quiet, and not +drink. Then mebbe the peas will wilt off and die wi'out taking root." + +"Shall us dig up the pills and tak' some?" Suggested Peter. + +"Best let 'em bide. They be doing the ground good," said Master. "It +bain't nothing serious, varmer," he went on. "Yew and Mary will be well +again to-morrow. Don't ye drink and 'twill be all right. The peas will +die of what us calls instantaneous combustion. If yew was to swallow +anything to pizen 'em 'twould pizen yew tu. Aw now, you might rub a +little ammonia on your bellies just to mak' 'em feel uneasy-like. I'll +get ye a drop in a bottle. Nothing's no trouble, varmer." + +"It taketh a scholard to understand it," said Mary. "When he putched +a-telling I couldn't sense 'en, but I knows now it bain't serious. A +brave larned man be Master. There bain't many like 'en." + +The invalids were pretty well by that evening. Their pains were +departing, and Mary was able to hunt again for Old Sal and bewail her +lost groceries, while Peter turned his attention towards establishing +electric light into the two hut-circles. He had brought back from +Tavistock two little bottles with taps, hairpins, and bits of rope +complete, also mystic circles made of china, which, he had been +informed, were used for securing the completed article to the roof, and +nearly a mile of thin wire, which he had picked up very cheaply, as it +was getting rusty. + +The wire had excited Mary's amazement, but Peter refused to give her any +information concerning it. He had enjoyed an instructive conversation +with the man in the shop, who perceived that Peter was a savage, but did +not on that account refuse to sell him the required articles. Peter +asked how the light was made, and the answer "with water," or words to +that effect, so stunned him that he heard nothing for the next few +moments. If it could be true that fire and heat were made out of water +he was prepared to believe anything. The man seemed to be serious and +not trying to make a fool of him; for he went on to explain that the +light was conveyed from the water by a wire which communicated with the +little bottles--he showed Peter that what he had mistaken for a piece of +rope was in reality twisted wires--over any distance, although more +power would be required if the house to be lighted was far from the +water. The word "power" was explained to Peter's satisfaction as meaning +a strong current, preferably a waterfall. The entire art of electrical +engineering became clear to Peter at once. He remembered how the +ignorant little girl in the lodging-house had mentioned the telegraph +wires which had been put about the house. The child could not be +expected to understand what the wires were for--Peter had not much +tolerance for such stupidity--but it was evident, after the shopman's +explanation, that those wires communicated with the Tavy and brought the +light into the lodging-house from its waters. If the river at Tavistock, +which is wide and shallow, could give forth light of such excellent +quality, what might not be expected from the rushing torrent of Tavy +Cleave? Peter perceived that every difficulty had been smoothed away. + +"Best tak' they old lamps to the village and sell 'em," he said, with +vast contempt for old and faithful servants. "Us ha' done wi' they. Us +will ha' lights in our bottles avore to-night." He had hung them up +already, one in his own hut, the other in Mary's, and they looked +splendid hanging from the beams. "Like a duke's palace," according to +the electrician. + +"Aw ees, I'll sell 'em," said Mary, getting out a bit of sacking to wrap +the old lamps in. "Us won't be mazed wi' paraffin and wicks and busted +glasses. I'll tak' 'em' to Mother Cobley, and see if her will give us +two or dree shilluns for 'em." + +Mary went off with the lamps, which Peter's science was about to render +superfluous, while the little man took up his bundles of wire and +stumbled down the cleave, to put the hidden radiance of the Tavy into +communication with their humble dwellings. + +It was very pleasant down by the river that crisp October afternoon; the +rich autumnal sun upon the rocks, the bracken in every wonderful tint of +brown and gold, the scarlet seed-clumps of bog asphodel, and the +trailing red ropes of bramble sprinkled with jetty berries, full of +crimson blood like Thomasine's cheeks. It was nearly a month past +Barnstaple Fair, and yet the devil had not put his foot upon the +blackberries. The devil is supposed to attend Barnstaple Fair in state +and tread on brambles as he goes home; which is merely the pleasant +Devonshire way of saying that there is generally a frost about +Barnstaple Fair week which spoils the fruit. The fairy cult was much +prettier than all this demonology, but when education killed the little +people there was only the devil to fall back upon; and though education +will no doubt kill him in due time it has not done so yet. + +Peter trampled among the brambles and swore at them because they caught +his legs. He saw nothing beautiful in their foliage. It was too common +for him to admire. The colours had been like that the year before; they +would be the same the year after. Peter appreciated bluebells and +primroses because they were soft to walk upon; but the blood-red +"brimmles" only pricked his legs and made him stumble; and the golden +bracken was only of use in the cow-shed, or in his hut as a +floor-litter; and the gracious heather was only good for stuffing +mattresses; and the guinea-gold gorse would have been an encumbrance +upon the side of the moor had it not been so useful as a thatch for his +hut, and a fence for his garden, and a mud-scraper for his boots. Peter, +though very much below the ordinary moorman, was artistically like them +all--insensible to beauty which is not of the flesh. Not a Dartmoor +commoner would pause a moment to regard the sun setting and glowing in a +mist upon the tors. Yet a Cornish fisherman would; and a Norman peasant +perhaps would take off his hat and cross himself, not so much with a +sense of religion, as because there is something in his mind which can +respond to the beauty and poetry and romance of the sun in a mist. +Possibly, with the Dartmoor commoner, it is his religion which is to +blame. His faith is as dark and ugly as the bottom of a well. The +Cornish fisherman has his Cymric blood, his instincts, his knowledge of +folklore, to help him through. The Norman peasant has the daily help of +gleaming vestments, glowing candles, clouds of sun-tinted +incense--pretty follies perhaps, but still pretty--the ritual of his +mass, and the Angelus bell. But the Dartmoor commoner has little but his +hell-fire. + +In the midst of all the splendour of Tavy Cleave on fire with autumn, +Peter the ridiculous unwound a portion of the first roll of wire, and +pondered deeply. It seemed absurd even to him to place the end into the +water and leave Nature to do the rest; but he couldn't think of any +other method. The shopman had distinctly mentioned wire and waterfalls, +and both were ready to hand. As Peter went on to consider the matter it +became clearer in his mind. The ways of Nature are incomprehensible. +There were lightning-conductors, for instance. They were just bits of +wire sticking aimlessly into the air, and apparently they caught the +lightning, though Peter was not sure what they did with it. To put a +piece of wire into a waterfall to attract light could not be more absurd +than to erect a bit of wire into space to catch lightning. It was +amazing certainly, but Peter had nothing to do with marvels, except to +turn them to practical account. Once, when he was ill, a doctor had come +to visit him armed with a little instrument which he had put against his +chest and had then looked right inside him. Peter knew the doctor had +looked inside him, because he was able to describe all that he saw. That +was another marvellous thing, almost as wonderful as extracting light +and heat from cold water. + +There was a waterfall lower down, and below it a pool fringed with fern +and boiling with foam. It was an ideal spot, thought Peter, so he went +there, and after fastening his wire to a stone, dropped it into the pool +at the foot of the falls. The silver foam and the coloured bubbles +laughed at him, and had Peter been blessed with anything in the form of +an imagination, he might have supposed they were inviting him to play +with them, and the sunlight made a rainbow out of flying foam. The scene +was so full of radiance that Peter easily believed how brilliantly the +hairpins in the bottles would presently be glowing. + +It was a lengthy business laying the wire up the side of the cleave +among the boulders, fern, and brambles, and the task was not finished +until twilight. The wire was rotten stuff, breaking continually, and had +to be fastened together in a score of places. + +Peter reached the top of the cleave at last, and discovered Mary waiting +to inform him in an angry way how Mother Cobley had given her only a +shilling for the two lamps, and that only under pressure, because they +were old and worn out. Mary wanted light in her bottle at once, as she +had to mix the bread and make the goose-feed. "That Old Sal be a proper +little brute. He bain't come home, and I can't hear nothing of 'en," she +concluded. + +Peter replied that he would not be able to introduce the light into both +huts that evening. Mary would have to wait for hers, for it did not +occur to him that it would be possible to illumine Mary's hut before his +own. + +"How be I to work in dimsies?" said Mary. + +"Can't ye mix bread in my house?" replied Peter. + +Mary admitted the thing was possible, so she stalked off for the +bread-pan, while Peter completed the installation by running the wire +through his door, along the roof, and twisting it about the "bit o' +rope" holding the little bottle which he fondly imagined would soon be +radiant. + +"Bain't a first-class job, but I'll finish him proper to-morrow," he +said. + +"Turn thikky tap!" cried excited Mary. "Aw, Peter, wun't the volks look +yaller when they sees 'en?" + +The folks were not destined to look yellow, but Peter and Mary were soon +looking blue when repeated turning of the tap failed to lighten their +darkness. It was not such a simple matter as tapping a cask of cider +after all. They turned and twisted until the hut was dark and dreary, +but not a farthing's worth of rush-light was produced. + +"Mebbe the wire's been and broke," suggested Peter hopefully. + +He lighted his lantern, and they tramped together down the cleave, +following the wire all the way to the river and finding it intact. +Presumably it was the waterfall which was not doing its duty. + +They returned to their gloomy huts, the one sorrowful, the other angry. +"You'm a gurt dafty-headed ole vule! That's what yew be!" cried the +angry one, when they reached the top of the cleave. + +Peter received this opinion with unwonted humility; and replied as +meekly as any Christian martyr: "He be gone wrong somehow. I'll put 'en +right to-morrow." + +"Put 'en right, will ye?" cried Mary scornfully. "How be I to mix bread' +and get supper? You'm a proper old horniwink, and I hopes the dogs 'll +have ye." + +These curses aroused Peter. He spat upon the ground, and drew mystic +figures with his boot between Mary and himself. Having done what he +could to avert the evil, he turned upon Mary and threatened her with the +lantern. She continued her insults, having lost her temper completely, +not so much because Peter had failed in his electrical engineering, as +because she had an idea he had been making a fool of her. They were both +ignorant, but one did not know it and was brazen, while the other was +aware of it and was sensitive. She went on calling him weird names, and +hoping the whist hounds would hunt him, until he lost his temper too. +They had never quarrelled so violently before, but Peter was helpless in +spite of his big threats, for Mary could have tackled and beaten two men +as strong as her little brother. When he came to close quarters she +picked him up, lantern and all, cuffed him, carried him into her hut, +and snatching up her bulging umbrella whacked him well over the head +with it. + +Peter was immediately overwhelmed, not merely by the umbrella, but with +packages which tumbled upon his shoulders, then to the floor, and were +revealed to Mary's eyes by the dull gleam of the lantern, which was +giving a very different light from that which had been anticipated from +what had been the little glass globe hanging from the roof--had been and +was not, for Mary had utterly demolished it with an upward sweep of her +immense umbrella. + +"Lord love us all!" she cried, her good-humour returning at once. "If +there hain't the tea, and sugar, and t'other things what I bought to +Goosie Vair, and thought the piskies had been and took!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +ABOUT VARIOUS EMOTIONS + + +Pendoggat stood beneath the penthouse of his peat linhay, looking at a +newspaper. The issue was dated Friday, and it contained the news of the +week; not the news of the world, which was of no local interest, but a +condensed account of the great things begun, attempted, and accomplished +in the rural districts of Devon. The name of the parish was printed in +big letters, and under it appeared the wonder of the week: how little +Willie Whidden, while tramping to school, had picked a ripe strawberry +from the hedge; or how poor old Daniel Ashplant had been summoned for +drunkenness--P.C. Copplestone stating that defendant had behaved like a +madman--and fined half-a-crown, despite his solemn oath and covenant +that he had never tasted liquor in his life. Unimportant items, such as +the meeting of Imperial Parliament, and a great railway disaster, served +as stop-gaps in cases where advertisements just failed to fill the +column. + +Pendoggat was looking for something. The testimony of a Wesleyan +minister after twenty years of faithful service, accompanied by his +photograph, caught his eye, and he thought he had found what he was +searching for. He was astonished to learn that friend and pastor Pezzack +was so popular; but when he read on he discovered it was only an +advertisement for a nerve tonic. He turned over a page, and at last came +upon the heading which he required. The title was that of a small +sub-parish north of the moor, celebrated for a recent pronouncement of +the curate-in-charge, who had congratulated the inhabitants upon their +greatly increased sobriety, as during the late year only forty-seven +persons, out of a total population of seventy-two, had been guilty of +drunkenness. Printers had blundered and mixed things up rather. A +hedge-builder had in the course of his duties come across a hole +containing a rabbit, a hedgehog, and a rat; and in the same paragraph +the Reverend Eli Pezzack had been safely married to Miss Jeconiah +Sampson, with a good deal of bell-ringing, local excitement--the bride +being well known in the neighbourhood for her untiring zeal in the +matter of chapel teas--and an exhibition of such numerous and costly +presents as a pair of brass candlesticks, an American clock, a set of +neat doyleys, and an artistic pin-tray. + +It was one of Pendoggat's peculiarities that he did not smile. His idea +of expressing pleasure was to hurt something; just as a boy in moments +of excitement may slash at anything with his stick. Pendoggat dropped +the paper suddenly, ran at a goose which was waddling across his court, +captured the big strong bird, and wrung its neck. He flung the writhing +body on the stones and kicked it in his joy. The minister could not side +against him now. He had burdened himself with a wife, and there would +soon be the additional burden of a child. Pezzack was a free man no +longer, and had become dependent upon Pendoggat for food and home and +boots. He would have to obey his master and be his faithful dog, have to +keep his mouth shut when he discovered that the nickel-mine was a fraud, +for his home's sake and his wife's sake. Pendoggat could strip him naked +at a stroke. + +Annie Crocker crossed the court towards the well with a crock in her +hand. Pendoggat noticed that her hair was growing grey, and that she was +getting slovenly. + +"Who killed that old goose?" she said, standing and staring at the big +white body. + +"I did," muttered Pendoggat. + +"You'll have to pay," she said shrilly. "That be Mary Tavy's Old Sal, +what she thinks the world of. Killed him, have ye? I wouldn't be you, +Farmer Pendoggat, when Mary comes to hear on't. Mary's as good a man as +you." + +"Shut your noise," he growled. "Who's to tell her?" + +"Who? What's my tongue for? The first time you lift your hand to me Mary +knows." + +Annie carried her crock to the well and lowered the bucket, muttering to +herself, and keeping a watchful eye upon the man who kept her; while +Pendoggat took the bird by the neck and dragged it towards the +furze-brake. He was afraid when he learnt that it was Mary's Old Sal, +for Mary was a creature whom he could not tackle. She seemed to him more +a power of Nature than a strong hermaphrodite; something like the wind, +or the torrential rain, or the storm-cloud. No commoner in his heart +disbelieves in witchcraft; and even the girls, who twist a bridal veil +across their faces when they are going to be married, know that the +face-covering is not an adornment, but a fetish or protection against +the "fascination" of the Evil Eye. + +"Going to bury him!" sneered Annie. "Aye, he bain't the only one in +there. Bury him in the vuzz till Judgment, if ye can. The Lord will send +fire from heaven one day to consume that vuzz, and all that be hidden +shall be revealed. Drag him in by the neck, du'ye? Maybe they'll be +dragging you to a hole in the ground avore long." + +She staggered across the court, splashing water like curses from the +crock, and slammed the house door violently. Pendoggat said nothing. He +bore with Anne because he was used to her, and because she knew too much +about him; but he felt he would murder her some day if he didn't get +away. He pushed the dead body of Old Sal as far into the furze as he +could with the pole that propped up the washing-line, then went into the +linhay, sat down upon the peat, and muttered hoarsely to the spiders in +the roof. + +Two things he required: the return of Pezzack, and winter. He had +received through the minister nearly two hundred pounds from the retired +grocer and his friends, and he hoped to get more; but Pezzack the +secretary was a miserable correspondent without Pendoggat's assistance, +and nothing could be done until he came back to resume the duties which +were being interfered with by the honeymoon. Frost and snow were also +essential for his plans, because the fussy grocer, to whom had been +thrown the sop of chairman of the company--a jobbing printer had +prepared an ill-spelt prospectus, and the grocer never moved a yard +without a pocketful--was continually writing to know how things were +going, and Pendoggat wanted snow as an excuse for deferring mining +operations until spring. He would have left Dartmoor before then. He was +going to take Thomasine with him, and enjoy her youth until his passion +for her cooled; and then she could look after herself; and as for Annie, +the parish would look after her. He had reckoned on getting five hundred +pounds out of the visionary mine, only those respectable people of +Bromley were so chary of parting with their money, even though they had +Pezzack's unquestioned morality and good character to rely upon. His +only fear was lest the grocer should take fright and get it into his +head that the mine was a wild-cat scheme. It was hardly likely, as +Dartmoor is to Bromley minds an unknown and almost legendary district. + +"I gave him five pounds of his uncle's money to get married on," +Pendoggat muttered, without a trace of humour. "For the next few weeks +I'll give him fifteen shillings to live on, and then he may smash, if he +can't preach his pockets full." + +He was more afraid of Annie than any one else. The suspicious nature of +women is one of their most animal-like characteristics. There had never +lived a man better able to keep a secret than Pendoggat; and yet Annie +knew there was something brewing, although he did not guess that she +knew. It was a matter of instinct, the same instinct which compels a dog +to be restless when, his master is about to go away. The animal knows +before his master begins to make any preparation for departure; and by +the same faculty Annie knew, or perhaps only guessed, that Pendoggat was +meditating how he could leave her. She was in the miserable position of +the woman who has lived for the best part of her life with a man without +being married to him, having no claim except a sentimental one upon him, +but compelled to cling to him for the sake of food and shelter, and +because he has taken everything from her whatever of charm and beauty +she might have possessed, and left her without the means of attracting +an honest man. She had passed as Mrs. Pendoggat for nearly twenty years. +Every one in the neighbourhood supposed she was married to her master. +Only he and she knew the truth: that her marriage-ring was a lie. +Pendoggat was a preacher, and a good one, people said. He was severe +upon human frailties. He preached the doctrine of eternal punishment, +and would have been the first to condemn those who straightened a +boundary wall or led a maid astray. He could not have maintained his +position had it been known that she who passed as his wife was actually +a spinster. Pendoggat did not know the truth about himself. When in the +pulpit religious zeal seized hold upon him, and he spoke from his heart, +meaning all that he said, believing it, and trying to impress it upon +the minds of his listeners. Outside the chapel his tempestuous passions +overwhelmed him. Inside the chapel he could not feel the Dartmoor winds, +although he could hear them; but the stone walls shielded him from them. +Outside they smote upon him, and there was nothing to protect him. He +was a man who lived two lives, and thought he was only living one. His +most strongly-marked characteristic, his inherent and incessant cruelty, +he overlooked entirely, not seeing it, not even knowing it was there. He +could steal a fowl from his neighbour's yard, and quote Scripture while +doing it; and the impression which would have remained in his mind was +that he had quoted Scripture, not that he had stolen the fowl. When he +thought of his conduct towards Pezzack he saw no cruelty in it. The only +thought which occurred to him was that the minister was a good man and +did his best, but that he, Pendoggat, was the better preacher of the +two. + +It was Thursday; Thomasine's evening out, and her master's day to get +drunk. Farmer Chegwidden was regular in his habits. Every Thursday, and +sometimes on Saturdays, he went to one of the villages, drank himself +stupid, and galloped home like a madman. It was a matter of custom +rather than a pleasure. He had buried his father, mother, and sister, on +different Thursdays; and it was probably the carousal which followed +each of these events which had fixed Thursday in his mind as a day for +drowning sorrow. + +Mrs. Chegwidden was one of the minor mysteries of human life. People +supposed that she lived in some shadowy kind of way, and they asked +after her health, and wondered what she was like by then; but nobody +seemed to have any clear notion concerning her. She was never visible in +the court of Town Rising, or in the garden, and yet she must have been +there sometimes. She never went to chapel, or to any other amusement. +She was like a mouse, coming out timidly when nobody was about, and +scuttling into some secret place at the sound of a footfall. She passed +her life among pots and pickle-jars, or, when she wanted a change, among +bottles and cider-casks, not drinking, or even tasting, but brewing, +preserving, pickling all the time. Chegwidden did not talk about her. He +always replied, "Her be lusty," if inquiries were made. The invisible +lady had no home talk. She was competent to remark upon the weather, and +in an occasional burst of eloquence would observe that she was troubled +with rheumatism. There are strange lives dragged out in lonely places. +No doubt Mrs. Chegwidden had been conceited once; and perhaps the +principal cause of her retirement into the dark ways and corners of Town +Rising might have been traced to the fact that she was bald. A woman +with no hair on her head is a grotesque object. Thomasine was really the +mistress of the house, and she did the work well just because she was +stupid. She worked mechanically, doing the same thing every day at the +same time. Stupid women make the best housekeepers. Thomasine was a +useful willing girl, who deserved to be well treated. Her master had not +meddled with her. + +Young Pugsley had been round to the kitchen door after dark since Goose +Fair, and had urged Thomasine to wear a ring. The poor girl was willing, +but she could not accept the offer, for more than one reason. Young +Pugsley was not a bad fellow; not the sort to go about with a revolver +in his pocket and an intention to use it if his young woman proved +fickle. His wages were rising, and he thought he could get a cottage if +Thomasine would let him court her. He admitted he was giving his company +to another girl, and should go on with his attentions if Thomasine would +not have him. The girl went back into the kitchen and began to cry; and +Pugsley shuffled after her in a docile manner and sought to embrace her +in the dark; but she pushed him off, with the saying: "I bain't good +enough for yew, Will." Pugsley felt the age of chivalry echoing within +him as he replied that he was only an everyday young chap, but if he was +willing to take her it wasn't for her to have opinions about herself; +only he couldn't hang on for ever, and she must make up her mind one way +or the other, as he was doing well, getting fourteen shillings now, and +with all that money it was his duty to get married, and if he didn't he +might get into the way of spending his evenings in the pot-house. +Thomasine only cried the more, until at last she managed to find the +words of a confession which sent him from her company for ever. On that +occasion it was fortunate for the girl that she could not think, because +the faculty of reason could have done nothing beyond suggesting to her +that the opportunity of leading a respectable life had gone from her, +like her sweetheart, never to return. + +She dressed herself in her best, and went to the old tumble-down linhay +on the moor where Brightly had taken shelter after his unfortunate +meeting with Pendoggat. She had been told to go there after dark and +wait. She did not know whether she was going to be murdered, but she +hoped not. She mended her gloves, put on her hat, twisted a feather boa +round her neck, though it would be almost as great a nuisance in the +wind as Mary's umbrella, but she had nothing else, gave a few tidying +touches to the kitchen, and stepped out. It was very dark, and the sharp +breeze pricked her hot face and made it smart. + +She reached the linhay and waited. The place smelt unpleasantly, because +beasts driven from the high moor by bad weather had taken shelter there. +A ladder led up to a small loft half filled with dry fern except in +places where moisture dripped through the roof. It was very lonely, +standing on the brow of the hill where the wind howled. A couple of owls +were hooting pleasantly at one another. No drearier spot would be found +on all Dartmoor. Thomasine felt horror creeping over her, and her warm +flesh kept on shuddering. She would not be able to wait there alone for +long. Terror would make her disobedient. She wished she had been walking +along the sheltered road by Tavy station, with young Pugsley's arm about +her waist. It was not an evening to enjoy that bald stretch of moor with +its wild wind and gaping wheals. + +A horse galloped up. The sound of its iron shoes suggested frost, and so +did the girl's breathing. She was wondering what her father was doing. +He was a village cobbler, and a strict Methodist, fairly straight +himself, and without sympathy for sinners. She moved, trod on some +filth, and cried out. A man's voice answered and told her roughly to be +quiet. Then Pendoggat groped his way in and felt towards her. + +He had come in an angry mood, prepared to punish the girl, and to make +her suffer, for having dared to flaunt with young Pugsley before his +eyes in Tavistock. He had brought his whip into the linhay, with some +notion of using it, and of drawing the girl's blood, as he had drawn it +with the sprig of gorse at the beginning of his courtship. But inside +the dreary foul-smelling place his feelings changed. Possibly it was +because he was out of the wild wind, sheltered from it by the cracked +cob walls, or perhaps he felt himself in chapel; for when he took hold +of Thomasine and pulled her to him he felt nothing but tenderness, and +the desire in him then was not to punish, nor even to rebuke her, but to +preach, to tell her something of the love of God, to point out to her +how wicked she had been to yield to him, and how certain was the doom +which would come upon her for doing so. These feelings also passed when +he had the girl in his arms, feeling her soft neck, her big lips, her +hot blood-filled cheeks, and her knees trembling against his. For the +time passion went away and Pendoggat was a lover; a weak and foolish +being, intoxicated by that which has always been to mankind, and always +must be, what the fragrance of the lime-blossom is to the bee. Even +Pendoggat had that something in him which theologians say was made in +heaven, or at least outside this earth; and he was to know in that dirty +linhay, with moisture around and dung below, the best and tenderest +moments of his life. He was to enter, if only for once, that wonderful +land of perennial spring flowers where Boodles and Aubrey wandered, +reading their fairy-tales in each other's eyes. + +"Been here long, my jewel?" he said, caressing her. + +Thomasine could see nothing except a sort of suggestion of cobwebby +breath and the outline of a man's head; but she could hear and feel; and +these faculties were sharpened by the absence of vision. She did not +know who the man was. Pendoggat had galloped up to the linhay, Pendoggat +had entered and seized her, and then had disappeared to make way for +some one else. He had, as it were, pushed young Pugsley into her arms +and left them alone together, only her old sweetheart had never caressed +her in that way, with a devotional fondness and a kind of religious +touch. Pugsley's courtship had been more in the nature of a duty. If she +had been his goddess he had worshipped her in a Protestant manner, with +rather the attitude of an agnostic going to church because it was right +and proper; but now she was receiving the full Catholic ritual of love, +the flowers, incense, and religious warmth. This was all new to +Thomasine, and it seemed to awaken something in her, some chord of +tenderness which had never been aroused before, some vague desire to +give a life of attention and devotion to some one, to any one, who would +reward her by holding her like that. + +"Who be ye?" she murmured. + +"The man who loves you, who has loved you ever since he put his eyes +upon you," he answered. "I was angry with you, my beautiful strong girl. +You went off with that young fellow at the fair when I'd told you not +to. He's not for you, my precious. You are mine, and I am going to have +you, and keep you, and bite the life out of you if you torment me. Your +mouth's as hot as fire, and your body pricks me like a furze-bush. Throw +your arms around me and hold on--hold on as tight as the devil holds us, +and let me love you like God loves." + +He buried his lips in her neck, and bit her like a dog playing with a +rabbit. + +"I waited on the bridge all day," faltered Thomasine, merely making the +statement, not venturing a reproof. She wanted to go on, and explain how +young Pugsley had forced himself upon her and compelled her to go with +him, only she could not find the words. + +"I couldn't get away from Annie. She stuck to me like a pin," he +muttered. "I'm going to get away from her this winter, leave her, go off +with you somewhere, anywhere, get off Dartmoor and go where you like. +Heaven or hell, it's the same to me, if I've got you." + +This was all strange language to Thomasine. Passion she comprehended, +but the poetry and romance of love, even in the wild and distorted form +in which it was being presented, were beyond her. She could not +understand the real meaning of the awakening of that tenderness in her, +which was the womanhood trying to respond, and to make her, like +Boodles, a creature of love, but failing because it could not get +through the mass of flesh and ignorance, just as the seed too deeply +planted can only struggle, but must fail, to grow into the light. She +felt it would be pleasant to go away with Pendoggat if he was going to +love her like that. She would be something of a lady; have a servant +under her, perhaps. Thomasine was actually thinking. She would have a +parlour to keep locked up; be the equal of the Chegwiddens; far above +the village cobbler her father, and nearly as good as the idol-maker of +Birmingham. That Pendoggat loved her was certain. He would not have lost +his senses and behaved as he had done if he did not love her. Thomasine, +like most young women, believed as much as she wanted to, believed that +men are as good as their word, and that love and brute passion are +synonymous terms. Once upon a time she had been taught how to read, +write, and reckon; and she had forgotten most of that. She had not been +taught that love is like the flower of the Agave: rare, and not always +once in a lifetime; that passion is a wayside weed everywhere. Perhaps +if she had been taught that she would not have forgotten. + +"We'll go away soon, my jewel," Pendoggat whispered. "Annie is not my +wife--you know that. I can leave her any day. My time at the Barton is +up in March, but we'll go before then." + +"Don't this old place smell mucky?" was all Thomasine had to say. + +They climbed up the ladder, and sat on the musty fern, which had made a +bed for Brightly and his bitch, and Pendoggat continued his pleasant +ways. He was in a curious state of happiness, still believing he was +with the woman that he loved. The walls of the linhay continued to be +the walls of Ebenezer and a shelter against the wind. They embraced and +sang a hymn, but softly, lest any chance passer-by should overhear and +discover them. Pendoggat knelt upon the fern and prayed aloud for their +future happiness, speaking from his heart and meaning what he said. +Thomasine was as happy as the fatted calf which knows nothing of its +fate. It was on the whole the most successful of her evenings out. She +was going to be a respectable married woman after all. Pendoggat had +sworn it in his prayer. He could do as he liked with her after that, now +that she was his in the sight of Heaven. The dirty linhay was a chapel, +and a place of love where they were married in word and deed. + +Farmer Chegwidden came thundering home from Brentor, flung across his +horse like a sack of meal, and almost as helpless. He crossed the +railway by the bridge, and his horse began to plunge over the boggy +slope of the moor. It was darker, the clouds were hurrying, and the wind +was a gale upon the rider's side as he galloped for the abandoned mines, +clinging tighter. His horse knew what Thursday-night duty meant. He knew +he had to gallop direct for Town Rising with a drunken man upon his +back, and that he must not stumble more than he could help. There was no +question as to which was the finer animal of the two. They crossed +Gibbet Hill, down towards the road above St. Mary Tavy about two hundred +yards above the linhay; and there the more intelligent animal swerved to +the right, to avoid some posts and a gravel-pit which he could not see +but knew were there; but as they came down the lower animal struck his +superior savagely upon the ear to assert his manhood, and the horse, in +starting aside, stumbled upon a ridge of peat, came to his knees, and +Farmer Chegwidden dived across the road with a flourish that an acrobat +might have envied. + +These gymnastics were no new thing, but the farmer had been lucky +hitherto and had generally alighted upon his hands. On this occasion his +shoulder and the side of his head were the first to touch ground, and he +was stunned. The horse, seeing that he could do nothing more, sensibly +trotted off towards his stable, and Farmer Chegwidden lay in a heap upon +the road after the manner of the man who went down from Jerusalem to +Jericho and fell among thieves. + +There was no good Samaritan about that part of Dartmoor; or, if there +was one, he was not taking a walk abroad with the idea of practising his +virtues. There was, indeed, no reason why any one should pass that way +before morning, as people who live in lonely places require no curfew to +send them under cover, and the night was wild with the first big wind of +autumn. Still some one did come that way, not a Levite to cross over to +the other side, but Peter, to take a keen interest in the prostrate +form. Peter had been into the village, like a foolish virgin, to seek +oil, and new lamps to put it in. All attempts to install the electric +light had continued to prove that there was still something in the +science which he had failed to master; and as the evenings were getting +long, and the light afforded by the lantern was quite inadequate, Mary +had sent him into the village to buy their old lamps back. Mother Cobley +the shopwoman said she had sold them, which was not true, but she +naturally desired to make Peter purchase new lamps. He had done so under +compulsion, and was returning with a lamp under each arm and a bottle of +oil in his pocket, somewhat late, as an important engagement at the inn +had detained him, when he stumbled across Farmer Chegwidden. He placed +his purchases upon the road, then drew near to examine the body closely. + +"He'm a dead corpse sure 'nuff," said Peter. "Who be ye?" he shouted. + +As there was neither reply nor movement the only course was to apply a +test to ascertain whether the man was living or dead. The method which +suggested itself to Peter was to apply his boot, and this he did, with +considerable energy, but without success. Then he reviled the body; but +that too was useless. + +"Get up, man! Why don't ye get up?" he shouted. + +There was no response, so Peter began to kick again; and when the figure +refused to be reanimated by such treatment he lost his temper at so much +obstinacy and went on shouting: "Get up, man! Wun't ye get up? To hell, +man! Why don't ye get up?" + +It did not appear to occur to Peter that the man could not get up. + +The next course was the very obvious one of securing those good things +which the gods had provided. Farmer Chegwidden had not much money left +in his pockets, but Peter discovered it was almost enough to pay for the +new lamps. Mary had advanced the money for them, so what Peter gained +through the farmer's misfortune was all profit. Then he picked up his +lamps, and hurried back to the village to lodge the information of the +"dead corpse lying up on Dartmoor" in the proper quarter. + +He had not been gone long when Pendoggat rode up. Thomasine had hurried +back to Town Rising by the "lower town," afraid to cross by the moor in +that wind. He too discovered the farmer, or rather his horse did; and he +too refused to pass by on the other side. Dismounting, he knelt and +struck a match. The wind blew it out at once, but the sudden flash +showed him the man's face. Chegwidden was breathing heavily, a fact +which Peter had omitted to notice. + +"Dead drunk! He can bide there," muttered Pendoggat. + +He got upon his horse and rode on. As he crossed the brow, and reached a +point where there was nothing to break the strength of the wind, he +pulled his horse round, hesitated a moment, then cantered back. The wind +was in his lungs and in his nostrils, and he was himself again, a strong +man, not a weak creature in love with a farm-wench, not a singer of +hymns nor a preacher of sermons, but a hungry animal to whom power had +been given over weak and lesser beings of the earth. + +He knelt at Chegwidden's side, and tore the clothes off him until he had +stripped him naked. He dragged the body to the side of the road and +toppled it into the gorse. The clothes he rolled up, took with him, and +higher up flung into an old mine-shaft. Then he rode on his way, +shouting, fighting with the wind. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +ABOUT A STRUGGLE AT THE GATE OF FAIRYLAND + + +Old Weevil walked about the moor, because there was no room in the +cottage or garden, and whispered to the sun: "I wish she wasn't so +happy, I wish she wouldn't laugh so, I wish she wouldn't talk about that +boy." A good many other things he wished for. Mr. Bellamie had written +to present his compliments to Abel Cain Weevil, Esquire--though the old +man was not used to that title--and to announce that he proposed giving +himself the pleasure of calling at Lewside Cottage and enjoying a little +conversation with its tenant. Weevil guessed how he would blunder +through that interview in his simple beetle-hearted way; and then he +would have to break his little girl's heart as carefully as he could. +After all she was very young, and hearts broken early can be put +together again. Plants broken off in the spring grow up as well as ever. +It is when they are broken in the late summer that there is no chance, +and no time, to mend. + +"She will feel it--like a butcher's knife," he whispered. "I was wrong +to pick her up that night. I ought to have left her. It would have been +all over long ago, and she would have been spared the knife. But no, she +is too nice, too good. She will do it! She will fight her way through! +You'll see, Abel-Cain. You watch her, my old dear! She will beat the +Brute yet." He chuckled, snapped his fingers at the sun, waved his hand +at Ger Tor, and trotted back to the cottage. + +Weevil talked in parables with the eccentricity, not of genius, but of +habit. His life had been spoilt by "the Brute." He had done what he +could to fight the monster until he had realised his utter helplessness. +And now his little maid's life was to be spoilt by the Brute, but he +thought she would succeed better than he had done, and fight her way out +into a more serene atmosphere. Old Weevil's Brute was simply cruelty, +the ugly thing that encompassed him. + +He was a silly old man in many ways. People with an intense kindness for +animals are probably freaks of Nature, who has tried to teach them to be +cruel, only they have rejected her teaching. Love for animals is, +strictly speaking, no part of the accepted religion. Hebrew literature, +so far from teaching kindness to animals, as the Koran does, recommends +the opposite; and the founder of Christianity in his dealings with +animals destroyed them. Fondness for animals began probably when men +first admitted beasts into their homes as members of the family, as the +Bedouin Arab treated his horse. Such animals developed new traits and +advanced towards a far higher state of evolution than they would have +attained under natural conditions. With higher intelligence came also a +greater sensitiveness to pain. Those animals, such as the horse and dog, +who have been brought up with men, and acquired so much from them, have +an equal right to be protected by the laws which protect men. Such were +some of Weevil's arguments, but perhaps he was mistaken. He had failed +signally to impart the doctrine of kindness to animals to his +neighbours. He went too far, a common fault among men who are obsessed +with a single idea. He attacked the rabbit-trap violently, which was +manifestly absurd, and only convinced people that he was mad. He +declared that the rabbit, caught and held in the iron jaws of the trap +to perish miserably hour by hour, must suffer agonies. He had himself +put his finger into such a trap, and was unable to bear the pain more +than ten minutes. Naturally people laughed at him. What a fool he must +be to put his finger in a trap! It had always been the custom to capture +rabbits in that savage way, and if it had been cruel the clergy would +have preached against it and the law would have prohibited it. But when +Weevil went on to assert that the rabbits had feelings he got beyond +them entirely, and they could only shake their heads at him, and feel +sorry for his insanity, and despise him for being such a bad sportsman. +Even the village constable felt he must draw the line somewhere, and +objected to paying any tribute of respect to a dafty old man who went +about telling people that rabbits could feel pain. When he met Weevil he +grinned, and looked the other way to avoid saluting him. + +Weevil spent much of his time drafting petitions to Parliament for the +abolition of various instruments of torture, but of course nobody would +sign them; and he indited lengthy screeds to humane societies upon the +same subject, and these were always courteously acknowledged and placed +on file for future reference, which was another way of saying that they +would not be looked at again. He was himself a member of one society, +and some years back had induced it to prosecute a huntsman who had been +guilty of gross cruelty to a cat; but as the man was popular, and the +master of the hounds was upon the Bench in the company of other +sportsmen, the prosecution failed, although the offence was not denied; +and old Weevil had his windows broken the next day. After that he +quieted down, acknowledging that victory must remain with the strong. He +went on preparing his indictments, writing his letters, and drafting his +useless petitions; and whenever he discovered a rabbit-trap in his walks +he promptly sprung it; and if the river happened to be handy, and nobody +was about, that trap disappeared for ever. + +It was unfortunate for Weevil that he was more eccentric in appearance +than in habits. He had a comic face and a nervous smile. The more in +earnest he was the more he grinned; and that helped to convince people +of his insanity. Then he was a loose character, and had evidently +enjoyed a lurid past. People were not going to be lectured by a wicked +old fellow, with a face like a rag-doll and a foolish smile, who lived +in a small cottage with an illegitimate daughter. Weevil had never +openly denied the paternity; he did not want it to be known that Boodles +was a child of shame for her own sake; and he was in his heart rather +proud to think people believed he was the father of such a radiant +little maid. + +"You must do it," he said, as he trotted into the cottage. "You must +prepare the child, Abel-Cain. Don't be a fool now." + +The little sitting-room was very neat. Boodles was not there, but +visible tokens of her industry were everywhere. A big bowl of late +heather from the moor, with rowan and dogwood berries from Tavy woods, +stood upon the table. A little stocking, rather plentifully darned, was +being darned again. A blotting-book was open, and a sheet of paper was +upon it, and all that was written on the sheet was the beginning of a +letter: "My dearest Boy," that and nothing more. It would have been a +pretty little room had it not been for that sheet of paper. The silly +old man bent over it, and a very good imitation of a tear splashed upon +the "dearest Boy" and blotted it out. "You must not be such an old fool, +Abel-Cain," he said, in his kindly scolding voice. + +Then Boodles came in laughing, with a head like the rising sun. She had +been washing her hair, and it was hanging down to dry, and sparkling in +the strong light just as the broken granite on Dartmoor sparkles when +the sun casts a beam across and seems to fill the path with diamonds. + +"Oh, what a grumpy face, old man!" she cried. "Such a toothachy face for +as butiful a morning as ever was! Have you been cruel and caught a wee +mousie and hurt it so much that you couldn't let it go? I think I shall +throw away that trap and get a benevolent pussycat instead." + +Lewside Cottage was infested with mice, very much as Hamelin town was +once overrun with rats, and as Weevil could not pipe them into the Tavy +he had invested in a humane trap which caught the little victims alive. +Then the difficulty of disposing of them arose. Weevil solved it in a +simple fashion. He caught a mouse every night and let it go in the +morning. In spite of these methods of extermination the creatures +continued to increase and multiply. + +"I was going out this afternoon," said Boodles, tugging at her hair with +a comb. "But if you have got one of your umpy-umpy fits I shall stop at +home. I want to go, daddy-man, 'cause my boy hasn't got much longer at +home, and he says it is nice to have Boodles with him, and Boodles +thinks, it is nice too." + +"Boodle-oodle, my darling," quavered Weevil, "the sun may be shining +outside, but it is damp and clammy in here. The Brute has got hold of me +again." + +"No, it isn't clamp and dammy, daddy," she laughed. "It's only a stupid +old cloud going by. There are lots of butterflies, if you will look out. +See! I can nearly tread upon my hair. Isn't it butiful?" + +"You must try and grow up, little girl." + +"Not till I'm twenty," said she. + +"You mustn't laugh so much, my little maid." + +"Why, daddy?" she cried quickly. "You mustn't say that. Oh, I don't +laugh too much; I couldn't. I'm not always so very happy when I laugh, +because it's not always afternoon out with me, but it does us good to +make believe, and I thought it helped you to forget things. You telling +me I mustn't laugh! You've been and killed a mouse." + +"They say fair-haired girls don't feel it like the dark-haired ones," +muttered Weevil. + +"What are you talking about?" cried Boodles. She had stopped laughing. +The clouds were coming up all round and it was nearly snow time; and +there is little laughter in a Dartmoor winter. "Is it the Brute, daddy?" +she said sympathetically. + +"Yes, Boodle-oodle," said the sorrowful old man, with his nervous grin. +"It is the Brute." + +"I wish you could catch him in your trap. You wouldn't let him go," said +Boodles, with a little smile. + +Weevil was kneeling at the table, his comic head jerking from side to +side, while his fingers tried to make a paper-boat out of the "dearest +Boy" sheet of note-paper. + +"I want to talk to you, my little maid," he said. "I want to remind you +that we cannot get away from the Brute. I came to this lonely cottage to +hide from him, because he was making my life miserable. I could not go +out without meeting him. But it was no good. Boodles. Doors and bolts +won't keep him out. Do you know why? It is because he is a part of +ourselves." + +"Such nonsense," said she. "Silly old man to call yourself cruel." + +"The Brute is only ourself after all. I cannot put my foot to the ground +without crushing some insect. I cannot see the use of it--this prolific +creation of things, this waste of life. It drives me nearly mad, +tortures me, makes me a brute to myself." + +"But you're such a--what do you call it?--such a whole-hogger," said the +child. "Try and not worry, daddy. You only make yourself wretched, and +you make me wretched too, and then you're being cruel to me--and that's +how things get cold and foggy," said she. "May I laugh now?" + +"No, Boodles," he said, quite sternly. "I was cruel when I picked you up +that night and brought you in." + +The girl winced a little. She wanted to forget all about that. + +"Nature preserves only that she may destroy," he rambled on. "Take the +plants--" + +"I've taken them," broke in Boodles merrily. + +"Be serious, Boodle-oodle," said the old man, grinning worse than ever. +"The one and only duty of the flower is to bear seed, and when it has +done that it is killed, and that it may do so Nature protects it in a +number of different ways, many of which cause suffering to others. Some +plants are provided with thorns, others with stinging-cells, others with +poison, so that they shall not be destroyed by animals. These are +generally the less common plants. Those that are common are unprotected, +because they are so numerous that some are certain to survive. All the +plants of the desert have thorns, because vegetation is so scarce there +that any unprotected plant would soon be devoured. The rabbit is an +utterly defenceless creature among animals, and almost every living +thing is its enemy; but lest the animal should cease to survive Nature +compels it to breed rapidly. Surely it would have been kinder to have +given it the means of protecting itself. I cannot understand it, +Boodles. There seems to be no fixed law, no limit to Nature's cruelty, +although there is to her kindness. The world is a bloody field of +battle; everything fighting for life; a pitiful drama of cowardice right +through. I don't know whether I am talking nonsense, Boodles. I expect I +am, but I can't speak calmly about these things, I lose control over +myself, and want to hit my head against the wall." + +Boodles slipped her arm about his neck and patted his white whiskers. +The paper-boat was a heap of pulp by this time. + +"Now it's my turn," she said gaily. "Let Boodles preach, and let old men +be silent. Dear old thing, there are lots of queer puzzles, and I'm sure +it is best to leave them all alone. 'Let 'em bide,' as Mary would say. +We can't know much, and it's no use trying. You might as well worry your +dear white head about the queer thing called eternity. You start, and +you go round, and then you go round again faster until you begin to +whirl, and you see stars, and your head aches--that's as far as you can +ever get when you think about queer puzzles. And that's all I've got to +say. Don't you think it rather a good sermon for a babe and suckling?" + +"It's no use. She doesn't see what I'm driving at," muttered poor old +Weevil. + +"My hair is nearly dry. I think I'll go and do it up now," said Boodles. +"I'm going to wear my white muslin. Shan't I look nice?" + +"She doesn't know why she looks nice," murmured the silly old man. "It +is Nature's cruel trick to make her attract young men. Just as the +flowers are given sweetness to attract the fertilising bee. There it is +again--no fixed law. Every sweet flower attracts its bees, but it is not +every sweet girl who may." + +"What's all that about bees?" laughed Boodles. "Oh, I forgot! I'm not to +laugh." + +"Boodle-oodle, do try and take things seriously. Do try and remember," +he pleaded. + +"Remember--what?" she said. + +"We cannot get away from the Brute." + +"But I'm not going to be grumpy until I have to," she said. "It would be +such nonsense. I expect there will be lots of worries later on. I must +be happy while I can. Girls ought not to be told anything about +unhappiness until they are twenty. There ought to be a law made to +punish any one who made a little girl grumpy. If there was you would go +to prison, old man." + +"You must think, Boodles. We are putting it off too long--the question +of your future," he said blunderingly. Now he had got at the subject! "I +am getting old, I have only an annuity, and there will be nothing for +you when I die. I do not know what I shall do without you, but I must +send you away, and have you trained for a nurse, or something of the +kind. It will be bad to be alone again, with the Brute waiting for me at +every corner, but worse to think of you left unprovided for." + +"My dear daddy-man," sighed Boodles, with wide-open eyes. "So that's the +trouble! Aren't you worrying your dear old head about another queer +puzzle? I don't think I shall have to work very dreadful hard for my +living." + +"Why not?" said the old man, hoping his voice was stern. + +"Why?" murmured Boodles prettily. "Well, you know, dear old silly, some +one says that my head is lovely, and my skin is golden, and I'm such a +jolly nice little girl--and I won't repeat it all, or I might swell up +with pride, and you might believe it and find out what an angel you have +been keeping unawares--" + +"Believe," he broke in, catching at the straw as he went down with a +gurgle. "You mustn't believe too much, Boodle-oodle. You are so young. +You don't in the least know what is going to happen to you." + +"Of course I know," declared Boodles; "I'm going to marry Aubrey when +I'm twenty." + +"But his parents--" began Weevil, clutching at the edge of the table, +and wondering what made it feel so sharp. + +"They are dears," said Boodles. "Such nice pretty people, and so kind. +He is just an old Aubrey, and I expect he had the same girl's face when +he fell in love with his wife. She's so fragile, with beautiful big +eyes. It's such a lovely house. Much too good for me." + +"That's just it," he said eagerly, wishing she would not be dense. "It's +much too good for you, darling." + +"Yes, but I don't think you ought to say it," pouted Boodles. + +"We are ordinary people. I am not quite what the Bellamies would call a +gentleman. My father was only a piano-maker," old Weevil faltered, +hoping that the girl would think of her unknown parents when she heard +him refer to his. "I went to a grammar-school, then became a bank-clerk +until I was shelved, partly on account of my grey hairs, but chiefly +because I hit the cashier on the head with a ruler for kicking a dog. I +could not go into Mr. Bellamie's house, Boodles. It is too good for both +of us. There is nothing to be ashamed of in my name, but it is not a +genteel one. We are only unimportant beetles, and the Bellamies are big +bugs," he said, laughing in spite of his feelings at his joke because it +was so seldom that he made one. + +"Aubrey knows all about it. He doesn't care," declared Boodles, nodding +cheerfully. "Besides, I'm not really your daughter anyhow." + +Weevil gasped at her innocent impertinence. Here he was trying to make +her understand that she was a nameless little lady who could not +possibly marry any one of gentle birth, and she was calmly suggesting +she might be superior to him. It was only a thoughtless remark, but it +served to show him that nothing but plain speaking would serve with a +girl in love. She looked at everything through Aubrey's eyes; and Aubrey +was only a boy who could hardly know his own mind. A boy does not care +whether his sweetheart's father is a tinker or a rake; but a man, and an +only son, who has reached an age when he can understand what his family +and society and his profession demand of him, cares a great deal. There +comes a time for every young person when he or she must leave fairyland +and go into the world; and the pity of it is they cannot return. They +look back, but the gate is shut. It is a gate which opens only one +way--to exclude. For every child is born inside. They grow up, and see +their children in that pleasant land, and wish they could join them +there; but if they could go back they would not be happy, for it would +be to them no longer a place of romance and sunshine, but a place of +shadow, and dead selves, and memories. It would not be spring, with +primroses and bluebells in flower, but a Christmas Eve when the dead +life and the dead companions haunt the house, and grim Mother Holle is +plucking her geese and dropping the feathers down the chimney. Aubrey at +twenty adored Boodles. Aubrey at thirty might worry his head about her +parents and her birth-name. Boodles at thirty would be the same as she +was then, loving, and wanting nothing else. Weevil was right in some of +his theories. Every one must suffer from the Brute, except those who +deserve it most. The innocent have to suffer for them. Boodles too was +right. It is no use trying to solve queer puzzles. + +"No, darling; you are not my daughter. I wish you were. I wish you +were." + +"You are too old, daddy-man--at least rather too old," said Boodles +gently. "I should have been born when you were past fifty. Why, what's +the matter? You are dreadful funny to-day, old man." + +Weevil had jumped up nimbly, and running to the window poked his head +out to gulp into his lungs a good mouthful of air. He ran back to the +astonished little girl, took her by the shoulders, shook her severely, +grinned at her; then he stumbled back into his chair and began to laugh +furiously. + +"Shall I tell you a story, Boodle-oodle, a beautiful story of a little +girl who wasn't what she thought she was, though she didn't know who she +was, and didn't care, and wouldn't think, and couldn't listen when +people tried to tell her? Shall I tell you all that, darling?" + +"Not now," gasped Boodles. "I must go and dress. And I shall laugh as +much as I like--mean old thing! Telling me I mustn't laugh, and then +shaking the house down. Dad, if you go on making explosions you'll bring +up rain-clouds, and my afternoon will be spoilt, and so will my frock; +and then I shall have to tell you a story of a horrid old man, who +wasn't a bit like what he hoped his daughter thought he was, though he +didn't know how horrid he was, and didn't care, and wouldn't listen when +people tried to tell him. Well, I'll give you a kiss anyhow, though you +are mad." + +"Not daughter," cried the excited old man. "Remember you are not my +daughter, Boodles." + +"I know. You needn't rub it in." + +"I've got the Brute! I've got him by the neck. He's made me suffer, but +I'll pay him now. Run away, darling. Run away and put on your white +muslin. Laugh as much as you can, and be as pretty as you like. The +Brute shan't touch you. I'll put a muzzle on him. Don't forget to tell +them I am not your father. I've got the whole story in my head. Run +away, little girl, while I think it out." + +Boodles was used to these fits, but usually she understood them. They +were generally provoked by rabbit-traps. She could not understand this +one. Evidently the old man had got hold of something new; but she +couldn't stop any longer, as it was nearly time to go down to the Tavy +and turn up the stones to look for fairies. + +Weevil certainly had got hold of something new. When Boodles had gone he +jumped up and locked the door. Then he looked at his watch. Mr. Bellamie +might arrive at any time; and he was not nearly ready. He began to jump +about the room in a most eccentric way, snapping his fingers, and +grinning at his comic features in the mantel-glass. + +"You've got to be a liar, Abel-Cain, the worst liar that ever lived, as +big a rogue as your namesake Cain, who murdered your namesake Abel. +You're an old man, and you ought not to do it, but if lies can save her +from the Brute lies shall. They'll punish you for it when you're dead, +but if she is saved no matter, none at all. I shall tell them they ought +not to have created the Brute. I won't be afraid of them. Now you +mustn't make a mess of it. I'm afraid you will, Abel-Cain. You're a +shocking old fool sometimes. Put it all down--write it out, then learn +it by heart. The old hands are shaking so. Steady yourself, old fool, +for her sake, for the sake of that pretty laugh. Come along now! +Abel-Cain _versus_ the Brute. We must begin with the marriage." + +He pressed his cold hands upon his hot face, and began to scribble +tremulously on the paper. + +"You were married at the age of twenty-five to a girl who was superior +to you socially. Her name--let me see--what was her name? You must find +one that sounds well. Fitzalan is a good name. You married Miss Fitzalan +at--at, why, of course, St. George's, Hanover Square. She's dead now. +She died of--of, well, it don't matter; she's dead. We had a daughter, +or was it a son? Better keep to one sex, and then there will be no +saying hims for hers, and you mustn't get confused, Abel-Cain, you must +keep your brain as clear as glass. We had a daughter, and called +her--now it must be something easy to remember. Titania is a pretty +name. We called her Tita for short, Titania Fitzalan-Weevil That's it! +You are doing it, Abel-Cain! Keep it up, you old liar. He'll be here +presently. You took the name of Fitzalan-Weevil because it sounded +better, but when your wife died you went back to your own. She was +buried in Hendon churchyard. You don't know why it should be Hendon. Ah +yes, you do, Abel-Cain. Don't you remember how you used to walk along +that road on Sundays and holidays, and have some bread and cheese in the +little tea-garden at Edgware; and then by Mill Hill and Arkley to +Barnet, and back by Hampstead Heath to your lodgings in Kentish Town? +That's why your wife was buried in Hendon churchyard. Then Titania was +married, a very grand marriage, Hanover Square again. It's a pity you +haven't got the press-cuttings, but they are lost--burnt, or something +of the sort--and Titania's husband was the youngest son of the Earl +of--No, that won't do. You mustn't lie too high, or you'll spoil the +story. He was Mr. Lascelles, Harold Lascelles, second son of the late +Reverend Henry Arthur Lascelles, sometime rector of St. Michael's, +Cornhill, and honorary canon of St. Paul's Cathedral. Drag the clergy +in, Abel-Cain. It's respectable. They lived in Switzerland for his +health. You remember he was rather delicate, and Titania wasn't very +strong either; and Boodles was born there. It's working out fine. You +can't be her father, but you can be her grandfather. Boodles was born in +Lausanne, at the hotel where Gibbons wrote his history. + +"Now you come to the mystery; there must be a mystery about Boodles, but +it must be respectable, a tragedy in high life, a regrettable incident, +not a shameful episode. Titania disappeared. What happened to her nobody +knows. You don't know, and Harold doesn't know. She may have gone for a +walk in the mountains and never come back, or she may have gone out in a +boat on Lake Geneva and been drowned, or she may have been murdered by a +madman in a pine-wood. It was all very sad and dreadful, and has +naturally cast a cloud over Boodles's life, though she knows nothing +about it, as she was scarcely a year old when her mother disappeared. +You have never got over it, Abel-Cain, and you don't think you ever +will, as Titania was your only child. You couldn't bear to keep any of +her photographs, so you destroyed them all. + +"Now there is Harold. You can't kill him, Abel-Cain. So much mortality +might be suspicious, and if you let him marry again that would mean a +lot more names to remember. Harold went into the Catholic Church and +became a priest. At the present time he is in charge of a mission in +British Guiana. That's a good long way off, but you must look it up in +the map and make sure where it is." + +The old man leaned back and mopped his face. He was working under a kind +of inspiration, and was afraid it might die out before he had got to the +end of the story. Again he plunged into the narrative, and continued-- + +"Harold didn't know what to do with Boodles. Young Catholic priests +cannot be bothered with babies, so he sent her to you, to old +grandfather, and asked you to bring her up. He couldn't pay anything, as +he had devoted his fortune to building a church and establishing his +mission, and besides, you didn't need it in those days, He was a good +fellow, Harold, an earnest, devoted man, but you haven't heard anything +of him for a long time. You called the child Boodles when she was a baby +because it was the sort of name that seemed to suit her, and you have +never got out of it. Her real name is--There must be a lot of them. They +always have a lot in high life. No girl with a long string of names +could be anything but well-born. Her name is Titania Katherine Mary +Fitzalan-Lascelles." + +He read out the list again and again, grinning and crying at the same +time, and chuckling joyfully: "There's nothing of the Weevil in her +now." + +"Then there came the smash," he went on, resuming his pen to add the +finishing touches to the story. "You lost your money. It was gold-mines. +That is quite safe. One always loses money in gold-mines, and you were +never much of a man of business, always ready to listen to any one, and +so you were caught. You retired with what little you could reclaim from +the wreck of your shattered fortunes--that's a fine sentence. You must +get that by heart. It would convince any one that you couldn't tell a +lie. You retired, broken in health and mind and fortune, to this little +cottage on Dartmoor, and you have lived here ever since with Boodles, +whom you have brought up to the best of your ability, although you have +lacked the means to give her that education to which she is entitled by +her name and birth. It is almost unnecessary to add, Abel-Cain," he +concluded, "that you have told the child nothing about her parents lest +she should become dissatisfied with her present humble position. You are +keeping it all from her until she comes of age." + +It was finished. Weevil stared at the blotted manuscript, jabbered over +it, and decided that it was a strong and careful piece of work which +would deceive any one, even the proudest father of an only son who was +much too precious to be thrown away. He was still jabbering when there +were noises outside the door, and he hurried to open it, and discovered +Titania Katherine Mary Fitzalan-Lascelles, looking every syllable of her +names; her beautiful hair coiled under her poppy-trimmed hat, the white +muslin about her dainty limbs, her lips and little nostrils sweet enough +to attract bees with their suggestion of honey, and about her that +wonderful atmosphere of perfect freshness which is the monopoly of such +pretty creatures as herself. + +"You're looking quite wild, old man. What have you been doing?" she +said. + +"Story-writing. About the little girl who--" + +"I can't stop to listen. I must hurry. I just came to say good-bye," she +said, putting up her mouth. "Be good while I am gone. Don't fall into +the fire or play with the matches. You can say if this frock suits me." + +"If I was a boy I shouldn't bother whether it suited you or not," said +Weevil, nodding at her violently. + +"But as you are only an old daddy-man?" she suggested. + +"It will do, Boodle-oodle. Sackcloth would look quite as well--on you." + +"I'll wear sackcloth presently; when Aubrey goes and winter comes," she +laughed. + +Weevil became excited again. He wished she would not make such heedless +and innocent remarks. They suggested the possibility of weak points in +his amazing story. Another unpleasant idea occurred as he looked at the +charming little maid. She was always walking about the moor alone. The +Brute might seize her in one of his Protean forms, and she might +disappear just as her fictitious mother had done. Weevil had invoked his +imagination, and as a result all sorts of ghostly things occurred to his +mind to which it had been a stranger hitherto. There were traps lying +about for girls as well as rabbits. + +"Where are you going, little radiance?" he said. + +"Down by the Tavy. Our walk. We have only one." + +Boodles answered from the door, and then she went. She had only one +walk. On all Dartmoor there was only one. Weevil caught up his +manuscript and began to jabber again. She must not have that one walk +taken away from her. + +For two hours he worked, like a student on the brink of an examination, +trying to commit his story to memory. Each time he read the fictions +they became to him more probable. He scarcely knew himself what a +miserable memory he had, but he was well aware how nervous he could be +in the presence of strangers, and how liable he was to be confused when +any special eccentricity asserted itself. As the time when his visitor +might be expected approached he went and put on his best clothes, tidied +himself, brushed his hair and whiskers, tried to make himself look less +like a Hindoo idol, burnished his queer face with scented soap, and +practised a few genteel attitudes before the glass. He hoped somebody +had told Mr. Bellamie he was eccentric. + +Weevil was still poring over his manuscript when the visitor arrived. +With a frantic gesture the old man went to admit him. People were not +announced in that household. Mr. Bellamie entered with a kindly +handshake and a courteous manner; but his impressions were at once +unfavourable. Well-bred men tell much by a glance. The grotesque host, +the pictures, furniture, and ornaments, were alike inartistic. Mr. +Bellamie was a perfect gentleman. He had come merely as a matter of duty +to make the acquaintance of the tenant of Lewside Cottage, not because +it was a pleasure, but he had received Boodles at his house, and his +son's attachment for the little girl was becoming serious. He could not +definitely oppose himself to Aubrey's love-making until he had +ascertained what manner of people the Weevils were. The pictures and +ornaments told him. The cottage represented poverty, but it was hardly +genteel poverty. A poor gentleman's possessions proclaim his station as +clearly as those of a retired pork-butcher betray his lack of taste. A +few good engravings, a shelf or two of classical works, and a cabinet of +old china, would have done more for Boodles than all the wild romances +of her putative grandfather. + +"You have a glorious view," said the visitor, turning his back upon art +that was degraded and rejoicing in that which was natural. "I have been +admiring it all the way up from the station. But you must get the wind +in the winter time." + +"Yes, a great deal of it. But it is very fine and healthy, and we have +our windows open most days. Tita insists upon it." + +"Tita?" questioned Mr. Bellamie, turning and looking puzzled. "I +understood that--" + +"Her name is not Boodles," said Weevil decidedly. "That is only a pet +name I gave her when she was a baby, and I have never been able to break +myself of it. She is my grand-daughter, Mr. Bellamie, and her name is +Titania Katherine Mary Fitzalan-Lascelles," he said, reading carefully +from the manuscript. "I think she must have inherited her love of open +windows and fresh air from her father, who was the Reverend Henry--no, I +mean Harold Lascelles, second son of the Reverend Henry Arthur +Lascelles--the late, I should have said--sometime Director of St. +Michael's, Cornhill, and minor canon--no, honorary--honorary canon of +St. Paul's Cathedral. He was rather delicate and lived in Switzerland a +good deal, and died there--no, he didn't, that was Tita's mother. He is +in charge of a Catholic mission in British Guiana." + +Polite astonishment was upon every feature of the visitor's fragile +face. He had not come there to talk about Boodles, but to see Weevil and +Lewside Cottage, that he might judge for himself whether the girl could +by any chance be considered a suitable subject for Aubrey's adoration; +to look at the pictures, and make a few conventional remarks upon the +view and the weather; then to return home and report to his wife. He had +certainly not expected to find Weevil bubbling over with family history, +pedigrees, and social intelligence, regarding the child whom he had been +led to suppose was not related to him. Mr. Bellamie glanced at Weevil's +excited face, at the pencil he held in one hand and at the sheet of +paper in the other; and just then he didn't know what to think. Then he +said quietly: "I will sit down if I may. That long hill from the station +was rather an ordeal. As you have mentioned your--your grand-daughter, I +believe you said, you will, I hope, forgive me if I express a little +surprise, as the girl--and a very pretty and charming girl she is--came +to see us one day, and on that occasion she distinctly mentioned that +she knew nothing of her parents." + +Mr. Bellamie would have murmured on in his gentle brook-like way, but +Weevil could not suppress himself. While the visitor was speaking he +made noises like a soda-water bottle which is about to eject its cork; +and at the first opportunity he exploded, and his lying words and broken +bits of story flew all about the room. + +"Quite true, Mr. Bellamie. Boodles--I mean Tita--was telling you the +truth. I have never known her to do the contrary. She has been told +nothing whatever of her parents, does not know that her daughter was my +mother--" + +"You mean that her mother was your daughter," interposed the gentle +guest. + +"Yes, Mr. Bellamie, that is what I did mean, but I am rather confused. +She does not know that her father is living, nor that her rightful name +is Lascelles, nor that her paternal grandfather was the rector of St. +Michael's, Cornhill, and prebendary of St. Paul's Cathedral--" + +"I understood you to say honorary canon," murmured the visitor. + +"I am not certain," cried the excited old man, who was by no means sure +what a prebendary might be. "It is a long time ago, and some of the +facts are not very clear in my mind. You can easily find out," he went +on recklessly. "The Reverend Canon Lascelles was a very well-known man. +He wrote a number of learned books. I believe he refused a bishopric. +Let me see. I was telling you about my little maid. I have kept +everything from her because I feared she might be upset if she knew the +truth and found out who she was. She mightn't be satisfied to go on +living in this little cottage with a poor shabby old man like me, if she +knew how well born she was. I am going to tell her everything when she +is twenty-one, and then she can choose for herself, whether to remain +with me, or to join her father if he wants her in British Guiana." + +"There must be some reason," suggested Mr. Bellamie gently, with another +wondering glance at Weevil's surprising aspect. "I am not seeking to +intrude into any family secret, but you have introduced this subject, +and you must permit me to say that I feel interested in the little girl +on account of my son's--er--friendship with her." + +"I was just coming to it," cried Weevil, exploding again. He was warmed +up by this time. He had lost his nervousness, felt he was playing a +winning game, and believed he had the story pat. The lies had stuck in +his throat at first, as he was a naturally truthful man, but they were +coming along glibly now. "You have a right to be told. There is a little +mystery about Tita's mother. They were living in Lausanne--Tita was born +in the hotel where Gibbings wrote his history--and one day her mother +went out and disappeared. She has never been heard of since that day. It +is supposed she went for a walk in the mountains. Perhaps she fell down +a glacier," he added, brilliantly inspired. + +"A crevasse," corrected Mr. Bellamie mildly. "It is hardly likely. +Lausanne is not quite among the mountains." + +Weevil had not known that. Hurriedly he suggested a fatal boating trip +upon the lake of Geneva, and was relieved when the visitor admitted in a +slightly incredulous manner that was more probable. + +"You have interested me very much," he went on, "and surprised me. You +are the girl's grandfather on the mother's side?" + +"Yes; and now I must tell you something about myself," said Weevil, with +a hurried glance at his notes which the visitor could not help +observing. "I am not your social equal, Mr. Bellamie, and I cannot +pretend to be. I have not enjoyed the advantages of a public-school and +university education, but I was left with a fortune from my father, who +was a manufacturer of pianos, at an early age, and I then contracted a +marriage with a lady who was slightly older than myself, and very much +my superior socially, mentally--possibly physically," he added, with +another inspiration, as he caught sight of his comic face in the +mantel-glass. "Her name was Miss Fitzalan, and we were married at St. +George's, Hanover Square." + +The visitor inclined his head, and did so just in time to conceal a +smile. Weevil was overacting the part. He was placing an emphasis on +every word. In his excitement he dropped the manuscript, without which +he was helpless. It fluttered to Mr. Bellamie's feet, and before Weevil +could recover it the visitor had a distinct recollection of having read: +"Your wife was buried in Hendon churchyard." It was strange, he thought, +that a man should require to make a note of his wife's burying-place. + +"Titania was our only child," Weevil went on, after refreshing his +memory, like a public speaker, with his notes. "She was something like +Boodles, only her hair was flaxen, and she was taller and more slim. I +am sorry I have not a photograph of her, but after her tragic +disappearance I burnt them all. I could not bear to look at them. There +was one of her in court dress which you would have liked. Some time +after my wife's death I lost my money in gold-mines. It was my own +fault. I was foolish, and I listened to the advice of knaves. I came +here with what little I could reclaim from the wreck of my shattered +fortunes," he said, pausing to notice the effect of that tremendous +sentence, and then repeating it with added emphasis. "I settled here, +and Father Lascelles, as he was by then, sent me my grandchild and asked +me to bring her up as my own. At first I shrank from the responsibility, +as I had not the means to educate her as her birth and name require, but +I have been given cause every day of my life since to be thankful that I +did accept, for she has been the light of my eyes, Mr. Bellamie, the +light and the apple of my eyes." + +Weevil sank into a chair and wiped his face. His task was done, he had +told his story; and he fully believed that Boodles was safe and that the +Brute was conquered. The visitor was looking into the interior of his +hat. He seemed to have found something artistic there. He coughed, and +in his gentle well-bred way observed: "Thank you, Mr. Weevil. You have +told me a piece of very interesting family history." + +Weevil detected nothing of a suspicious or ironical nature in that +admission. He nursed his knee, and wagged his head, and grinned +triumphantly as he replied in a naive fashion: "I took the name of +Fitzalan-Weevil after my marriage, because I thought it sounded better, +but after I lost my wife and fortune I went back to my own." + +Mr. Bellamie took another glance round the room, just to make sure he +had missed nothing. There might be some little gem of a picture in a +dark corner, or a cracked bit of Wedgwood ware, which he had overlooked +in the former survey. There might be some redeeming thing, he thought, +in the environment which would fit in with the amazing story. The same +inartistic features met his eyes: Weevil pictures, Weevil furniture, +Weevil carpet and wall-paper. There was nothing to represent the family +of Fitzalan or the family of Lascelles. The simple old liar did not know +what a powerful advocate was fighting against him, and how his poor +little home was giving verdict and judgment against him. The visitor +completed his survey, turned his attention to the old man, regarding him +partly with contempt and pity, chiefly in admiration. Then he took out +his trap and set it cleverly where Weevil could hardly fail to blunder +into it. + +"I think I knew Canon Lascelles a good many years ago," he said in his +gentle non-combative voice. "He was a curious-looking man, if I remember +rightly. Tall, stooping very much, with a red face which contrasted +strangely with his white hair, and he had a trick of snapping his +fingers loudly when excited. Do you recognise the portrait?" + +Old Weevil gasped, said he did, declared it was life-like, and then +fumbled for his manuscript. Hadn't he made any notes on that subject? +There was nothing to help him in the inky scrawl. He was being examined +upon unprepared subjects. So there had been a Canon Lascelles in real +life, and Mr. Bellamie had known him. Well, there was nothing for it but +to agree to all that was said. His imagination would not work upon the +spur of the moment, and if he tried to force it he would be sure to +contradict himself or become confused. He replied that he distinctly +remembered the Canon's trick of snapping his fingers loudly when +excited. + +"Your daughter married the second son Harold. Of course you knew Philip +the eldest. I think his name was Philip?" + +"Quite right, Mr. Bellamie, quite right. Philip it was. He went into the +Army," gasped Weevil. + +"Surely not," said Mr. Bellamie. "Excuse me for contradicting you, but I +know he went into the Navy, and I think he is now a captain. Aubrey will +tell me. Very possibly my son has met Captain Lascelles, and may indeed +have served under him." + +Weevil was trying to look contemplative, but succeeding badly. He was +digging new ground and striking roots everywhere. There was nothing for +it but to admit his mistake. He was old and forgetful. He had probably +been thinking of some one else. Of course Philip Lascelles went into the +Navy. He had heard nothing of him for years, and was very glad to hear +he had risen to the rank of captain. + +"Then there was a daughter. Only one, I think?" Mr. Bellamie continued, +in his pleasant conversational way. + +"That's right," agreed Weevil, longing to add something descriptive, but +not venturing. He was not going to be caught again. + +"Edith?" suggested the visitor. "I think the name was Edith." + +"No," cried Weevil determinedly--he could not resist it; "Katherine. She +was the godmother of Boodles--Tita, I mean--and the child was named +after her." + +"Yes, it is my mistake this time. Katherine of course," agreed Mr. +Bellamie. "But I am certain she was the eldest child, and she married +young and went to India. She must have been in India when your +grandchild was born." + +"She came over for the ceremony. Harold was her favourite brother, and +when she heard of Tita's birth she came to London as fast as she could," +cried Weevil, not realising what a wild thing he was saying. + +"To London!" murmured Mr. Bellamie. "The child was baptised at St. +Michael's, Cornhill?" he added swiftly. + +"No, in Hendon church." + +"I thought you said she was born in Lausanne at the Hotel Gibbon?" + +"So she was," gasped Weevil, perspiring and distraught. "I mean she was +buried in Hendon churchyard." + +"What! the little girl--Boodles!" said Mr. Bellamie, laughing gently. + +"No, my wife. We were married there." Weevil did not know what he was +saying. The pictures and ornaments, which had been his undoing, were +dancing about before his eyes. + +"You are getting confused," said the gentle visitor. "I understood you +to say you were married at St. George's, Hanover Square." + +"Ah, but I used to go to Hendon," said Weevil eagerly, nodding, and +grinning, and speaking the truth at last. "I used to walk out there on +Sundays and holidays, and have bread and cheese in a tea-garden at +Edgware, and then go on by Mill Hill and Arkley and round to Barnet, and +back across Hampstead Heath to my lodgings in Kentish Town. I was very +fond of that walk, but I couldn't do it now, sir. It would be much too +far for an old man like me." + +Weevil was happy again. He thought he had succeeded in changing the +subject, and getting away from the fictitious family of Lascelles. Mr. +Bellamie was satisfied too. Canon Lascelles was a fiction with him also. +The pictures and furniture had given truthful evidence. Weevil was a +fraud, but such a well-meaning pitiable old humbug that the visitor +could not feel angry. They had fenced at each other with fictions, and +in such delicate play Weevil had not much chance; and his latest and +only truthful admission had done for him entirely. Gentlemen of means do +not walk up the Edgware Road on Sundays and holidays, and partake of +bread and cheese in suburban tea-gardens, and then return to lodgings in +Kentish Town. + +"Thank you for what you have told me," said Mr. Bellamie, rising and +looking into his hat; and then, succumbing to the desire to add the +final artistic touch: "I understand you to have said that you were +married to Miss Fitzalan in Hendon church, and that your daughter +married Mr. Harold Lascelles, who disappeared in an unaccountable +fashion in Lausanne?" + +"No, no," cried Weevil despairingly. He was tired and had put aside his +manuscript. "I never said that. You have got it quite wrong. I was +married to Miss Fitzalan in St. Michael's, Brentor, and our daughter +Boodles married Philip Lascelles--captain as he now is--at Hendon, and +Tita was baptised in St. George's, Hanover Square, and then went to +Lausanne to that hotel where Gubbings wrote his history, and there she +disappeared--no, not Boodles, but her mother Tita. But she may be alive +still. She may turn up some day." + +"Then how about Father Lascelles?" suggested Mr. Bellamie. + +"Why, he married my daughter Tita," said Weevil rather crossly. "And now +he is in British Columbia at his mission. He won't come back to England +again. Boodles doesn't know of his existence, but I shall tell her when +she is twenty-one." + +The visitor smiled rather sadly, and after a moment's hesitation put out +his hand. Old Weevil had been turned inside out, and there was nothing +in him but a foolish loving heart. Mr. Bellamie understood the position +exactly. There was a mystery about the little girl's birth, and it was +probably a shameful one, and on that account the old man had concocted +his lying story, not for his own sake, but for hers. Mr. Bellamie could +not feel angry at the queer shaking figure, with tragedy inside and +comedy on its face. Boodles was his all, the only thing he had to love, +and he was prepared to do anything which he thought might ensure her +happiness. There was something splendid about his lies, which the +visitor had to admire although they had been prepared to dupe him. It +was not a highly moral proceeding, but it was an artistic one; and Mr. +Bellamie was able to forgive anything that was artistic. + +"Good-bye," he said, in a perfectly friendly way. "I hope you will come +and see me at Tavistock, and look at your tors from my windows." + +Weevil returned thanks effusively, happy in the belief that he had +played his part well; but it was characteristic of him that his thoughts +should be for Boodles rather than for himself. "If you would let her +come and see you sometimes it would make her happy. It's a dull life for +the little maid here, and she is so bright and full of laughter. I think +she laughs too much, and to-day I told her so. There is a lot of cruelty +in this world, Mr. Bellamie, and I want to keep her from it. The man who +makes a little maid miserable deserves all the cruelty that there is, +but it shan't touch Boodles if I can put myself before her and keep it +off. I could not see her suffer, I couldn't hear her laugh ring false. I +would rather see her dead." + +Mr. Bellamie walked away slowly. He had prepared a mild revenge, but he +did not execute it. He had intended to tell Weevil a story of a man who +took a dog out to sea that he might drown it; but while fastening a +stone to its neck the boat overturned, the man was drowned, while the +dog swam safely to shore. He thought Weevil might be able to interpret +the parable. But when he heard those last words, and saw the love and +tenderness on that queer grinning face, he said no more. He walked away +slowly, with his eyes upon the ground. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +ABOUT JUSTICE + + +What luck is nobody can know, but it is certainly a gift to be preferred +before natural ability. Luck is that undefinable thing which enables a +man to push his head and shoulders well above the crowd. Make him wise +it cannot, but no man cares about wisdom if he can only be wealthy. +Lucky men pile up big fortunes, and invariably become humbugs in their +old age, and assure young men that their affluence is entirely owing to +the splendid virtues of application, perseverance, and early rising, +which they practised in their youth. No doubt the virtues help, but hard +work alone makes no man wealthy, let him toil like Sisyphus. It is luck +that lodges the stone on the top of the mountain. The idle apprentice +who has luck is far more likely to marry his master's daughter than the +industrious apprentice who hasn't it. The clever man and the lucky one +start out side by side, but they soon drift apart; the lucky man goes to +the right door, the clever man goes to the wrong one; and the end of it +is that the clever man writes from his cottage to the lucky man in his +mansion, begging the loan of a few pounds to keep the bailiffs out. +There is nothing to which a man without luck cannot attain by hard work, +except one thing--success. + +Decidedly there had been no fairy godmothers at Brightly's christening. +None of the good things of life had fallen upon him; and yet he +possessed those virtues which are supposed to make for wealth; no man +could have worked harder or showed more perseverance; and as for early +rising it was easy because he had no bed to rise from. Still he could +not make a living. The elusive coppers refused to increase and multiply +into shillings; and as for sovereigns they were as extinct as dodos. + +Brightly continued his various progresses with that strict attention to +business which had always characterised him, and with the empty stomach +which had become a habit; but without any luck. Any one might have +mistaken him for a poet. + +He was working the same old stretch: Meldon, Sourton Down, Bridestowe, +Lydford, Brentor, and the Tavys, his basket dragging at his arm, and Ju +trotting her poor little life away at his heels. Ju also had been +deserted by canine fairy godmothers. Perhaps she too had dreams--of a +basket, furnished with soft cushions beside a fire, and perennial plates +of bones and biscuits. + +Brightly had a fresh stock of atrocious yellow vases, thanks to the +generosity of the lovers at the fair; and he was hard at work again +collecting rabbit-skins; and still encouraged himself by thinking of the +glorious time when he would jog contentedly along the stony roads in a +little cart neatly littered with fern, with a lamp to be lighted after +dark, and the board bearing the inscription: "A. Brightly. Purveyor of +rabbit-skins," set forth for all to read. It was not a very lofty +ambition, although quite an impossible one. Brightly was getting on in +years; his rheumatism and asthma were increasing; so was his blindness; +he wept sometimes, but that did not assist his business. Sometimes he +thought the time was getting near when he would have to sell his vases +and buy two pennyworth of rat-poison. He thought he would do it with +rat-poison. Perhaps when he woke up, if he did wake up, he would find +himself in Jerusalem among the jugs of milk and honey-pots; and perhaps +there would be somebody like Boodles looking at him with the same moist +eyes. He could not go into the poorhouse. They would frighten him there, +and he would much rather be dead than in that prison. Nature seemed +rather to have overreached herself when she created Brightly. What was +the use of such a defenceless creature, this sort of human rabbit whom +any one could attack? Why turn him out feeble and half blind when he had +his living to make? Even the wayside weed is better cared for. When its +crown-bud is bitten off by a cow Nature sets to work to repair the +injury at once, and the plant grows up as well as ever. Nature did +nothing to repair Brightly's injuries. She did not even permit him to +enjoy tobacco, that one luxury of the lonely and friendless. Probably +she foresaw what a boon tobacco would be to him, so she afflicted him +with asthma. Nature delights in thus adding toil to toil and trouble to +trouble. It is only in the matter of adding pleasure to pleasure that +she is niggardly. + +Brightly was coming up the moor towards St. Mary Tavy. His face looked +smaller and his hands bigger. There was another change, a far more +striking one; he was actually well dressed; there was nothing, of +course, in the shape of useless accessories, such as shirt or underwear, +but the black seal-like raiment had been discarded and a suit of brown +cloth had taken its place. He had picked up those clothes while +burrowing in a wheal to find shelter from a pitiless downpour. It had +been a great find which had rejoiced his heart, for although he was +accustomed to make a living by picking up things which other people +threw away, he had never before discovered anything half as priceless as +a suit of stout garments. It had never occurred to him that they might +not have been thrown away, but merely hidden in the wheal, or that he +had no right to them, or that it could be dangerous for him to be seen +about in them. + +"Us will pitch here," said Brightly, stopping near the moor gate, and +lowering his basket carefully. "It be dinner time, Ju." + +The little dog wagged at the prospect. Dinner time occurred frequently, +but generally without the dinner. She sniffed ravenously at the +handkerchief in the corner of the basket, and decided that the menu of +the day was cheese, largely rind, but still cheese, a slab of bread, and +two onions. It was one of the feast-days. They reposed upon heather, and +Brightly made a division of the food, reserving the onions for himself, +but allotting Ju a bigger piece of rind as compensation. "You'm a lot +littler than I," he explained. "Your belly be filled quicker. It be no +good giving yew an onion, 'cause yew wun't yet 'en. Tak' your +cheese--don't swallow like that, ye little stoopid! Yew don't get the +taste of 'en at all. Yet 'en slow, and tak' a bit o' bread wi' 'en same +as I du. Us wun't get no more to-day like enough." + +The meal was soon over, and then Brightly sat up and began to whistle, +while Ju squatted upon the heather, her tongue lolling out, and her poor +little mongrel head following every motion of her master's body. +Brightly's only recreation was whistling, and he took the pastime +seriously. With his pinched face and big round glasses set towards +Brentor he piped away as hard as he could; first a ballad which he had +heard in an ale-house, then a hymn, and another ballad, and then the +favourite of all, Jerusalem the Golden. He whistled them all wrong, but +he didn't know it. For the time being he was happy enough, as he was a +contented soul, and his chief happiness was to be alone on the moor, +which then seemed to be his own property, with the scented garden of +heather and gorse about him, and the sweet wind blowing upon his face; +and they all seemed to be his own while he was alone. It was only when +he saw a cottage, or a farm, or a man approaching him, that he +understood they were not his own, but the property of the cottage, or +the farm, or the man approaching him, and that he lived only upon +sufferance, and might get into trouble for lying on the heather, and +smelling the gorse, or for permitting the pleasant wind to blow upon his +face. + +After whistling he began to sing, making, it must be owned, a shocking +noise. He did not know the words of the ballads, nor more than a single +line of the Wesleyan hymn which children sing in procession upon chapel +anniversary day. Brightly had often listened as he tramped by, with his +full basket and his empty stomach, but he had never caught the Words +because the children gabbled them so in their hurry to get the religious +exercises over and attack the cakes and splits. "Jesu, Master, us +belongs to yew," he howled discordantly, while Ju howled in dismal +agreement, and began to whimper when her master went on to scream about +Jerusalem and dairy produce. + +"I reckon that be the beautifullest tune as ever was sung," commented +Brightly, "I'll sing 'en again, Ju, and I'll get 'en right this time. I +mun sing him a bit stronger. I reckon the end o' the world can't be over +far off, wi' volks got so cruel wicked, and us mun get ready vor't." + +He folded his hands upon his knees, and was about to resume his noises +when the moor gate clicked. Brightly's faculties were as keen as a +bat's. He could not see much, but he could sense the approach of danger; +and when he heard the gate slam violently, and a thick voice exclaim: +"There a' be!" he started up, anxious to get back to his solitude, +conscious somehow that unfriendly beings were upon him, to steal his +"duppence," and put him out of business by smashing his vases. He stared +through his glasses until he distinguished two fat figures, one in +uniform, the other in shabby raiment, advancing upon him with +threatening movements, one the village constable, the other the village +reprobate; and when he saw them, that grim thing called terror descended +upon Brightly. He had done nothing wrong so far as he knew, but all the +same he could not resist the fear, so he fled away as hard as he could, +the basket dragging upon his arm, and Ju trotting at his heels. He knew +what it meant to fall into the hands of his fellow-men. Pendoggat had +shown him, and most men were Pendoggats to Brightly. + +He went up the moor towards the top of the village, and the stout +constable soon gave up the chase, as he was not used to violent +exercise, nor did he receive any extra pay for exerting himself. +Besides, he was sure of the man. He wiped his face and told the village +reprobate, who was his most obliging servant and had to be, that it was +cruel hot, and he'd got that lusty he didn't seem able to run properly, +and he thought he would return to the village and prepare for more +strenuous deeds with a drop o' cider; and he charged the reprobate to +follow Brightly and head him off at the top of the village, and keep him +close until he, the constable, should have cooled down and recovered +from his fatigue sufficiently to attend in great pomp and arrest the +rascal. He reminded the reprobate he must not arrest Brightly because +that was not allowed by law; but he was at perfect liberty to knock him +down, and trample on him, and inform him that the criminal law of the +land was about to spread its net around him. The constable's state of +mind regarding the law was peculiar. He had no idea that laws were made +to punish crime. He conceived that creatures like Brightly existed to +supply the demands of the law. + +At the head of the village Brightly encountered more man-hunters, but he +managed to escape again, although he had to leave his basket behind. +Some children soon rifled it, and took the gorgeous vases home to their +mothers. With the instinct of the hunted animal the fugitive turned upon +his tracks, fled up a side lane, climbed over a hedge, waited until his +pursuers had passed, then hurried back for his basket, hoping to reclaim +it and get away upon the moor, where he could soon hide himself. But he +had not gone far when he saw a vision; the angel again, the angel of +Tavistock, the angel from Jerusalem, who had dropped out of the church +window and set him up in business with half-a-crown; and she came to +meet him in the road, as angels do, with his basket in her hand, and +just the same pitiful look in her eyes. There was no church just by, +only a little white cottage; but perhaps it was furnished like a church, +with coloured windows, booming organ, and a big black book on the +outspread wings of a golden goose. + +"I have got some of the vases. The children have not taken them all," +said Boodles. "I saw it from the window. What have you done?" + +"They knows, your reverent; I don't," gasped Brightly. He didn't know +how he ought to address the angel, but he thought "your reverent" might +do for the present. He stood upon the road, panting, shivering, and +coughing, while Boodles looked at him and tried to laugh, but couldn't. + +"What a dreadful cough!" she said sorrowfully. + +"It's asthma, your reverent. I allus has it, and rheumatics tu--just +here, cruel, your reverent. I be getting blind. I don't seem able to see +you properly," he said, in the voice of one saying his prayers, and half +choking all the time. + +"Don't call me your reverent," said Boodles. "How silly! I--I'm only a +little girl." + +Brightly had always supposed that celestial beings are modest. He only +shook his head at that remark. He had seen little girls, and knew quite +well what they were like. They didn't have golden skin and a glory about +their heads, neither did they drop down suddenly before starving and +persecuted beings, to give them half-crowns, and save them from their +enemies. + +"Asthma, rheumatics, and getting blind," he repeated, shattering the +words with coughs. He hoped the angel might touch him and heal his +infirmities if he told her all about them. + +She only gave him the basket, and said: "You had better come in and +rest. I don't like to hear you cough so. I hope you haven't been +stealing anything?" she said reproachfully. + +"I ain't done nothing--nothing serious," declared Brightly. "I was +a-sitting on the heather, singing about Jesus and us belonging to 'en, +when policeman comes a-shouting, there 'a be,' and I ran, your reverent. +I was that mazed I didn't hardly know what I was doing. They'm after I +now, and I ain't done nothing that I knows on. I was a-yetting my bread +and cheese and singing. I warn't a-harming a living thing. I warn't +a-harming not a butterfly, your reverent." + +Boodles would have laughed had Brightly been a less pathetic object. She +said she believed he was honest, bent to pat Ju, then took them both +into the cottage and into the little room where old Weevil was preparing +a long screed, to be addressed to some society, and headed: "An Inquiry +into the Number of Earthworms mutilated annually by Agricultural +Implements." He was very much astonished when he saw Brightly, but +became as pitiful as the girl when he had heard the story. + +"I am sure he speaks the truth," said Boodles for the defence. + +"I don't care whether it's the truth or a lie. Another poor thing caught +by the Brute," muttered Weevil. "We must help him to escape. We will +keep him here until dark, and then he can creep away. It's what we are +always doing, all of us--trying to creep away from the Brute." + +Brightly seated himself in a reverential attitude, regarding poor old +Weevil as a patriarch, a sort of modern Abraham who had pitched his tent +in that part of the country for the benefit of the poor and friendless. +He wondered if the patriarch was a prophet also, and could tell him if +he would ever attain to the pony and cart; but he had not the courage to +ask. + +"What are those things in your basket?" said Weevil. + +"Two rabbit-skins, sir. I makes my living out o' they. Least I tries +to," added Brightly drearily. + +"Where have you come from?" + +"To-day from Lydford, sir. Yesterday from Belstone, round Okehampton, +and over Sourton Down. Trade be bad, sir." + +"How many miles is that?" + +"Mebbe nearly twenty from Belstone. I went round about like, and pitched +to Lydford last night." + +"Twenty miles for two rabbit-skins. Merciful God!" gasped Weevil. + +"Amen, sir," said Brightly. + +"Don't you know what the policeman wants you for?" + +"I don't, sir. I was a-sitting on the heather when he come, and I ran. I +got to the top o' the village, and a lot more of 'em were after I, and I +ran again. I got away from 'em, and was a-coming back vor my basket, +when the reverent appeared avore I wi' my basket in the reverent's +hand." + +"That's me," said Boodles, demurely and ungrammatically, in answer to +Weevil's puzzled look. She was feeding Ju with biscuit, stroking her +thin sides at the same time, and making the poor bitch share her +master's impressions concerning the pleasant nature of angelic visions. + +There was a knock upon the door, not the timid knock of a visitor, nor +the obsequious knock of a tradesman, but the loud defiant knock of +authority. The constable had arrived, full of cider and a sense of duty, +and behind him a number of villagers had gathered together, with a +sprinkling of children, some of whom had stolen Brightly's vases, and +seen him enter Lewside Cottage, and then had run off to spread the news +everywhere. + +"Very sorry, miss," said the policeman, with a polite hiccup. "You've +got the man I'm after. Got in when you wasn't looking, likely enough. +He'm a bad lot. I've been after him a long time, and now I've got him." + +"What has he done?" said Boodles, guarding the door, and making signs to +Weevil to get Brightly out at the back. + +"Robbery with violence, attempted murder, and keeping a dog wi'out a +licence," said the happy policeman, in the satisfied manner of a fat boy +chewing Turkish delight. "You must stand aside, if you plase, miss. +Mustn't interfere with the course of law and justice." + +"It's horrid," cried the child. "I'm sure he has done nothing." + +"Come away, my maid. We can't do anything," called Weevil tremulously. +"The man must go to the Brute. Innocent or guilty, it's all the same. +The Brute has us all in turn." + +Brightly sat in the corner coughing, and beside him Ju huddled, +swallowing the last crumbs of biscuit. They were an unlovely but +entirely inoffensive pair. A student of human nature would have +acquitted the pinched little man of guilt at a glance, but the policeman +was not a student of either human nature, law, or morals. He had +promotion to consider, and weak and friendless beings like Brightly were +valuable assets in a place where opportunities for distinction were few. +Brightly had no relations to come behind the constable on a dark night +and half murder him. Little difficulties like that compelled him to look +the other way when commoners set the law aside. But Brightly and Ju were +fair game, and the constable had long regarded them as such. + +"You come along with me," he said pleasantly, pulling at Brightly's +sleeve. "Best come quiet, and I've got to warn ye that anything you ses +will be used agin ye. If you tries to get away again 'twill go hard wi' +ye." + +"What ha' I done, sir?" whispered Brightly, lifting his thin face and +pathetic spectacles. He was not usually of an inquisitive nature, but he +was curious then to learn the particular nature of the villainies he had +committed. + +The policeman winked at Weevil and smiled greasily, meaning to imply +that the prisoner was an old hand and a desperate character. + +"Ain't he a booty?" he said, with professional admiration for a daring +criminal. "Wants to know what he's done. Well, I'll tell ye. Thursday +night, not last week, but week avore, you set on Varmer Chegwidden as he +was a-riding home peaceable across Gibbet Hill, and you pulled 'en off +his horse, and stripped the clothes off 'en, and flung 'en into +vuzzy-bushes, and purty nigh murdered 'en, and you steals his money and +his clothes, and you'm a-wearing his clothes now; and he wants to know +what he've been and done," said the policeman, with another wink at +Weevil's distressed countenance. + +"What nonsense!" cried Boodles. "He pull Chegwidden off his horse! Why, +Chegwidden could keep him off with two fingers." + +"He'm one of the artfullest criminals in the country," explained the +constable. + +"How did you get those clothes?" asked the girl, turning towards the +accused. + +"Picked 'en up in a wheal, your reverent," answered Brightly. + +"Didn't I tell ye?" cried the policeman. "Artful ain't the word for 'en. +If 'twasn't for me, and the evidence I got agin him, he'd purty nigh +make the magistrates believe he was innocent. Walks about in stolen +clothes, he du, and says he never stole 'em. Takes a bit of a bad 'un to +du that." + +Brightly could not understand much about it, but he supposed it was all +right. He was evidently a rascal, but he felt almost proud to learn that +he had dragged Chegwidden off his horse, although he could not remember +having done so. His own impression was that if he had seen Chegwidden +approaching he would have fled like a frightened rabbit. He supposed +they would not hang him, and anyhow, if they did try, the angel would +very likely appear before him and help him to escape, and show him a +short-cut to Jerusalem, or tell him how he could get the pony and cart +without being accused of having stolen them. He got up, ready to go with +the policeman, and Ju rose too and shook herself, knowing nothing of the +law. + +"Where's your dog-licence?" demanded the constable. + +Brightly looked about in his misery, but his glasses were so dim he +could see nothing. He had always been afraid that question would come, +and he had often wondered how he should answer it. He had tried again +and again to save up for that licence in pennies and halfpence, but it +was quite impossible. The sum never reached a shilling. Prosperous +commoners could easily obtain exemption orders for their dogs; but a +large sum of money was demanded from him, although he had none, for the +right to keep his only little friend. + +"I ain't got no paper, sir," he said. "I've tried time and time, but the +pennies wun't keep. I couldn't mak' it up. I'll tell 'en how I tried to +save it, sir." + +Boodles turned to the window and her shoulders began to shake, while old +Weevil was using his handkerchief as if he had a cold. The constable was +grinning more than ever. After such zeal on his part he considered that +his promotion to a more important station was practically assured. + +"Don't tak' the little dog away, sir; don't ye. I ain't got much, sir, +only the basket and bit of oil-cloth to keep the rain off, and the +vases, and two rabbit-skins, and four pennies in my pocket, and she, +sir. I ain't got nothing else, 'cept an old pan to Belstone Cleave what +I cooks in, and a few bits o' cloam, and a blanket I sleeps under. I +never stoled the clothes, sir. I picked 'en up in the wheal, and +reckoned they'd been thrown away. I'll give 'em back, sir. I'll tak' 'em +back to Varmer Chegwidden to wance, sir." + +The policeman did not listen to that nonsense. He had his duty to think +of, and with a loud "Come on here" he fished a bit of rope out of his +pocket and tied it round Ju's neck. The dog shrank back, frightened at +such roughness, so the man promptly kicked her with his big boot and +growled angrily, "Bite me, will ye?" + +There was a yelp of pain from the poor beast, and the next moment the +constable had himself to think of. Brightly lost control over himself. +He could bear most things fairly well, but not cruelty to Ju. He flung +out his raw hands in a blind sort of way, and one went against the +policeman's nose, and the other on his ear, astonishing the fat creature +a good deal, but not hurting him in the least, as Brightly's arms had no +strength in them. + +"Assaulting the police," he cried triumphantly, feeling for his +note-book, "resisting arrest, and keeping a furious animal not under +proper control." + +"She did not try to bite you," choked Boodles in a tearful manner. "He +did not assault you. He was only protecting his dog;" while old Weevil +clutched the table, his head nodding wildly as if it was about to fall +off, muttering continually, "The Brute! the Brute!" + +"You had better be careful," the child went on. "We shall come and give +evidence against you." + +The fat constable was more amused than angry at the threat. As if the +magistrates would believe a silly old man and a foolish young girl, when +he had the crowd of villagers outside to swear that Brightly had knocked +him about and Ju had bitten him. Not that the villagers had seen +anything, but that would not make much difference, as he could easily +tell them what had happened. He had always kept in with them, and winked +at their little peccadilloes, and they would not forsake him in the hour +of need. On the whole the constable was a much bigger rogue than +Brightly. + +Presently there was a scene upon the road and much laughter. The +policeman went before dragging Ju at the end of the rope, and the +villagers followed after, enjoying themselves exceedingly. There was not +much excitement in their lives, and this was as good as a pony-drift or +an otter-hunt, for Brightly had assumed the part of buffoon and was +making a fool of himself for their delectation. The policeman did not +hold him, as he was unlikely to escape again, and besides, Ju was giving +so much trouble. She had to be dragged along over the stones and through +the gorse, with her tongue hanging out and the rope chafing her neck, +and the policeman found it necessary to kick her frequently because she +was "so contrairy like"; while Brightly jumped about like a new kind of +frog, his glasses nearly tumbling from his nose, his big useless eyes +bulging, and his foolish hands flapping in the air, whining and panting +like his dog, and blubbering like a baby. + +"Give I back my little dog. Don't ye tak' my little dog away, sir. You'm +hurting she cruel, and her ain't done nothing. Ah, don't ye kick she, +sir. Let she come wi' I, sir. Her will follow I close. Her wun't run +away. Her be scared of yew, sir, and you'm hurting she cruel." + +The villagers applauded these sayings, and tried to encourage Brightly +to perform again for their benefit. He was funnier than a dancing-bear, +and his dramatic efforts were very much appreciated. "Go at 'en again," +they shouted, and Brightly responded nobly. + +"I'll starve and pinch for the money, sir, if yew lets she go. I'll save +'en up somehow, pennies and duppences, till I gets the seven-and-sixpence +for the paper. 'Tis a cruel lot o' money for a hungry man, but I'll get +it, sir. I'll work day and night and get it, sir." + +"Steal it from one of you, likely," shouted the constable, grinning more +greasily than ever at the tumultuous laughter which welcomed his subtle +humour. He was so delighted at having discovered within him a hitherto +unsuspected vein of humour that he tried again, and won instant +recognition of his brilliant talent with the inspired witticism, "Walks +about in Varmer Chegwidden's clothes, and says he never stole 'em." + +"Purty near killed varmer tu. Tored 'en off his horse and beat 'en +mazed," added the reprobate, who saw no reason why the policeman should +have all the jokes. + +Some of the others regarded Brightly with admiration. He was not only a +clever low-comedian, but he was also the most desperate character on all +Dartmoor. They were well able to appreciate the spirit of lawlessness +because their own careers had been strongly marked with the same +peculiarity. He was not exactly their idea of what a criminal ought to +be, as in appearance he was little better than a half-starved worm, but +the fact remained that he was a criminal, and as such was entitled to +receive their admiration and their stones. + +"Listen to 'en! He'm play-acting again," shouted the reprobate. + +"Du'ye let I have my little dog, sir. Don't ye tak' she away 'cause I +can't pay for the paper," whined Brightly, continuing his strange dance +of agony. "I ain't got nothing now, sir. My vases be took, and my basket +and rabbit-skins, and her be all I have. I'd ha' paid the fine for she, +sir, but trade be cruel dull, and the pennies wun't keep. Don't ye tak' +she away, sir. I couldn't go abroad on Dartmoor wi'out she. I'd think +and wonder what had come to she, and 'twould hurt I cruel." + +"You ain't going to tramp about on Dartmoor. You'm going to prison," +shouted the witty policeman, while the villagers applauded him again, +and Ju struggled, and Brightly went on weeping. + +Not every one would have enjoyed the spectacle, although the constable +and the crowd appreciated it. The rugged little mountains stood about +silently, and became tired perhaps of looking on, for they began to mask +their heads in mist. Even the sun didn't like it, and rolled himself up +in a dark cloud, and came out no more that day. It was autumn, there was +a smell of decay in the air, and a sense of sorrow somehow. The dark +days were near; the time when warm earth, bright flowers, joy of life, +are so unreal, so far away, that it seems sometimes they may not return +again. + +In due course Brightly appeared before the magistrates, as sober a set +of justices as ever lived, as learned in law as a row of owls, but +carefully driven by a clerk, who kept their heads up, and their feet +from stumbling into the ditch. The case was fully stated, and witnesses +were called, among them Chegwidden, who had missed several Thursday +evenings out, and was then only just well enough to attend the court. He +explained that he had been riding home from Brentor on a dark windy +night, and had been suddenly attacked, dragged off his horse, and +stunned by a blow on the head. He remembered nothing more until he found +himself in bed at home. He identified the clothes as his property. In +answer to a question he admitted he had seen no one, but the attack had +been made suddenly, and the night was very dark. Had he been drinking? +Well, he might have taken a glass at Brentor, but not enough to upset +him. He was a sober man. Nobody had ever seen him the worse for liquor, +although he confessed he was not a teetotaler. + +Others, who also owned they were not teetotalers, although they were for +the most part habitual drunkards, swore that Chegwidden was a sober man, +and they had never seen him the worse for liquor. They did not add it +was because they had been probably too drunk to see anything. Their +evidence was accepted, although the magistrates might have known that it +is impossible to obtain evidence which will incriminate a commoner from +his own parishioners. They will give evidence against a man of the next +parish, but not against one of their own. In such a case perjury is not +with them a fault, but a virtue. The members of a parish hang together. +They may hate each other, curse each other, fight with each other, but +they will not give evidence against one another before outsiders. +Brightly lived nowhere apparently, having no parish and no clan; +therefore any one was prepared to give evidence against him, more +especially as he had attacked one of themselves. His guilt was clear +enough. The members of the Bench could not in their hearts believe that +he had overpowered a strong man like Chegwidden; but the testimony of +the clothes could not be set aside. It was obvious he had stolen them. +The constable gave him a bad character. There was no doubt he had been +guilty of all kinds of grievous offences, only he was such an artful +creature that he had hitherto succeeded in evading the law. He feigned +to be asthmatic and half blind in order that he might secure a +reputation for inoffensiveness; and he pretended to go about the moor +buying rabbit-skins, while it was suspected that his real motive was to +steal from farm-houses, or to pass on any information he might acquire in +his wanderings to a gang of burglars who had not as yet been +apprehended. The constable made up a very pretty story against Brightly. + +The little man listened and tried not to be amazed. So he had been a +rascal all the time and had never known it. No doubt it was true, for +the gentlemen said so. He had pleaded not guilty, but he could not be +sure about it, and he began to suspect that he must have told them a +lie. + +The chairman, a kindly old gentleman, who had lived long enough to know +that it is a pleasant thing to be merciful, was inclined to deal with +the case summarily, as it was a first offence; but, unfortunately for +Brightly, there was a clergyman upon the Bench, a very able man, who +received eight hundred a year for keeping a curate to preach twice on +Sundays and perform any little week-day duties that might be required. +He objected strongly, stating it was one of the worst cases he had ever +known, and certainly not one in which the quality of mercy could be +strained. Clemency on their part would be a mistaken kindness, and would +assuredly tend to a regrettable increase of the lawlessness which, as he +and his brother magistrates were so well aware, prevailed to such an +alarming extent in the mid-Devon parishes. They were then given the +opportunity of dealing with an individual who was, he feared, though he +was sorry to have to say it plainly, one of the pests of civilisation. +They were there to do their duty, which was necessarily unpleasant and +even painful. They were there, not to yield to a false sentiment, and to +encourage vice, but to suppress it by every means in their power. If +they did not protect law-abiding people from highwaymen and robbers, of +what use were they? He ventured to think, and to say, none whatever. He +concluded by stating that he was strongly in favour of committing the +prisoner for trial at the Assizes. + +There was another charge against the miserable Brightly. He had kept a +dog without a licence. At that point Boodles stepped forward, with +quaint old Weevil at her side, and said in her pretty girlish way that +if the magistrates would allow it she would pay for the licence. +Brightly began to weep at that, which was a bad thing for him, as only +the worst type of cunning criminals venture upon that sort of appeal to +the court. Boodles had a little money saved, and she had easily obtained +Weevil's permission to spend part of it in this manner. + +The chairman beamed at her through his glasses, and said she was a very +kind-hearted little girl, and he regretted very much they could not take +advantage of her generous offer. They appreciated it very much, but he +assured her that she was wasting her kindness and sympathy upon an +object totally unworthy. It was their duty, he hoped, to encourage +generosity; but it was still more their duty just then to punish vice. +They thanked her very much, but it was quite impossible for many reasons +to encourage her kindness on the prisoner's behalf. He hoped she would +devote the money to some more deserving cause. Boodles listened with her +head down, sighed very much, and then she and Weevil left the court. + +The constable's chance had come. He described Ju as a savage and mangy +cur, and he offered to produce her for the inspection of their worships. +He said the dog had tried to bite him, and he hoped the Bench would +issue an order for the animal's destruction. The magistrates conferred +together, and the clergyman was soon saying that he had enjoyed a very +large experience with dogs, chiefly sporting-dogs he admitted, but he +knew that animals which had been associated with criminals were always +unpleasant, frequently diseased, and generally ferocious. He should +certainly vote in favour of the animal's destruction. + +Brightly confirmed the worst suspicions of the Bench by his foolish and +extravagant conduct. + +The deliberations were soon over. Brightly was committed for trial, and +Ju was sentenced to be destroyed. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +ABOUT WITCHCRAFT + + +One day Peter went into the village to buy stimulants, and found, when +he reached the house of the creaking sign-board, that he was penniless; +a serious discovery, because the landlord was an austere man who allowed +no "slate." Some people are born thirsty, others have thirstiness thrust +upon them, and a third class, to which Peter belonged, acquire +thirstiness by toilsome and tedious endeavour. It was a long walk, and +the moor, like the bones in the valley, was very dry; there was not a +foot of shade, and the wind was parching. Peter had long ago discovered +it was easy to acquire thirst by the simple expedient of proceeding as +directly as possible to the place where it could be quenched. He would +borrow three-halfpence from his sister, or extract it from her box if +she was absent, and then make for the village by the nearest route, +winning the necessary dryness as he went. On this occasion he had +forgotten about money, chiefly because he had not been compelled to +borrow or steal from Mary recently, as Chegwidden had unconsciously +supplied him with the means for enjoyment. + +Peter leaned against the wall, and cursed all living creatures and +things inanimate. He flattered himself with the belief that he was a man +who never wasted time. He had walked from the hut-circles with a +definite object, which was twofold: the acquiring of thirst and the +quenching of the same. The first part had been attained to perfection, +but unfortunately it was the inferior part, it was the laborious side, +and the reward was not to come because he had been absent-minded before +the event, instead of, as was usually the case, afterwards. He wondered +if there was in the immediate neighbourhood any charitable soul who +would lend him twopence, not to be repaid. + +It was a feast-day in the village. Chapel tea and an Ebenezer love-feast +were in full swing, for Pezzack and his bride had arrived that day to +take up their abode in a cottage which had been freshly whitewashed to +symbolise the spotless nature of its new occupants' souls. Children, +dressed in their best, had earlier paraded the street with a yellow +banner, shrill hymn-screaming, and a box to collect the offerings of the +faithful. + +It had been announced that Pezzack would preside over the tea, and that +his bride would pour it out. Eli would recite grace, and all the +children would say amen. Later there would be prayer and preaching, when +Pendoggat was expected to give further proof of his rough eloquence and +of his devotion to the particular form of religion which he favoured and +to the pastor who was its faithful and local representative. Then a +blessing would be given, and the girls and young men would pair off in +the dark and embrace in lonely places. + +Peter saw signs of the love-feast, and tokens of the refreshments, and +the sight increased his thirst. Had beer been on supply within the +chapel, instead of rather weak tea, he would probably have experienced a +sudden ardour for religion, and have hurried there with incoherent +entreaties to be placed on the penitential bench and received into the +Wesleyan fold. As the festivities were of an entirely temperate nature, +so far as things fluid were concerned, he decided to go and visit +school-master. It was not in the least likely that the old man would +lend him twopence, but Peter had enough wit to argue that it is often +the most unlikely things which happen. + +Master was sitting at his window, writing a letter to his son in Canada. +He welcomed Peter gladly, and at once asked him to spell "turnips." It +was a strange question, considering their positions, but Master +explained he was getting so old and forgetful, and never could get the +simple words right. The long and difficult words he could spell readily +enough, but when it came to anything easy he felt so mazed he couldn't +seem to think of anything. + +"I be telling my Jackie how amazing fine the turnips be this fall," he +explained. + +Peter was glad to oblige Master. To help him with such an obscure word +would be worth twopence. Slowly and stertorously he spelt it thus: +"Turnnups." + +"B'est sure that's right?" said Master, rather suspiciously. + +Peter had no doubt whatever. He could spell harder words than that, and +with the same accuracy. + +"Seems to me somehow some spells 'en wi' one _n_," said Master. + +"Us don't. Us allus spells 'en wi' two," said Peter. + +"I reckon you'm right. What yew knows I larnt ye," said Master. "I larnt +yew and Mary to spell, and I mind the time when yew was a bit of a lad +wi' a turned-up nose and squinty eyes. Proper ugly yew was. Didn't I +whack they old breeks o' yourn? Aw now, didn't I? Dusted 'em proper, I +did. In these council schules what they has now there bain't no beating, +but love ye, Peter, in the old village schules us used to whack the lads +every day--aye, and the maids tu. There be many a dame about here and +Lydford whose buttocks I warmed when her was a maid. Them was brave +times, Peter, sure 'nuff." + +"Better volks tu. Us had Dartmoor to ourselves them days," said Peter, +anxious to propitiate the old man. + +"Mun spell all the words proper when I writes to Jackie. He'm vull o' +education," Master went on. "T-u-r-double-n, turnn, n-u-p-s, nups, +turnnups. Aw, Peter, yew ain't forgot what I larnt ye." + +He put down his pen, assumed the mantle of Nestor, and asked: "Can I +oblige ye, Peter?" + +The little man replied that he could, to the extent of twopence. + +Master became grave and sorrowful, wagged his head, and behaved +generally as people will when the integrity of their purse is +threatened. + +"Anything else, Peter--advice, sympathy, loving-kindness, you'm +welcome," he answered. "I be a poor man. I was never treated as I +deserved, yew mind. If I lends two pennies they don't come back. I be an +old man, and I've a-larnt that. They be like little birds, what come to +my window in winter for crumbs, and don't come back 'cept for more +crumbs. I be advising yew, Peter; don't ye borrow money, I ses. And I be +advising myself; don't ye lend it, I ses." + +This was all very wise, only Peter could not appreciate it. Wisdom +slakes no man's thirst. He replied that he had come to the village for +sugar, and Mother Cobley at the shop refused to serve him without the +money, which he had unfortunately forgotten. He added an opinion of +Mother Cobley which was not charitable. + +Master recited other verses from his book of wisdom. To succeed in trade +it was necessary to be severe when people came buying without money. He +admitted that Mother Cobley practised severity to the point of +ruthlessness, he was not prepared to deny that Mother Cobley would +rather permit her closest relations to walk in darkness than advance +them one tallow candle to walk by on credit, but he impressed upon Peter +the fact that Mother Cobley was a "poor lone widdie" who had to protect +herself against the wiles of customers. To sum up the matter: "If yew +buys her sugar her wants your twopence. It bain't no profit to she if +yew has her sugar and she don't ha' your twopence. It gives she what us +calls book-debts, and they be muddlesome and contrairy things." + +With the ethics of business Peter was not concerned while the thirst was +spreading through his body. So far it had been confined to the tongue +and throat, but while Master talked it extended its ravages throughout +the whole of his system. Peter began to be afraid he would not be able +to walk home without liquid assistance. Not the smallest copper coin of +the realm could be hoped for from Master; but Peter was something of a +strategist, he comprehended there were more ways than one out of his +present difficulties, just as there are more ways than one into a house, +and an enemy can be attacked from the rear as well as in front. Master +certainly refused to advance him twopence, but he could hardly in common +charity refuse him what the twopence would have purchased, if he was +convinced that the need was urgent. So Peter put a hand to his throat, +and made strange noises, and said it was coming on again. + +"What be the matter?" asked Master. + +"Hot vuzzy kind o' prickiness all over like. Starts in the throat, and +goes all through. I be main cruel sick, Master." + +"My dear life, but that be serious," cried Master. "What du'ye tak' for +'en, Peter?" + +"Something cooling. Water will du. Beer be better though." + +"I ain't got any beer, but I ha' cider, I'll fetch ye some in a mug," +said Master. + +He trotted off, while Peter sat and chuckled, and felt much better. He +was not wasting his time after all; neither was he spending any money. +When Master returned with a froth-topped cloam Peter adopted something +of the reverential attitude of Sir Galahad in the presence of the +Sangreal, drank deeply, and when he could see the bottom of the mug +declared that the dangerous symptoms had departed from him for a season. +Having nothing else to detain him he rose to go, and was at the door +when Master called him back. + +"Purty nigh forgot to tell ye," he said, pointing to a goose-quill erect +in a flower-pot upon the window-seat. "Put that feather there to mind me +to tell Mary or yew, if so be I saw yew go by. There be volks stopping +wi' Betty Middleweek, artist volks, and they'm got a gurt ugly spaniel +dog what's been and killed a stray goosie. Betty ses 'tis Mary's Old +Sal, and I was to tell ye. Betty ha' got the goosie in her linny. Mary +had best go and look at 'en." + +Peter rubbed his hands and became very convalescent. The heavens were +showering favours upon him. Artist folks could afford to pay heavy +damages. "I'll go and tell Mary to wance," he said. "Us will mak' 'em +pay. Old Sal be worth a sight o' money. Us wouldn't ha' lost she for +fifty pound. Thank ye kindly, Master." + +"Nothing's no trouble, Peter. Hope you'll be better to-morrow," said the +kindly old man. + +Peter brought on another thirst by the haste with which he hurried back +to inform his sister that her Old Sal had been destroyed "by artist +volks stopping wi' Betty Middleweek, at least not by they, but by a gurt +big ugly Spanish dog what belongs to 'em." + +Mary wasted no time. She did not trouble to attire herself suitably, but +merely took a great stick "as big as two years and a dag," as she +described it, and set off for the village; while Peter, who had "got the +taste," as he described it, determined to help himself from Mary's +money-box and follow her later on with a view to continuing the +treatment which had benefited him so greatly in Master's cottage. + +The artists were having their evening meal when Mary arrived and beat +heavily upon the door. They were summoned, the body of the goose was +brought from the linhay, Mary became coroner and sat upon the defunct +with due solemnity. There was no question about its identity. The name +of the bird which had been done to death by the dangerous dog was Old +Sal beyond all argument. + +"Aw now, bain't it a pity, a cruel pity, poor Old Sal!" wailed Mary, and +would not be comforted until the artist produced his purse and said he +was willing to pay, while his wife hovered in attendance to see that he +did not pay too much. "He was a booty, the best mother on Dartmoor, and +he laid eggs, my dear. Aw ees, a butiful lot o' eggs. He was always +a-laying of 'em. And now he'm dead, and wun't lay no more, and wun't +never be a mother again. Hurts I cruel to see him lying there. Would +rather see Peter lying there than him." + +"I understand the market price of geese is eightpence a pound," said the +artist nervously, awed by the gaunt presence of Mary and her patriarchal +staff. "If you will have the bird weighed I will pay you, as I cannot +deny that my dog killed it." + +At that Mary gave an exceeding bitter cry. Eightpence a pound for Old +Sal! That was the market price, she admitted, but Old Sal had been +unique, a paragon among web-footed creatures, a model for other geese to +imitate if they could, the original goose of which all others were +indifferent copies, the very excellence and quintessence of ganders. It +was impossible to estimate the value of Old Sal in mere cash, although +she was willing to make that attempt. It was the perfection of Old Sal's +moral character and domestic attainments that Mary dwelt upon. He had +been all that a mother and an egg-layer should be. He was---- Words were +wanting to express what. He had been the leader of the flock, the +guiding star of the young, and the restraining influence of the foolish. +The loss was irreparable. Such geese appeared possibly once in a +century, and Mary would not live to see the like of her Old Sal again. +Then there were the mental and moral damages to be considered. Money +could not mend the evil which had been done, although money should +certainly be allowed to try. Mary suggested that the experiment might +commence with the transfer of five pounds. + +"This bird is in very poor condition. It is quite thin," said the +artist's wife. + +"Thin!" shouted Mary. "Aw, my dear, du'ye go under avore yew be struck +wi' lightning. He'm vull o' meat. Look at 'en, not a bone anywheres. +He'm as soft wi' fat as a bog be o' moss, and so cruel heavy I can't +hardly lift 'en. Yew don't know a goosie when yew sees one, my dear. +Never killed one in your life, I reckon. Aw now, never killed a goosie, +and ses Old Sal be thin! He was as good a mother as yew, my dear, and +when it comes to laying eggs--" + +The artist's wife thought it was time to "go under," or at all events to +disappear, as Mary was getting excited. + +At that point Betty Middleweek appeared and whispered to Mary; and at +the same time a little boy in quaint costume, with a head two sizes too +large, shuffled up the garden path, and stood staring at the defunct +goose with large vacant eyes. "He bain't your Old Sal after all," said +Betty. "He belongs to Mary Shakerley, and her little Charlie ha' come +for him. He saw the dog go after 'en, and he ran away mazed like to tell +his mother, but her had gone to Tavistock market, and ha' just come +home." + +"He've only got one eye," piped little Charlie in evidence. + +Mary examined the dead body. It was that of a one-eyed goose. + +"Aw now," she said in a disappointed fashion, "I reckon he bain't my Old +Sal after all." + +"I am willing to pay some one. Who is it to be?" asked the artist, who +wanted to get back to his food. + +"Please to pay little Charlie, sir," said Betty Middleweek. "Charlie, +come up to the gentleman." + +"Well, my lad, how much do you want for your goose? Eightpence a pound, +is it?" + +"Dear life!" cried Mary. "He hain't worth eightpence a pound. Look at +'en! He'm a proper old goosie, wi'out a bit o' meat on his bones, and +the feathers fair dropping out o' his skin wi' age. He'd ha' scared the +dog off if he'd been a young bird, or got away from 'en. My Old Sal +would ha' tored any dog to pieces. Don't ye pay eightpence a pound. He +hain't worth it. He never laid no eggs, I reckon, and he warn't no good +for a mother. He'd ha' died purty soon if that dog o' yours hadn't +killed 'en." + +"You seem to have altered your opinions rather suddenly," said the +artist. + +"Well, I bain't a one-eyed old gander," said Mary. "I knows what goosies +ought to be to fetch eightpence a pound, and I can see he ain't got +enough meat on him to feed a heckimal. Aw, my dear life, if I can't tell +a goosie when I sees him who can?" And off went Mary, striking her big +stick noisily on the ground, wiping her nose on the back of her hand, +and muttering an epitaph upon the still missing Old Sal, who, she +supposed, had been carried off by some evil beast and devoured in the +secret places of the moor. + +It was dark by this time, and the Ebenezer love-feast was over, so far +as the eating and drinking and prayer-meeting were concerned. The god of +good cheer had been worshipped, and now the goddess of common wayside +love was receiving incense. Autumn invariably discovers those hardy +perennials of the hedges and ditches--lovers--leaning against gates as +if they were tied there. The fields and the moor are too wet to sprawl +on, so at the end of October the gate season sets in, and continues +until spring dries the grass. The gates are nothing like so damp as the +hedges, and are much softer than boundary walls, although the latter are +not without their patrons. Lovers are orthodox folk, who never depart +from their true religion, or seek to subtract any clause from their +creed. The young girl knows that her mother was courted against a gate, +and that her grandmother was courted against a gate, so she is quite +ready to be courted against a gate. It must be difficult to feel the +necessary ardour, when several degrees of frost are nipping their noses, +and a regular Dartmoor wind whirls up and down the lanes; but these +gate-leaners manage it somehow. + +Peter was having a pleasant day. He had followed up his success at +Master's expense with a little bout at Mary's, and it was with a feeling +of unalloyed satisfaction with himself that he started for home, +returning thanks after his own manner to the god who presides over +beer-houses. The benign influence of malted liquors was over him, +stimulating his progress, rendering him heedless of the dark, and +impervious to the cold. It was an unpleasant night, not frosty, but +choked with clouds, and filled with raw mist. Peter had passed several +gates, most of them occupied by couples finishing the day in a devout +fashion, but he had said nothing, not even the customary "good-night," +because it was not lawful to speak to people when thus privily engaged. +Couples are supposed to be invisible while courting, and with the full +knowledge of this point of etiquette they usually conduct themselves as +if they were. Peter got up upon the moor, where the wind twisted his +beard about as if it had been a furze-bush, and made his way beside one +of the boundary walls which denoted some commoner's field. It was the +usual Dartmoor wall, composed of blocks of granite placed one above the +other in an irregular pattern without mud or method, each stone kept in +place by the weight of those above it; a wall which a boy could have +pulled down quickly one stone at a time, but if unmolested would stand +and defy the storms for ever. It was a long wall, and there were three +gates in it, but no lovers against them; at least not against the first +two. But as Peter approached the last, which was well out on the moor +where nobody but himself would be likely to pass that night, he heard +voices, or rather one voice, speaking loudly, either in anger or in +passion, and he recognised that it was Pendoggat who was speaking. + +Peter crept up stealthily, keeping close beside the wall, which was just +about the height of his nose. When near the gate he went on his hands +and knees. The voice had ceased, but he heard kisses, and various other +sounds which suggested that if Pendoggat was upon the other side of the +wall there was probably a woman with him. Peter crawled closer, lifted +himself, placed the grimy tips of his fingers upon the top stones, which +were loose and rocking, and peeped over. There was a certain amount of +light upon the high moor, enough of a weird ghostly sort of +phosphorescence for him to see the guilty couple, Pendoggat and +Thomasine. They were quite near, upon the peat, beside one of the +granite gate-posts, and directly underneath Peter's nose. The little man +grinned to see such sport. The moral side of the affair did not present +itself before his barbaric mind. It was the spectacular part which +appealed to him. He decided to remain there, and play the part of +Peeping Tom. + +Had Pendoggat been sensible, which was not possible, as sense and +passion do not run together, he must have known that the discovery of +his liaison with Thomasine could only be a matter of time. The greatest +genius that ever lived would find it beyond him to conduct an illicit +love-affair in a Dartmoor parish without being found out in the long +run. He had employed every ordinary caution. It was not in the least +likely that any one would be crossing beside that wall after dark; but +the least likely things are those which happen, not only in Dartmoor +parishes, but elsewhere. + +Peter had not stood there long when very ordinary things occurred, all +of them unfortunate for him. To begin with, he developed a violent +attack of hiccups which could not be restrained. Then the stone to which +he was holding kept on rocking and giving forth grating noises. The wind +was also blowing pretty strongly; and what with the wind externally and +the hiccups within Peter was soon in a bad way. He made up his mind to +beat a retreat, but his decision came rather too late. He felt a hiccup +approaching more violent than its predecessors; he compressed his lips +and held his breath, hoping to strangle it; but Nature was not to be +cheated; his lips were forced asunder, the hiccup came, its sound went +out into the moor, and at the same moment Peter slipped, grabbed at the +stone, and sent it bowling upon the peat on the other side of the wall. +He gave a squeal like a frightened rabbit, and with another parting +hiccup turned and ran. + +He did not get far before Pendoggat caught him. Peter was a stumpy +little creature with no idea of running; and he was captured at the end +of the wall, and received a blow upon the head which nearly stunned him. +Pendoggat stood over him, half mad with fury, striking at him again and +again; while Peter made quaint noises, half passion and half pain. + +Suddenly the clouds parted westward, and Pendoggat could see Ger Tor +outlined against a liverish patch of night sky. By the same light he saw +Peter; and his madness departed, and he became a coward, when he caught +a glimpse of the little man's malignant eyes. Peter was his enemy for +ever, and he knew it. + +Neither of them had spoken a word. Pendoggat had growled and spluttered; +Peter had choked and mumbled; the river far beneath roared because it +was full of rain. These were all incoherent noises. Pendoggat began to +slink away, as if he had received the beating, shivering and looking +back, but seeing nothing except a dull little heap beside the wall, +which seemed to have many hands, all of them scrabbling in the dirt. +Peter panted hard, as if he had been hunted across the moor by the whist +hounds, and had come there to take shelter; but all the time he went on +scraping up the clay, gathering it into a ball, spitting on it, moulding +it, and muttering madly from time to time: "You'm him! You'm him!" + +During those first few moments, after leaving that horrible little man +beneath the wall scrabbling with his hands, Pendoggat swore solemnly +that he would make Thomasine his wife, swore it to himself, to the God +that he believed in, and to her, if only nothing happened. + +Presently Peter went on towards his home; and in his arms was a +fantastic little thing of clay, a thing forked and armed like a human +being, a sort of doll. When he got back he cleared the hearthstone, blew +the peat into a red smoulder with his mouth, then took the doll, spoke +to it solemnly, placed it upon the hottest part of the hearth, and piled +the red embers round it. When Mary came in to call him to supper she +found Peter sitting in a kind of trance before the hearthstone, and +following his gaze she saw the quaint clay doll sitting upright in the +centre of the fire, with the red peat gathered into a fiery little hell +around it on every side. + +"Aw, Peter!" she gasped in a tremulous whisper, falling on her knees at +his side. "Who be the mommet, Peter? Who be the mommet?" + +"Varmer Pendoggat," said Peter. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +ABOUT PASTIMES + + +One cannot help wondering how the early inhabitants of Dartmoor spent +their time. Possibly the men found plenty of work for their hands, while +the ladies talked of their babies, though they could hardly talk of +their clothes. Chapel teas and beer-houses were unknown, and the people +may have led a wandering existence, following their cattle and goats +from place to place, and merely erecting rough shelters at every pasture +ground. It is said that they appeared before the Roman agents, who came +to the Cassiterides, which no doubt included the Dartmoor region, to +procure the precious white metal, clad in black cloaks, with tunics +reaching to their feet, and girdles round their waist. A more unsuitable +costume for the moor could not have been devised, but it is probable +that they were then in holiday attire. They were simple, taciturn, +heavily-bearded men. Of their women nothing is known, because the +historians of those days did not trouble themselves about inferior +details, and ladies had not then commenced to brawl in the streets for +their rights. The numerous hut-circles about the moor were no doubt +built by these men, utilised more as temporary sheltering-places than +permanent homes, and were possibly regarded as common property. The +stone avenues may have been boundaries, and the circles are more likely +to be the remains of pounds than the ruins of temples. The lamp of +architecture had not then been lighted in Britain, and sun-worship is by +its very nature antagonistic to temples. So much is conjecture, and +cannot be anything else. Light is reached when we regard the great +mounds beside the rivers, and the huge stone slabs which span them; and +we know that prehistoric man was a miner, and that he objected to +getting his feet wet. These rivers are mere streams to-day, which any +one can wade across, and they could not have been larger when the +bridges were erected. We know also by the presence of these slabs of +granite, and various other stone remains, that the system of the corvée +must have been practised upon Dartmoor; a good custom which disappeared +centuries ago as an obligation on free people, but is still retained as +an obligation on prisoners in such penal establishments as Princetown. +The existence of rates for the maintenance of roads is a survival of the +corvée in a form of demand upon those who can afford to pay, and not a +few who cannot, for the upkeep of roads which many of them do not use; +the idea of the rate being that the householder pays a sum which shall +exempt him from the labours of the corvée, although without being given +the option of offering his labour in lieu of cash. + +We may safely conjecture that prehistoric men attended to their duties +of obligation as well as to their pastoral affairs; and made a little +profit at odd times in the form of tin which they bartered for salt, +vases, and domestic utensils, with the Roman agents, very much as +Brightly, who was their descendant, bartered his vases for rabbit-skins. +But what about their pastimes? + +History and tradition are alike silent on that point. They could not +have been making love to their wives all their spare time. There must +have been something to take the place of the beer-house, the chapel tea, +the sing-songs, the rough-and-ready carnival. If tradition does not +exactly speak it gives an echo. We listen to that echo, we put against +it our knowledge of human nature, which does not change, and to that we +add our experience of the desires, customs, and pastimes of the men who +have passed into their places and live upon what was their ground; and +then we get near the truth, possibly at the very heart of it. Their +pastime was the shedding of blood. They fought together for the mere +pleasure of inflicting wounds upon each other. They tortured inoffensive +creatures because they were strong, the animals were weak, and the sight +of suffering gave them a kind of pleasure. Since that barbaric age more +than a thousand years of Christianity have done their civilising and +humane work; have taught until there can be surely nothing left to +teach; have practised until the virtues would have been pretty well worn +out had they been practised less theoretically. And to-day one finds-- + +There were notices posted all over the place, upon walls and doors and +gate-posts, little bills announcing a great pigeon- and rabbit-shoot, +with money prizes for the three most successful competitors; the sport +to conclude with a big feed at the inn at so much a head, drinks being +extra. These shoots are among the most ordinary features of village life +upon Dartmoor, and they are usually organised by the landlord of +licensed premises, because at the conclusion of the sporting event the +men gather together for the feed in a state of feverish excitement and +soon drink themselves mad. That sort of thing means a handsome profit +for the landlord. The men's passions are gratified, the victualler's +pockets are filled, so every one is satisfied, and shoots do not lose in +popularity year by year. + +The event was held in a field upon the side of the moor, and all +sportsmen of the district were gathered together, with a few women, and +as many children as could possibly get there. It was a great time for +the small boys; better than a Sunday-school tea or chapel anniversary; +no self-control was required of them at the shoot, they could let +themselves go, and release every one of the seven little devils in them. +Farmer Chegwidden was there, completely restored to health, though he +had an ugly black scar on the side of his head. He was half drunk before +proceedings commenced, because he said he could shoot better when in +that condition, Pendoggat was there, silent and gloomy, but handling his +gun as if he loved it. The old Master was there, tottering about with +two sticks, beaming upon every one, and wishing the young men good-luck; +and the landlord of the inn, who presided over the safe conveyance of +the victims from his barn to the place of massacre, jumped here and +there in a wild state of excitement, explaining the programme and +issuing instructions to competitors. The constable was there, dropping +fatness; and near him Pezzack, with grave and reverend aspect and new +clothes, stood and made the thing respectable with his blessing. + +Two others were there who looked singularly out of place, and stood +apart from the noisy crowd, both of them nervous and uncomfortable. They +were Boodles and old Weevil. Close to them were crates stuffed full of +pigeons, uttering from time to time little mournful notes, and bulging +sacks filled with healthy rabbits. + +"It is so silly," said Boodles, rather petulantly. "You will only be +ill. We had much better go away." + +"I must see it, darling--as much as I can bear. I am going to prepare a +petition about these things, and I want to be fair. I must see for +myself. It may not be so brutal as I believe it is." + +"Yes, it is, and worse. I know I shall be ill," said Boodles. + +"Go home, little girl. There is no reason why you should stay." + +"I'm not going to leave you," declared Boodles bravely. "Only do let's +go further away from those poor things in the sacks. They keep on +heaving so." + +"I must see it all," said the old man stubbornly. "Look the other way." + +"I can't. It fascinates me," she said. + +"Willum!" yelled the landlord. "Come along, my lad. Pigeons first. Dra' +first blood, Willum." + +A young man stepped out, smiling in a watery fashion, handling his gun +nervously. The landlord plunged his hand into a crate, caught a pigeon +by the neck, and dragged it out. The trap was merely a basket with a +string fastened to it, and it was placed scarcely a dozen yards from the +shooter. + +"Kill 'en, Willum!" shouted the landlord as he pulled the string. + +Willum fired and missed. The bird flew straight at him, and with the +second shot he broke its wing. The pigeon fell on the grass, fluttering +helplessly, and Willum walked up to it with a solemn grin, gave it a +kick, then flung it aside to die at its leisure. The small boys pounced +upon it, and assisted its departure from the world. + +"Little devils," murmured Boodles, beginning to bite her handkerchief. + +"I think we are all devils here," said old Weevil. + +"This field is full of them. It is the field-day of the Brute, the +worship of the Brute, the deification of the Brute." + +The shoot proceeded, and the men began to get warmed up. Not a single +pigeon escaped, because those that got away from the field with the loss +of only a few feathers were bound to fall victims to the men who had +posted themselves all round with the idea of profiting by the +competitors' bad shots. The only man who was perfectly composed was +Pendoggat. He shot at the pigeons, and killed them, as if he had been +performing a religious duty. Chegwidden, on the other hand, shouted all +the time and fired like a madman. The little boys were kept hard at work +torturing the maimed birds to death, with much joyous and innocent +laughter. + +"How be ye, Master? Purty fine shooting, I reckon," cried an old crony, +hobbling up with a holiday air. + +"Butiful," said Master. "Us be too old vor't, I reckon." + +"Us bain't too old to enjoy it," said the old crony, + +"Sure 'nuff, man. Us bain't too old to enjoy it. 'Tis a brave sight to +see 'em shoot." + +Then there was a pause. The string had been pulled, the basket had +tumbled aside, but the pigeon would not stir. Possibly it had been +maimed in the crate, or by the rough hand which had dragged it out. +Everybody shouted wildly, waving arms and hats, but the bird did nothing +except peck at the grass to get a little food into its hungry body. The +landlord ran up and kicked it. The pigeon merely fell over, then hopped +a little way feebly, but still refusing to fly, so the landlord kicked +it again, shouting: "He be contrairy. There be no doing nought wi' 'en." + +"Tread on 'en, landlord," shouted a voice. + +"What be I to du?" asked the man whose turn it was to kill. + +"Shoot 'en on the ground. Shoot 'en, man! Don't let 'en get away. Kill +'en, man!" screamed the landlord. + +The competitor grinned contentedly, and at a distance of half-a-dozen +paces blandly riddled the creature with pellets. This was the funniest +thing which had happened yet, and the crowd could not stop laughing for +a long time. + +"Now the rabbits! Fetch out two or dree," shouted the landlord. "Kill +'en quick, lads!" The worthy soul was anxious to have the massacre over, +and start the real business of the day at the bar. + +With the rabbits fun began in earnest. All that had gone before was tame +in comparison, for pigeons die quickly, but rabbits continue to run +after being shot, and still provide excellent amusement, if the vital +parts are untouched. It was not shooting at all; not a particle of skill +was required, as the basket was close to the competitor, and he shot +immediately the animal began to run, and sometimes before; but it was +killing, it was a sort of bloodshed, and nothing more was asked for. +Hardly a rabbit was killed cleanly, as the moormen are, as a rule, +awkward with the gun. As the creatures invariably ran straight away from +the crowd, they were usually shot in the hinder parts, and then would +drag themselves on, until they were seized, either by the man who had +fired, or by the small boys, and carried back to be flung upon the heap +of bodies, some of them dead, and some not. Even feeble old Master +entered into the fun of the thing, and begged permission to break a +rabbit's neck with his own hands, so that he might still call himself a +sportsman. + +"Come away, daddy. I'm getting queer," said Boodles. + +Weevil woke from a sort of trance, and shook his head oddly, but said +nothing. Power of speech was not his just then. He had hitherto kept +himself scrupulously apart from such innocent village pleasures, afraid +to trust himself at them, but what he saw quite confirmed what he had +believed. It was not sport in any sense of the word. It was mere animal +passion and lust for blood. It was love of cruelty, not any ambition to +take a prize, which animated the competitors. It would have meant small +enjoyment for them had the pigeons been made of clay and the rabbits of +clockwork. Because the creatures they shot at could feel, could shed +blood, and were feeling pain, were shedding blood, the men were happy; +not only happy, but drunk with the passion, and half mad with the lust, +of their bloody game. + +Weevil looked about, fighting down his weakness, which was not then +altogether eccentric. He saw the transformed faces of the crowd. Not +only the competitors but the spectators had the faces that a London mob +of old might have presented, watching the hanging, drawing, and +quartering of criminals, and finding the spectacle very much to their +taste. They had become so excited as to be inarticulate. They could not +make their shoutings intelligible to one another. They were +gesticulating like so many Italian drunkards. Their boots were marked +with blood, and it was also upon their hands, and smeared upon their +faces. Blood was upon the ground too, with other matter more offensive. +The ghastly pile of pigeons and rabbits, which were supposed to be done +for, was not without motion. Sometimes it heaved; but there was no +sound. Two little boys were enjoying a rare game of tug-of-war with a +living rabbit. Another youngster was playfully poking out the eyes of a +fluttering pigeon. They would make good sportsmen when they grew up. A +tiny little fellow, nothing more than a baby, was begging a bigger boy +to instruct him in the art of killing rabbits. A little girl was +practising the deed upon her own account. The constable who had arrested +Brightly looked on and said it was "brave sport." There were other +things which Weevil saw, but he did not mention them afterwards, because +he tried to forget them; but the sight made him feel faint, not being a +sportsman, but a rather ignorant, somewhat foolish, and decidedly +eccentric old man. + +"I think I must go. Boodles," he said feebly. + +He turned away, and his eyes fell upon the village. There was a church, +and there was Ebenezer, and a meeting-house also. Surely so many +religious houses were hardly necessary in one small village. Church and +chapels dominated the place; and in those buildings a vast amount of +theory was preached concerning ancient literature, and a place of morbid +imagination called Hell, and a place of healthier imagination called +Heaven; and upon that field on the side of the moor the regular +worshippers at those buildings were enjoying themselves. There was a +failure somewhere, only Weevil had not the sense to find out where. High +above were the tors, and it was there, no doubt, that the early +inhabitants stood to worship Baal; and there possibly a vast amount of +theory was preached concerning the whole duty of man, and a twofold +future state; and then the men went down to fight and plunder. It seemed +to have been a theoretical religion then. It is a theoretical religion +now. Theories have swamped the world, submerging the practical side like +the lost Atlantis. It is not religion which compels men to cease from +doing murder. It is the fear of vengeance. + +Boodles and Weevil left the field, pale and miserable. When they were +outside the old man went away and was violently sick. They abandoned the +field in time, for the men were getting beyond control. When the rabbits +were slaughtered they sought for small birds and shot at them until +their cartridges were exhausted. Even Pendoggat had lost his +self-restraint, although he did not show it like the rest. The smell of +blood was in his nostrils, and he wanted to go on killing. He longed to +shoot at the men around him. The victims were all dead at last. The +happy children had seen to that, and went off home to get their hands +and faces washed, tired out with the day's fun. That clever painter of +human nature, Hogarth, missed something during his lifetime. He could +not have seen a rabbit-shoot in a Dartmoor village. Had he done so, +there might have been a fifth plate added to his Four Stages of Cruelty. + +"I must drink something," said Weevil, when he reached home. "You were +right, little maid. I ought not to have gone." + +"Haunted water, daddy?" suggested Boodles, with a wan little smile. + +"Yes, darling. I think I have earned it. But not badly haunted." + +"Just a gentle rapping, not groans and chain-rattling," she said, trying +to be merry, having no reason to feel unhappy, as she went for the +brandy bottle. That was how the water was to be haunted. Weevil was +practically a teetotaler, in a different sense from Farmer Chegwidden, +but he sometimes took a suspicion of brandy when he was run down, as +then. + +"Boodle-oodle," he said in a feeble way, after refreshing himself, "you +have seen the Brute rampant. What do you think of it?" + +"I don't think, daddy-man. It's no use when you can't do anything. I +just label it a queer puzzle, and put it away along with all the other +queer puzzles. And you would be much happier if you would do the same." + +"I cannot," he groaned. "I suppose those men were enjoying themselves, +but what right have they to an enjoyment which makes other people +suffer? I say they have no right. Animals have to be killed for food; +but what would be done to a butcher who slaughtered his beasts in the +middle of the street? Those men were not killing for any purpose apart +from the love of killing, and they were doing it publicly. They were +mad. They had the faces one sees in a bad dream. And now they have gone +to stuff themselves with food, and then they will swill liquor until +they are mad again." + +"Don't," said Boodles. "It's not fair on me. You will be giving me +umpy-umpy feelings, and I'm going to see Aubrey to-morrow, and it may be +the last time for ages, and I shall feel quite bad enough without having +your worries to carry as well. Let's light up, and draw the curtains, +and make believe that every one is as nice as we are, and that there are +no troubles or worries in the whole wide world." + +Old Weevil only moaned and shuffled about the room in a miserable +fashion. "I can't get rid of the Brute, darling. He sits upon my +shoulders and strangles me. Why should these people be outside the law +because they are commoners? One hundred years ago you might have seen +horrible deeds of cruelty in every London street. There are none to be +seen now, because townsfolk have become civilised, and law-makers have +recognised that what may please the few is distressing to the many. But +in these wild lonely places people may be fiends, and the law does not +touch them. It exists for the populous centres, not for the solitudes." + +"I'm going to get supper. Mind you are good when I come back," said the +little housewife quickly. + +"That is not all," raved the poor old man, still shuffling to and fro, +heedless that he was alone. "The cry of the animals goes up to Heaven. +There are the ponies and bullocks turned out upon the moor all winter, +in weather which would kill the hardiest man, if he was exposed to it, +in a few hours. They get no food. There is not a bit of grass for them. +Many of them are done to death by cruel weather and starvation. In +spring their carcases are found lying upon the moor." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +ABOUT AUTUMN IN FAIRYLAND + + +The devil had passed through Tavy woods late that year, and in his path +blackberries were blasted, the bracken was scorched, and all the foliage +smouldered. He had trampled upon, and burnt, everything; the next time +he passed through he would breathe on them and they would rot away. At +last he would come with his big bellows; clear the wood out, and scatter +a lot of dusty frost about the place to make it look tidy. Directly he +was out of the way a busy little body in green would bustle into the +woods with a big basket of buds on her arm, and she would stick these +buds about upon the honeysuckles and the primroses, and then run away in +a snowstorm laughing. Nobody would notice her; she is too small and +shadowy, and yet observant folk would know she had been because the +plants which had received the buds would smarten up at once. Every one +loves the little green fairy, although she is often quite a plain +creature, and usually is afflicted with a dreadful cold. She beats the +devil and restores all that he has trampled and blown upon. She may +often be seen in April, sweeping up the remains of the hoar-frost and +attending to her buds, sneezing all the time. People call her Spring in +those days. Her cold is quite incurable, but fortunately it does not +kill her. + +Even in fairyland it is not always pretty. Were it so the pleasant place +would lose its charm, for it is the dull time which makes the gay time +glorious. There is no winter for the little people, just as there is no +winter for the flowers; and flowers and fairies are one and the same +thing. They go to sleep until the sun comes to wake them up, and tell +them it is time to dance and blossom as they did last year. There is a +winter, only they know nothing of it. That is why the little people are +so much happier than the big ones. When sorrow comes they simply go to +sleep. Bigger people are not allowed to do that. + +"You are going away, Aubrey," said Boodles. "You are going away." + +She was always saying it, and thinking it when she was not saying it, +and dreaming about it when she was not thinking of it. She was playing +with a toy upon her finger, a hoop of gold, a little ring which he had +given her, whose posy was the usual motto: "Love me and leave me not," +and its symbol the pale-blue forget-me-not. Lovers are fond of adding +poetry to poetry and piling sentiment upon sentiment. + +It was not exactly an engagement-ring, but a present, and a promise of +the full-flowered ring; just as the crown-buds upon the primroses were a +promise of the spring. Boodles was eighteen at last. How slowly the +years passed at that age! And the ring with the blue forget-me-nots was +a birthday gift, although it was given and received as something more, +and put upon a finger which meant much, and worn and fondled as if it +meant everything. The girl's radiant hair was up relentlessly, and her +frocks trailed for evermore. She was a baby no longer. + +It was not a happy walk because it was to be their last for a long time, +and they could not ramble there without treading upon and bruising some +poor little memory; just as the devil had trodden on the blackberries, +although the memories were not spoilt; they were the kisses of those +first days of first love, and they were immortal memories, birth-marks +upon their souls. They had grown up; their bodies were formed, although +their minds were not matured; but whatever happened those memories were +planted in Tavy woods perennially, and nothing could kill them. Tears +would only water them and make them grow more strongly. Their sweet wild +fragrance would cling eternally, because the odour was that of deep +first love; the one gift, the only gift, which passes direct from the +hands of the gods and has no dirt upon it. + +Somehow Aubrey had never appeared as a perfectly distinct personality to +Boodles. Her love was in a mist. He seemed to have come into her life in +a god-like sort of way, to have dropped upon her as a child like rain +from the clouds, saying: "You thought of me, and I have come." While she +went on thinking of him he would remain, but directly she ceased to +think he would vanish again. They had simply come together as children +and walked about; and now they were grown up children still walking +about; and they felt they would like to grow up a little more, then stop +growing, but still go on walking about. First love is a marvellous dose +of fern-seed. They were content to look at one another, and while two +young people remain in that state the gods can give them nothing. But +Boodles was going on with her song: "You are going away, Aubrey. You are +going away." There was a gate at the end of the wood, and it was +something more than the gate of the wood. It opened only one way. + +Aubrey loved the little girl. He was steadier than most young men and +less fickle than most. Even when he was away from Boodles he did not +forget her, and when they were together she absorbed him. She was so +fresh. He had never met any girl with a tithe of her wonderful +spring-like freshness, which suggested the sweet earth covered with +flowers and steaming after a shower of warm rain. Boodles seemed to him +to be composed of this warm earth, sunshine and rain, with the beauty +and sweetness of the flowers added. She had taken him when young, and +planted him in her warm little heart, and tended him so carefully that +he could not help growing there; and he could not be torn up, for that +would have lacerated the heart; the roots were down so deep; and he +might not bear transplanting. First love thinks such things, and it is +good for the lovers. Life gives them nothing else to equal it. + +Still Aubrey had his troubles. It was the last walk for some time. He +was disobeying his parents, and deceiving them. He had promised not to +walk with Boodles again. No boy could have been blessed with kinder +parents; but Mr. Bellamie, after his strange visit to old Weevil, and +subsequent discussion with his wife, conceived that it was his duty to +pull the reins. Aubrey had been allowed a free head long enough, and the +old gentleman was afraid he might get the bit between his teeth and run. +Boodles was a most delightful child in every way, but she knew nothing +about art, and what was far more serious she knew nothing of her +parents. Mr. Bellamie spoke plainly to his son; reminded him of the duty +he owed his family; told him he had been to see Weevil and that the +interview had not been satisfactory; mentioned that the old man either +knew nothing of the girl's origin, or had certain reasons for +withholding his knowledge; explained that to interfere with his son's +happiness was his last wish, and that to interfere with the happiness of +others was equally distasteful; and concluded by impressing upon Aubrey, +what was true enough, namely, that it was not kind to encourage a young +girl to fall in love with him when he could not possibly marry her. The +boy had been then sufficiently impressed to give the promise which he +was now breaking. He felt he could not help himself; he must see Boodles +again, and at least tell her that he would never dream of giving her up, +but that his parents were inclined to be nasty about it. Besides, it was +the little girl's birthday; or rather what Weevil was pleased to style +her birthday, as he could not possibly know the exact day of her birth. +Aubrey eased his conscience by reminding himself that he had forgotten +to urge the point with his father, and if he had done so the old +gentleman would certainly have consented to one more meeting. So he +bought the pretty ring for Boodles, met her, and the mischief was done +again. + +When the first stage of their walk was over, and they were getting +reasonable, and Boodles had ceased singing her plaintive: "You are going +away," Aubrey began to suggest that his father was not in alliance with +them; and poor Boodles sighed and wanted to know what evil she had done. + +"Nothing, darling. But he wants to know something about your parents." + +"I told him. I don't know anything." + +"But Weevil must know." + +Somehow that had not occurred to Boodles. Perhaps Weevil did know, and +for reasons of his own had kept the information from her. + +"I'll ask him," she promised. "But Mr. Bellamie has been to see daddy. +Why didn't he ask him?" + +"Weevil told him he is your grandfather." + +"You mean my old daddy-man is my grandfather?" cried Boodles, very much +astonished. "Why hasn't he told me then?" + +"Hasn't he?" + +"Never." + +Aubrey was too young to care; but he certainly felt suspicions about +Weevil, and thoughtlessly expressed them by saying: "I suppose he was +telling the truth." + +"Of course he was," said Boodles. "Old daddy couldn't tell a lie however +much he wanted to. It would hurt him so badly he would groan and grunt +for a week. What else did he tell your father?" + +"He didn't say. But, darling, you'll find out." + +"Oh, Aubrey," she said pathetically. "Do you care?" + +"Lovely little thing, of course I don't. Your parents must have been the +best and nicest people that ever lived, or you wouldn't have been so +sweet. But you see, darling, my people worry no end about name and +family and all that sort of rubbish, and if they think any one is not +what they call well-born they kick up no end of a smother." + +"Well-born," murmured Boodles. She was beginning to comprehend at last, +to recognise the existence of that grim thing called convention, and to +feel a sort of misty shadow creeping up the wood. She felt something on +one of her fingers, and it seemed to her that the pretty ring, which she +loved so much, was trying to work itself off. "Well-born," the child +murmured to herself. "Whatever does it mean?" + +This was what being eighteen meant. Boodles was learning things. + +"I must have had a father and mother," she said, though in a somewhat +dubious manner. + +Aubrey only hummed something unintelligible, and wished the cloud out of +her eyes. + +"Now I must find out all about them?" + +"I expect my people would like to know, dear," he said. + +"If I can't find out, Aubrey?" she went on, in a moist kind of way. + +"Then you will have to take mine," he said as lightly as he could. + +Boodles stopped, turned away, began to play with a golden frond of +bracken almost as bright as her hair, and began to cry as gently as an +April shower. She had been on the point of it all the afternoon; and she +persuaded herself it was all because Aubrey was going away, although she +knew that wasn't true. It was because she was finding out things. + +"Don't," she sobbed. "It's doing me good," + +However, Aubrey took her in his arms and tried to pet her, and that did +her as much good as anything, although she went on crying. + +"Can't give me yours--you silly! They won't be given. They don't want me +to love you, they hate me, and your mother kissed me--she did--on my +mouth." + +"Mother is very fond of you, darling. She is really," Aubrey whispered +as quickly as he could. "She said you were perfect, and father agreed +with her, and said you would be all that a girl could be, if--if--" + +"Go on," murmured Boodles. "It won't hurt. I've got hold of you. I'm +taking all the starch out of your collar." + +"Never mind what he said." + +"We don't say good-bye until you have told me. I'll hang on to you. Stop +you, perhaps. Oh, Aubrey, you are going away--that's why I'm crying. +Your father said I should be a nice little girl, if--go on." + +"If you had a name," said Aubrey, with an effort. + +Boodles let him go and stepped back. She looked rather nice, with her +eyes in the rain, and her head in the sunshine. + +"What does that mean, Aubrey?" she said, almost fiercely. + +"Nothing whatever to me, darling. Don't be silly," he said tenderly. +"It's only father's nonsense. He thinks so much of his name because it's +a fossilised old concern which has been in the county since Noah. He +doesn't want me to marry you, only because he's afraid your people may +not have lived about here since Noah. If you went and told him you're a +Raleigh or a Cruwys he would lay his pedigree at your feet and ask you +to roll on it." + +"Not well-born. No name," said Boodles, aloud this time. "I think we +have been silly babies. I seem to have grown up all at once. Oh, Aubrey, +was it you and I who used to walk here--years ago?" + +He bent and took her face between his hands and kissed the pretty head. + +"We never bothered about names," sobbed Boodles. + +"We are not bothering now--at least I'm not. It's all the same to me, +darling." + +"It's not. It can't be. How silly I was not to see it before. If your +parents say I'm not--not your equal, you mustn't love me any more. You +must go away and forget me. But what am I to do? I can't forget you," +she said. "It's not like living in a town, where you see people always +passing--living as I do, on the moor, alone with a poor old man who +imagines horrors." + +"Listen, darling." Aubrey was only a boy, and he was nearly crying too. +"I'm not going to give you up. I'll tell you the whole truth. My people +wanted me not to see you again, but I shall tell them that things have +gone too far with us. They won't like it at first, but they must get to +like it. I shall write to you every week while I am away, and when I +come back I shall tell father we must be married." + +"I wouldn't, not without his consent. I shall go on loving you because I +cannot help it, but I won't marry you unless he tells me I may." + +"Well, I will make him," said Aubrey. "I know how to appeal to him. I +shall tell him I have loved you ever since you were a child, and we were +promised to each other then, and we have renewed the promise nearly +every year since." + +"Then he will say you were wicked to make love to the first little +red-headed girl you could find, and he will call me names for +encouraging you, and then the whole world will explode, and there will +be nothing left but lumps of rock and little bits of me," said Boodles, +mopping her eyes with his handkerchief. She was getting more cheerful. +She knew that Aubrey loved her, and as for her name perhaps it was not +such a bad one after all. At all events it was not yet time for the big +explosion. "I'm only crying because you are going away," she declared, +and this time she decided she meant it. "What a joke it would be if I +turned out something great. I would go to Mr. Bellamie and ask him for +his pedigree, and turn up my nose when I saw it, and say I was very +sorry, but I must really look for something better than his son, though +he has got a girl's face and is much prettier than I am. Oh, Aubrey," +she cried, with a sudden new passion. "You have always meant it? You +will be true to your little maid of the radiant head? I don't doubt you, +but love is another of the queer puzzles, all flaming one time, all dead +another, and only a little white dust to show for all the flame. The +dust may mean a burnt-out heart, and I think that is what would happen +if you gave me up." + +He satisfied her in the usual way, declaring that if they ever were +separated it would be by her action, not by his. She would have to +unfasten the lover's knot. Then they went on. It was getting late, and +the short day was already in the dimsies. They stood beside the gate, +saying good-bye, not in two words, but in the old method which never +grows musty. They passed on, the gate slammed, and they were outside; +only just outside, but already they were lost and could not have found +their way back; for the wand of the magician had been waved over "our +walk," and fairyland had gone away like smoke to the place where babies +come from. + +Weevil was sitting in the dark, mumbling and moaning, when Boodles came +in. He was in the seventh Hell of misery, as he had been for a walk and +discovered beneath a hedge a rusty iron trap with its jaws fastened upon +the leg of a rabbit. The creature had been caught days before, as +decomposition had set in, and as it was only just held by one leg it +must have suffered considerably. Such a sight is quite one of the common +objects of the country, therefore Weevil ought not to have been +perturbed; only in his case familiarity failed to breed indifference. He +sat down in the dark, and as soon as the child entered began to quaver +his usual grievance: "What right have they to make me suffer? Why may I +not go a walk without being tortured? What right have the brutes to +torment me so?" + +"Groaning and grunting again, poor old man," said Boodles cheerfully, +rather glad there was no light, as she did not want him to see she had +been crying. "You must laugh and be funny now, please, for I've come +home dreadful tired, and if you go on worrying I shall begin to groan +and grunt too. I'm ready to have my boots taken off." + +"Don't talk like that. Your throat sounds all lumpy," the old man +complained, getting up and groping towards her in the dark. "What have +you been doing--quarrelling?" + +Boodles made noises which were intended to express ridicule, and then +said miserably: "Saying good-bye." + +Weevil knelt upon the carpet and began to unlace the first boot he could +find, groaning and grunting again like a professional mourner. + +"Did it hurt, Boodle-oodle?" he asked tenderly. + +"Horrid," she sighed. + +"It made you cry?" + +"Ees." + +"That was the Brute, darling. I've warned you of him so often. He +doesn't let any of us escape. He shows me rabbits in traps, and he makes +you cry. I believe you are crying now." + +"Not much, daddy. Only a few little tears that were late for the big +weep," said Boodles, burrowing her face into a cool cushion. + +"I want you to laugh. You don't laugh so much now," he complained, +drawing the boot off carefully, and then feeling inside to make sure +that the foot had not come away too. + +"One day you said I laughed too much, and I wasn't to do it any more," +said a doleful voice. + +"Ah, but there was a reason for that," said the old man cunningly. "I +thought the Brute would be angry if he saw you laughing so much. That +was before I took him by the throat and flung him out of the house. He +hasn't been here since--not to worry you anyhow," he chuckled. + +"You must explain that, please, and a lot of other things besides," she +said hurriedly, sitting up and trying to locate the exact position of +his head. + +Old Weevil laughed in a silly sort of way. "It's a little personal +matter between the Brute and me," he chuckled. + +"But I come in. I'm the respondent, or whatever you call it. Now I must +hear all about it," she said. + +"You're not old enough. I shan't tell you anything until you are +twenty-one." + +"Yes, you will. I'm not a baby now. I am eighteen, and I feel +more--nearly eighty-one to-night. I've got one boot on still, and if you +won't answer I'll kick." + +The old man jumped playfully upon the threatening foot like a kitten +upon a ball of wool. + +"Daddy-man, I'm serious. I'm not laughing a bit. I believe there is +another cry coming on, and that will make you groan and grunt dreadful. +Is it true you are my grandfather?" + +The question was out with a rush, and murmuring: "There, I've done it," +Boodles put her face back into the cushion, breathing as quickly as any +agitated maid who has just received an unexpected offer of marriage. + +Whatever Weevil was doing she could not think. He appeared to be +scrabbling about the floor, playing with her foot. Both of them were +glad it was so dark. + +"Who told you that?" he said. + +"Aubrey. You told his father. Why haven't you ever told me?" + +"Boodle-oodle," he quavered, "let me take your other boot off." + +"The boot can wait. Don't be unkind, daddy," she pleaded. "I've been +worried dreadful to-day. Why did you tell Mr. Bellamie you are my +grandfather, if you're not?" + +"I am," cried old Weevil. "Of course I am. I have been your grandfather +for a long time, ever since you were born, but I wasn't going to tell +you until you were twenty-one." + +"Why not? Why ever shouldn't I know? Are you ashamed of me?" + +At that the old man began to throw himself about and make horrible faces +in the dark. + +"I expect you are," Boodles went on. "Mr. Bellamie is ashamed of me. He +says I'm not well-born, and I have no name. Aubrey told me this +afternoon." + +"The liar," cried old Weevil. Then he began to cackle in his own +grotesque way. He couldn't help being amused at the idea that he should +be calling Mr. Bellamie a liar. "How did he know? How did he find that +out?" he muttered. "Nobody could have told him. He must have guessed +it." + +"You are my grandfather," Boodles murmured. "Now you must tell me all +about my father and mother. I've got to let Mr. Bellamie know," she went +on innocently. + +"I told him. I told him the whole story," cried Weevil. "He sat in this +room for an hour, and I gave him the whole history. What a forgetful man +he must be. I will write it out and send it him." + +"Tell me," said Boodles. "How could you say that you picked me up on +your doorstep, and never knew where I had come from?" + +"It's a long story, my darling. I don't fancy I can remember it now." +The old man wondered where he had put that precious piece of paper. + +"Don't squeeze my foot so. Who was my mother? Do you really know who my +mother was?" + +"Tita, we called her that for short, Katherine, Mary--no, that's you. +I've got it all written down somewhere. I must tell her the same story. +Shall I light the lamp and find it?" + +"You must remember. Are you my mother's father?" she asked impatiently. + +"Wait a moment, Boodle-oodle. These sudden questions confuse me so. Mr. +Bellamie would know. I told him. Yes, it was your mother. Miss Lascelles +was her name, and I married her in Switzerland. We stayed at that hotel +where Gubbings wrote his history of the world, and we fell out of a boat +on Lake Geneva, and she was never heard of again." + +"Where was I?" cried Boodles, knowing that impatience would only perplex +him more. + +"You were not born, darling. It was a long time after that when you were +born, and your father was Canon Lascelles of Hendon." + +"Dear old man, don't be so agitated," she said, putting out a hand to +stroke his whiskers. "You are so puzzled you don't know what you are +saying. How could my mother be drowned before I was born?" + +"No, no, darling, you misunderstand me. It was my wife who disappeared +mysteriously, not your mother." + +"My mother was your daughter. That's one thing I want to know," said +perplexed Boodles. + +"Tita, we called her Tita for short," he said, glad of one fact of which +he was certain. + +"And my father, Canon Lascelles--really? A real canon, a man with a sort +of title?" she cried, with a little joyous gasp. + +"He's in British Honduras. I think that was the place--" + +"Alive! My father alive!" cried Boodles. "And you never told me before! +Why haven't I seen him? Why doesn't he write to me? Oh, I think you have +been cruel to me, telling me those wild stories of how I came to you, +keeping the truth from me all these years." + +Old Weevil sat at her feet, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. He was +protecting Boodles, giving her happiness, he thought; but when he heard +that cry it suggested to him that his false story might bring her in the +end more sorrow than the truth. He could not go back now that he had +gone so far. A lie is a rapid breeder of lies; and old Weevil, with his +lack of memory, and natural instinct for the truth, was a man singularly +ill-fitted for fictions. He had overlooked a great many things in his +wild desire to make the child happy. It had never occurred to him that +she would feel a natural love for her parents. + +"I wanted to be kind to you, Boodles," he quavered. "I kept the truth +from you because there were good reasons." + +"What were they?" + +"I can't tell you, darling," he answered truly. "You must not ask me," +he said firmly, because she had touched upon a mystery which his +inventive faculties were quite incapable of solving. + +"And my mother--where is she?" + +"Oh, she is dead," said Weevil cheerfully. He was not going to have any +trouble with the mother, and he was sorry he had not killed the father +too. "I told you she was drowned mysteriously." + +"That was your wife, my grandmother. You are not playing with me? You +are not deceiving me?" said Boodles pitifully. + +"I'm trying to tell you, only it is all mixed up. It happened so long +ago, and the Brute has worried me so much since that I don't seem able +to remember anything very clearly. Your mother went out of the hotel one +day, and never came back." + +"Where?" + +"Lausanne, the hotel where--" + +"But she may be alive still," interrupted the child. + +"Oh no, darling. Quite impossible. She was never heard of again, and it +was nearly thirty years ago." + +"Don't ramble. You are wandering off again. How could it be thirty years +ago, when I'm only just eighteen?" + +Weevil admitted the difficulty, and replied that he had been thinking +just then of his wife. She would keep mixing herself up with the girl's +mother. + +"Now I'm getting at it," said Boodles, with a kind of fierce +seriousness. "My mother is supposed to be dead. My father is in British +Honduras--" + +"British Guiana," corrected Weevil. + +"Are you sure?" + +"Almost certain. I looked it up on the map. I wish I had that piece of +paper," the poor old man muttered. + +"Well, it does not matter much for the present. You say my mother was +Miss Lascelles, and my father was Canon Lascelles; but if my mother was +your daughter her name would have been Weevil." + +"So it was, my dear," he cried, with a new inspiration, "at least it +would have been if--if--I mean, darling, my name is really Lascelles, +only I changed it to Weevil when I lost my fortune." + +"Why ever couldn't you have told me all this before? How is it that +Canon Lascelles had the same name as you? Was he a relation?" + +"Yes, darling, first cousin," he faltered, wondering if the story +resembled that which he had told to Mr. Bellamie. + +"So my name is really Lascelles?" + +"Titania Lascelles. But there are a lot of others. I was nearly +forgetting them. You have a whole string of names, but I can't remember +them now, except Katherine and Mary--ah, yes, and there was Fitzalan. I +never could understand why they called you Fitzalan. I've got them all +written down somewhere, and I'll read them to you presently. We called +you Tita after your mother, but I got into the way of calling you +Boodles, which means beautiful, and have never got out of it." + +"You told all this to Mr. Bellamie?" asked Boodles excitedly. + +"I think so. I tried to," said Weevil hopefully. + +"Then what does he mean by saying I am of low birth and have no name?" +she cried indignantly. + +"Perhaps he did not understand. Perhaps he hadn't grasped it. I tell a +story very badly, dear." + +That point could not be disputed, and the child seized upon it eagerly. +There was no telling what wild rambling statements her grandfather might +have poured into the ears of Aubrey's father. But she could tell him now +she was quite a well-born little dame, and had a splendid name which was +all her own, and she was really good enough for Aubrey after all. She +put her head back upon the cushion and began to laugh because she was +happy, the day was ending nicely, and she believed the story would end +nicely too. She had cried because Aubrey was going away and for no other +reason; at one time that afternoon she had not been sure of it, she had +almost been afraid that the tears had been brought on by Mr. Bellamie's +evil suggestions about her birth; but now she knew that she could hold +up her nose with the best of them. She was accustomed to Weevil's +eccentric language, his contradictions gave her no suspicions; she +swallowed the rambling story whole and wanted more. There were so many +questions to be asked and answered. She thought she would write to +Aubrey and sign herself Titania Lascelles with great flourishes. + +"I am glad to hear you laughing, Boodles," said Weevil tenderly. + +The poor old man was far from the laughing mood. He was indeed getting +frightened at what he had done, and was wondering how he could carry it +on, and how the story would end. Left to himself he would not have told +the child anything; but she had caught him in an unguarded moment with a +direct question, and he had been forced to answer without time to +prepare himself by another rehearsal in private. He had hardly expected +her to take things so seriously, forgetting how much the story meant to +her, so utterly obsessed was his mind with the one great idea, which was +her preservation from the Brute. Love blinds every one. The young it +dazzles, like the sun low down on the horizon, so that they see no +faults. Into the eyes of the old it flings dust to prevent them from +seeing the end of the road. + +"Now we must light the lamp and have supper," he said drearily, gently +removing the child's other boot and pressing her warm little foot in his +cold loving hand. + +"I don't want lamps or suppers," she sighed. "What is that light, over +in the corner?" + +"I think it is the moon shining in between the curtains." + +"The wind has got up. It's howling. I don't care, for I've got a name. +I'm not Boodles Blank any more. I'm tired and happy." + +"I have given you a little happiness. Boodles?" he quavered. + +"Heavensfull. You have always been a funny old daddy-man, and now that +you are my grand-daddy-man you are funnier than ever. Fancy keeping me +in the dark all the time! To-morrow you must tell me everything. What +was my mother like? Go on. Tell me a lot about my mother." + +"I don't know, Boodles--I mean I can't think to-night." + +Weevil had left her, and was tumbling about the room, knocking himself +against things and groaning. He was beginning to understand that his +efforts to destroy the Brute might only end by investing him with new +powers. But the child was happy, and that was everything; she was +singing to herself, and laughing, and thinking of her mother; not the +mother who had tied her up in fern and flung her at his door, but the +mother who existed only in his fantastic brain. Suppose Mr. Bellamie had +found it out. But that was impossible, for nobody knew except that +unknown mother and himself. He was doing what was right. His little maid +was perfectly happy then. Sufficient for that day was the happiness +thereof. There was just one trouble remaining--the problem of Mr. +Bellamie's incredulity. Why had he not accepted the story which she was +so ready to believe? Eccentric manner and contradictory statements did +not explain everything. Mr. Bellamie had no right to put the whole story +aside just because it had been badly told. + +"I can tell you, Boodles. I have just found it out," he cried out of the +darkness with a miserable sort of triumph. "There has been a lot of +scandal about you, which I have never troubled to answer, and Mr. +Bellamie has heard it, and finds it easier to believe than what I told +him. There is the Brute again. He makes people prefer scandal to the +truth. Nobody knows how you came to me, and so they invented a story to +suit them. Everybody knows that story, and as I have not denied it Mr. +Bellamie believes it is true. I think I'll write to him to-morrow." + +"How did I come to you?" asked Boodles. + +"It's a long story," he faltered. "I can't tell you now because I am +feeling so tired. I shall have to think about it all night," he +muttered. + +"Why did you make up that queer story about finding me one night at your +door?" + +"That is true. Your father chose that way of sending you to me," he said +lamely. "I kept the truth from you because I was afraid you might not +want to stay with me if you knew everything. Your father wished you to +be kept in ignorance. I was going to tell you on your twenty-first +birthday." + +"You needn't have told me you thought I was a poor woman's child," she +said reproachfully. + +"I am very sorry, darling. I won't do it again," the poor old creature +promised. + +Boodles jumped up, pattered to the window, and flung aside the curtains. +The room was flooded at once with moonlight, and she could feel the wind +coming through the chinks. Weevil looked up patiently, and she saw his +weary old eyes and wrinkled face, ghastly in that light. It struck her +he was looking very worn and ill. + +"You are dreadful tired," she said very tenderly. + +"Yes, Boodles, the noise of the wind makes me feel very tired." + +"I am not Boodles now. That was my baby-name. I am Tita. And the +others--Katherine, Mary--what are the rest?" + +"I don't know, dear. I will try and think to-morrow." + +"I won't tease you, but there is so much I want to know. Poor great big +old grand-daddy-man, you look quite dead." + +He shuffled towards her, put his arms round her, and began to make +noises as if he was in pain. "I am tired and weak. That is all, darling, +and the rabbit in the trap made me sick. I am weak and old and very +tired, and I know I have done no good in my life. Shut it out, my +maid--shut it out." + +It was the prospect which he wanted shut out. They could see the bare +stretch of moor, upon it the moon shining, and over it the wind rushing. +There is nothing more dreary than a windy moonlit night upon the moor, +filled with its own emptiness of sound, suggestive of wild motion and +yet motionless, covered with light that is not light. + +"It is like a lonely life," said Weevil bitterly. + +Boodles dropped the curtains and tried to laugh. She did not like the +look on the old man's face. + +"The lonely life has gone," she said. "Now we will have some light." + +Weevil shuffled after her, muttering to himself: "You have done it, +Abel-Cain. You must keep it up. You must hold the Brute off her somehow, +or she may have to go out, into the windy moonlight, into the lonely +life." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +ABOUT THE GOOD RIGHT HAND OF FELLOWSHIP + + +One of the creeping-things to be crushed at the forthcoming Assizes was +Brightly. Ju had been already stamped out of existence, and it was meet +and right that the little man should follow her example, and be placed +behind some stone walls where it would be impossible for him to drag +lusty farmers from their horses and half-murder them for the sake of +their clothes. Brightly had not long to wait in prison. Exeter put on +the full panoply of the law during the first week of November; scarlet +and gold were flourished; trumpeters and a special preacher brayed; +bells clanged, the small grocer and the candle-maker were summoned to +serve on the jury, to fail not at their peril, lawyers buzzed +everywhere, and a lot of money was spent just because Brightly and a few +poor yokels had misconducted themselves. It was a curious sort of net, +this Assize net; it was constructed and cast in such a manner that it +permitted a lot of coarse fish and golden carp to escape through its +meshes, while all the little tadpoles and mud-grubbers were caught and +held. + +One of the coarse fish to swim into the judicial circuit was Pendoggat. +He came to Exeter, partly that he might spend a portion of the capital +of the Nickel Mining Company, and partly that he might visit the +Guildhall to see sinners punished. Pendoggat had a keen sense of justice +and a certain amount of dull humour. The Assizes represented to him a +foreshadowing of the fiery pleasures of Hell--they were a pleasure to +his mind because he was secure from them--and it amused him to think +that another man was going to suffer for his wrongdoing. The idea that +he was a sinner had never occurred to him. He had stripped Chegwidden, +and flung him into the furze, because the wind had swept upon him, +urging him to persecute the unconscious man, and he had obeyed. He had +not robbed Chegwidden, nor had he stolen his clothes; and that was the +principal charge against Brightly. If he had stood up in court, and +confessed that he had dragged the farmer from his horse and stolen his +clothes, he would have been telling a lie, which would have been painful +to him. Brightly was not charged with finding Chegwidden unconscious, +stripping the clothes from him, and throwing them down a wheal. Had that +been the charge against him Pendoggat would probably have recognised +that the purveyor of rabbit-skins was a good Christian, who had learnt +the great principles of the gospel, and was willing to sacrifice himself +for another. The mind of Pendoggat when it turned towards theology +became incomprehensible. + +The weather was changing into winter and there was a smell of snow upon +the moor. Pendoggat had played his game, and so far as he could see had +won it. The success was not brilliant, because the people of Bromley had +proved to be a stingy set, and the amount of money subscribed for the +mining venture did not reach three hundred pounds. The chairman of the +company, Pezzack's retired grocer-uncle, who had after repeated failures +at last discovered how to spell the word committee, was continually +writing to know when the first consignment of ore was to be placed on +the market, and, what was of far greater importance, when the first +dividend might be expected. Pendoggat as frequently replied, through the +agency of Pezzack, that operations could not be commenced until spring, +as the climate of Dartmoor was not the same as that of Bromley; but the +grocer could not understand, and went on writing. He appeared to think +that nickel was like the inferior American and disreputable +margarine--which in his business had been labelled respectively prime +Cheddar and best butter--and would not keep. The little grocer deserved +to lose his money, though he was eminently respectable. His position +proved it, as only men of assured respectability can make enough money +to retire and purchase a little suburban villa, with such modern +improvements as walls one brick thick, roofs of thin plaster, and +defective drainage. His front doorstep was whitened daily. His parlour +window was heavily curtained, and in it were geraniums and ferns further +to attest respectability; and behind the curtains and floral display was +a chamber crowded with stately furniture. All was very beautiful in +front, and very dirty behind. The display in front was for the benefit +of the road. The negligence and dirt behind were only visible from the +railway. It was best butter according to the parlour window, and +disreputable margarine judging by the testimony of the back-yard. + +Queer objects of the country had come from all parts of Devon to assert +their intelligence as witnesses in the various trials. Peter was a +witness in the Brightly case, Peter who had comforted his system with +many a pint of beer, paid for with Chegwidden's money, and was then +enjoying himself at the expense of the country, although he had taken +the opportunity to get his railway fare from Mary. Peter was not only +travelling again, but he was principal witness, as he had discovered +Chegwidden lying unconscious and fully dressed upon the road; and Peter +did not underestimate his importance. + +Brightly had not been fortunate of late, but luck was to turn his way a +little at the trial. No doubt sentences upon small prisoners depend very +much upon the state of his lordship's liver. A bottle of corked wine, or +a burnt soup, may quite possibly mean another couple of months to the +man in the dock. Mercy is supposed to have its lodging somewhere in the +bowels, and if they are out of order, or offended by inferior cookery, +mercy may conceivably be out of order too. The judge upon this occasion +was in a robust state of health. His wine had not been corked, nor had +his soup been burnt, and he was quite in the mood to temper the panoply +of the law with a playful kind of mercy which presented counsel with +several somewhat obsolete jokes and one new pun. When Brightly appeared +another pun was instantly forthcoming upon his name. His lordship had at +once a kindly feeling for the prisoner who had contributed towards the +maintenance of his own reputation as a humorist; and he was soon saying +that it was absurd to suppose that such a poor creature could be guilty +of robbery with violence against the person of a strong man like Farmer +Chegwidden. + +A very able young barrister defended Brightly at the request of the +judge, a youngster recently called, who had every inducement to do his +best. That was Brightly's second bit of luck. The health of the judge +was perfect, and he had been allotted a strong advocate, although he +could not understand why the gentleman took such an interest in him and +tried so hard to get him off. The fat constable and the other witnesses +were given a melancholy time by the young barrister, who treated them +all very much as Pendoggat had treated Chegwidden. He stripped the lies +off them and left them shivering in the strangeness of the truth. Peter +was a difficult witness at first, but after a few minutes counsel could +probably have made him swear that when he had discovered Chegwidden the +farmer was undressing himself with a view to taking a bath. + +"In what condition was he when you found him lying upon the road?" asked +counsel. + +"Mazed," replied Peter. "Same as I be," he muttered. + +"Was he drunk?" + +"No," said Peter stoutly. + +"Do you know a drunken man when you see one?" + +Peter thought he did, but was not certain. They were common objects, and +as long as a man could proceed from one place to another, and shout +occasionally, he was, according to Peter, a fairly sober person. + +"Do you suppose he had fallen from his horse and stunned himself?" + +"Likely," said Peter. "He'm a cruel hard rider." + +"You have often seen him galloping over the moor, in what some people +might call a reckless way?" + +"Seen 'en often," said Peter. + +"Thursday evenings usually?" went on counsel, in a pleasant +conversational manner. + +Peter agreed that it was so. + +"You know, of course, that it is the farmer's habit on these evenings to +frequent some public-house; one night at Lydford, another at Brentor, +and so on? There's nothing remarkable about that, but still you are well +aware of it?" + +Peter was. + +"And you know what he goes there for? Everybody knows that. You know why +you go to a public-house. You go to get beer, don't you?" + +"I du," said Peter with some enthusiasm. + +"Sometimes there is a glass too much, and you are not quite sure of the +way home. That's only human nature. We all have our little failings. +When you have that glass too much you might ride 'cruel hard,' as you +express it, over the moor, without caring whether you had a spill or +not. Probably you would have a tumble. Chegwidden comes off pretty +often, I believe?" + +"More often that he used to du," mumbled Peter, not in the least knowing +where he was being led. + +"Well, that's natural enough. He's getting older and less confident. +Perhaps he drinks a bit harder too. A man can hardly find it easy to +gallop over the rough moor when he is very drunk. Don't you feel +surprised that Chegwidden has never hurt himself badly?" + +Peter was not flustered then. Counsel was half-sitting on the edge of +the table, talking so nicely that Peter began to regard him as an old +friend, and thought he would like to drink a few glasses with this +pleasant gentleman who, he fancied, had a distinctly convivial eye. +"'Tis just witchery," he said in a confidential manner, feeling he was +in some bar-room, and the judge might be the landlord about to draw the +beer. "He'm got a little charm to his watch-chain, and that makes 'en +fall easy like." + +"I suppose he hadn't got it on that night?" + +"Forgot 'en, likely," said Peter with some regret, knowing that had +Chegwidden been wearing the charm and chain he would have gained +possession of them. + +Counsel smiled at Peter, and the witness grinned back, with a feeling +that he was adding to his acquaintances. The next question followed +quite naturally-- + +"I suppose Chegwidden was pretty far gone that night. Now I want you to +use your memory, and tell me if you have ever seen him more drunk than +he was that night?" + +"When us gets drunk us comes to a stop like," said Peter thoughtfully. +"Us gets no drunker," he explained to his new friend. + +"You think Farmer Chegwidden had reached that stage? He could hardly +have been more intoxicated than he was when you found him?" + +Peter admitted that the farmer's condition was unquestionably as his +friend had stated. + +"He was dead drunk?" + +"Mucky drunk," said Peter with a burst of confidence. + +"You were not astonished, as you know he is an habitual drunkard?" + +Peter was just going to agree, when he remembered he didn't know the +meaning of the word habitual. + +"He gets drunk frequently. Makes a habit of it," explained counsel. + +"He du," said Peter, in the emphatic manner which makes for good +evidence. + +"Why did you say just now he was not drunk when you found him?" asked +counsel smoothly. + +Peter's eyes were opened, and he discovered he was not in a bar-room, +but in the Guildhall between rows of unsympathetic faces, and his nice +young companion was not a friend at all; and he knew also he had been +giving evidence against a parishioner. It was useless after that to +proceed with the charge against Brightly in its original form; and his +advocate then attempted to show that he was equally innocent of theft. + +Here, however, he failed, and his lordship himself, who felt in the mood +to be merciful, could only point out that circumstantial evidence went +entirely against the prisoner. He didn't believe that Brightly, was a +bad character. A long experience upon the Bench had enabled him to +determine fairly accurately between the hardened criminal and the poor +man who succumbed to sudden temptation. It was a wild cold night, and +the prisoner in his wretched clothes had happened to pass that way, and +when he found the drunken and stunned farmer lying upon the road the +temptation to strip him of his clothing had been too strong. The +subsequent ill-treatment of the senseless man, no doubt to gratify some +old grudge, was the unpleasant feature of the case. It was not +altogether easy for him to believe that Brightly had worked +single-handed. He left the case to the small grocer and the candle-maker +with every confidence that they would bring in a verdict in accordance +with the evidence, and he hoped that their consciences would direct them +aright. The consciences did their work rapidly, Brightly was declared +guilty, and the learned judge found that he would not be doing his duty +to the country if he sentenced him to less than three months' +imprisonment with hard labour. The next case was called, and the police +began as usual to complain about the sentence, and to declare that it +was no use doing their duty when judges wouldn't do theirs. The prisoner +was removed weeping, asking the gentlemen if they wouldn't let him have +his little dog, and begging the warder to take his "duppence" and go out +to buy him some rat-poison. + +Brightly had indulged in several fits of play-acting since his +committal. He was a dull-witted man, and they could not make him +comprehend that he was a criminal of a particularly dangerous type, and +his little Ju a furious beast which it had been found necessary to +destroy. He was, indeed, so foolish that he failed to grasp the fact +that Ju was dead. He was always asking if he mightn't have her to talk +to. When they brought him food he would set a portion aside for Ju, and +beg the warder to see that she got it. When he sang his hymns he put out +his hand and patted the floor, thinking it was Ju. He did not want to go +to the wonderful dairy without his little dog. She would like the milk +and honey too. He would never have the heart to drive about in the +pony-cart, which was sure to come some day if he only waited long +enough, unless Ju was squatting upon the fern at the bottom or on the +seat beside him. It would be dreary Dartmoor indeed without tail-wagging +starving Ju. They could not make him understand that Ju was starving no +longer. Since his committal Brightly had failed to benefit from the +food, which was the best he had ever eaten in his life, though it was +prison fare. He was thinner because he could not feed upon the air and +the solitude, or smell the moor, and he was more blind because the +healing touch of the sun was off his eyes. He often thought of an +evening how beautifully the sun would be shining across Sourton Down, +and he wondered if the gentlemen would let him go, just to get a feel of +it for a few minutes. Sometimes he thought he could hear the Tavy +roaring, but it was nothing but the prison van rumbling in. + +After sentence Brightly became more foolish, and rambled about his +little dog worse than ever. The doctor certified he was totally +incapable of undergoing hard labour, and he was removed to the +infirmary, where kind people visited him and gave him tracts and hoped +he would see the wickedness of his ways before it was too late. At last +Brightly began to comprehend that he was a vagabond of the baser sort. +All the gentlemen had said so, and they would not have impressed it upon +him so frequently if it was untrue. It appeared that he had led a life +of vice from his earliest years. It had been wicked to walk about the +moor trading in rabbit-skins, and vile to live in a cave upon Belstone +Cleave; and he had never known it until then. There was so much that he +didn't know. He learnt a lot about literature in his confinement. A lady +read portions of the Bible to him, and Brightly found some of it +interesting, although he could not understand why the Hebrew gentlemen +were always fighting, and his teacher didn't seem able to explain it. +Another lady tried to teach him "Jerusalem the Golden," and he responded +as well as he could, but the words would not remain in his poor memory, +and he always gave a quaint rendering of his own when he tried to repeat +the lines. He had the same question for every one: might he have his +little dog and talk to her for a bit? At last the doctor made him +understand that Ju was dead, and after that Brightly changed. His soul +became rusty, as it were, and he did not respond to his teachers. He +accepted everything with the same patient spirit, but he showed +indifference. He became like a tortoise, and when people stroked his +shell he refused to put his head out. It was all owing to the same old +fault--he could not understand things. He comprehended that he was a +criminal, and it had been fully explained to him that criminals must be +kept in confinement because they constitute a danger to other people. +But he could not understand what Ju had done that she should be taken +away from him and killed. Apparently she too had been a criminal, and +much worse than himself; for he had only been sent to prison, while she +had been executed. That was what Brightly couldn't understand; but then +he was only a fool. + +Pendoggat left the court after sentence upon Brightly had been +pronounced, and began his homeward journey. The trial had pleased him, +and satisfied his sense of justice. He was hurrying back because there +was a service that evening and he was going to preach. Brightly would +make a good subject for his sermon, the man who was alone because he was +not fit to dwell with his kind, the man who had been caught in his sins +and punished for them. He had always tried to impress his listeners with +the fact that every man is sure to suffer for his sins some day; and he +believed what he said, and could not understand why people were so dull +as to think they would escape. Pendoggat had discovered long ago that +every man regards his neighbours as sinners and himself as a saint. He +behaved in exactly the same way himself. He would not be punished, +because he always made a point of repenting of his sins. He saved +himself by prayer and chapel attendances, and every day would insure his +soul against fire by reading the Bible. And yet he thought himself +different from other people, and was amazed when they had the effrontery +to declare that they too were saved, although neighbour This and +neighbour That ought to have known they were most assuredly and +everlastingly damned. + +The region of the Tavy was cold and clear; a great change from the +low-lying city on the Exe and Greedy where there had been mist and +drizzle. As Pendoggat rode up from Lydford he noticed white pools and +splashes upon the dark tower and roof of St. Michael's church upon its +mount, and his heart warmed at the cold sight. It was to him what the +note of the cuckoo is to many, a promise, not of spring, but of the wild +days when solitude increases and the bogs become blue glaciers. Winter +had come and there would soon be the usual November fall of snow. +Pendoggat prepared his discourse as he rode up. The night was coming +when no man could work, miners least of all. His was not a cold theology +by any means. It contained, indeed, little that was not red-hot. The +old-fashioned lake of fire, surrounded by attendants in a uniform of +tails and hoofs, armed with pitchforks to keep sinners sizzling and turn +them occasionally, was good enough for him. Every one would have to be +burnt some time, like the gorse in swaling-time, except himself. + +Ebenezer was crowded that evening. The week-day services were popular, +especially in winter, when the evenings were long, and there was no +money for the inn. Chapel upon the moor occupies much the same place in +the affections of the parishioners as the music-hall has obtained over +the minds of dwellers in big towns; and for much the same reason, +everybody likes to be entertained, and praying and hymn-singing are +essentially dramatic performances. A warm church or chapel is an +attractive place on a winter's evening, when it is dull at home, and +there is nothing doing outside. Middle-aged men will always speak +lovingly of their village church and its pleasant evening services. They +do not remember much about the prayers and hymns; but they have a very +clear and tender recollection of the golden-haired girl who used to sit +in the next pew but one. + +Pezzack did not come in until Pendoggat had finished his discourse. He +was a sort of missionary, carrying the gospel over many villages, and +his unfortunate habit of tumbling from his bicycle kept many a +congregation waiting. He entered at last, with a bruised nose and tender +ear, and took possession of the reading-desk which his friend and +partner had been keeping warm for him; and then in his usual ridiculous +fashion he undid Pendoggat's good work by preaching of a pleasant land +on the other side of this world of woe. Eli had always been an optimist, +and now that he was happily married his lack of a proper religious +pessimism became more strongly marked than ever. He would never make a +really popular minister while he insisted upon looking at the bright +side of things. Many of his listeners thought him frivolous when he +spoke of happiness after death. They couldn't think wherever he got his +strange ideas from. It seemed as if Pezzack wanted to deprive them of +that glowing hell which they had learnt to love at their mother's knee. + +The congregation melted away quickly to the echo of Eli's blessing, and +the friends found themselves alone, to put out the lamps, lock the +chapel, and leave everything in order. The minister was elated; they had +enjoyed a "blessed hour;" the world was going very well just then; and +he longed to clasp Pendoggat by the hand and tell him what a good and +generous man he was. He stood near the door, and with the enthusiasm of +a minor prophet exclaimed: "'Ow beautiful is this place, Mr. Pendoggat!" + +A more hideous interior could hardly have been conceived, only the +minister was fortunate enough to know nothing about art. Temples of +Nonconformity on Dartmoor, as elsewhere, do not conform to any +recognised style of architecture, unless it be that of the wooden +made-in-Germany Noah's Ark; but Pezzack was able to regard the wet walls +and dreary benches through rose-tinted spectacles; or perhaps his +bruised eye lent a kind of glamour to the scene. It was certain, +however, that Pezzack had never yet seen men or things accurately. He +regarded Pendoggat as a saint, and the chapel as a place of beauty. His +eyes were apparently of as little use to him as his judgment. A blind +man might have discovered more with his finger-tips. + +"You'll never make a preacher, man," said Pendoggat, as the last light +went out. "I'd got them worked up, and then you come and let them down +again. Your preaching don't bring them to the sinner's bench. It makes +them sit tight and think they are saved." + +"I can't talk about 'ell. It don't come to me natural," said Eli in his +simple fashion. + +"Sinners ain't saved by kindness. We've got to scare them. If you don't +flog a biting horse he'll bite again. You're too soft with them. You +want to get manly." + +"I endeavour to do my duty," said Eli fervently. "But I can't talk to +them rough when I feel so 'appy." + +"Happy, are ye?" muttered Pendoggat, his eyes upon the ground. + +"My 'appiness is beyond words. I get up 'appy, and I go to bed 'appy, +and I eat 'appy. It's 'eaven on earth, Mr. Pendoggat, and when a man's +so 'appy he can't talk about 'ell. I owe it all to you, Mr. Pendoggat." + +"The happiness or hell?" said Pendoggat, with a flash of grim humour. + +"The wonderful and beautiful 'appiness. My wife and I pray for you +every night and morning. We are very comfortable in our little cottage, +and when, Mr. Pendoggat," he went on with enthusiasm, "when God sends +our first little olive-branch we shall 'ave all that our 'earts can +desire. Ah, Mr. Pendoggat, you don't know what a blessed thing it is to +be a father." + +"You don't either," said the other sharply. + +"I feel it coming upon me. I feel the pride and the glory and the honour +of it swelling up in my 'eart and making me 'appy with the world and all +that therein is. Amen. I can see myself walking about with it, saying: +'Open your eyes, my dear, and look at the proud and 'appy father of your +being.' 'Ow beautiful it all is, Mr. Pendoggat!" + +Pezzack spoke like a fool. Why such men should swell with pride when +they become putative or actual parents is one of the wonders of the +universe. Gratification is permissible enough, but not a sense of pride, +which implies they have done something marvellous. Pezzack was like a +hen cackling because she has laid an egg, and supposing she has +accomplished something which entitles her to a chief place among hens, +when she has only performed an ordinary function of Nature which she +could not possibly have prevented. + +"You're too soft," muttered Pendoggat, as they turned away from the +gloomy box-shaped chapel and began to ascend the silent road. It was a +clear night, the stars were large, and the wind was cold enough to +convey the idea of heat. There was enough light for them to see the +white track crossed ahead by another narrow road cut out of the black +moor. By morning there would be a greyness upon everything, and the +heather would be covered with frosted gossamers. + +Pezzack was blowing on his big red hands, and stumbling about as if he +had been Farmer Chegwidden. He had never learnt how to walk, and it was +getting late to learn. Pendoggat was carrying a huge black Bible, which +was almost as cumbersome as Mary's umbrella. He always took it to chapel +with him, because it was useful to shake at the doubters and weaker +vessels. Big books in sombre bindings generally terrify the young or +illiterate, whatever their contents; and a big Bible brandished at a +reading-desk suggests a sort of court of appeal to which the preacher is +ready to carry his hearers' difficulties. + +"I think we are going to get some snow," said Eli, falling back +naturally upon the state of the weather. + +"There is a bit on Brentor," said Pendoggat. + +"Then there will be some on Ger Tor. I must take my wife out to-morrow +to look at it. She does not know Dartmoor. It will be a little pleasure +for her." + +The Pezzacks were easily amused. The first sprinkle of snow on Ger Tor +was worth going out to see, and could be discussed during the long +evening. + +"It will mean the closing of the mine. There must be a lot of water in +it," suggested Eli in a nervous manner, although he was anticipating +things rather, seeing that the precious mine had never been opened. + +"Afraid you won't get your fifteen shillings a week, are ye?" said +Pendoggat, in what was for him a pleasant voice. + +"I don't think of that," lied Eli, stumbling along, with his hands +flapping like a pair of small wings. "I am in your 'ands, Mr. Pendoggat, +so I am safe. But my uncle writes every week and sends me a +mining-paper, and wants to know why we don't throw ourselves about a +bit. I think he means by that we ought to be at work. My uncle talks +slang, Mr. Pendoggat." + +"Tell him he's a fool," said Pendoggat curtly. + +"I 'ave," said Eli meekly. "At least I suggested it, but I think he +misunderstood me. He says that if we don't make a start he will come +down and make things 'um a bit. I am sorry my uncle uses such +expressions. They use funny phrases in Bromley, Mr. Pendoggat." + +"He can come down if he likes, and you can give him a pick and tell him +to mine for himself until the commoners catch him," said Pendoggat +pleasantly. "We've done with your uncle. He won't subscribe any more +money, and I reckon his friends won't either. We've done our part. We've +got the money, nothing like so much as we wanted, but still a good bit, +and they can have the nickel, or what they think is nickel, and they can +come here and work it till the Duchy asks them what they're after, or +till the commoners fling them into the Tavy. Write that to your uncle," +said Pendoggat, poking his victim in the ribs with his big Bible. + +The minister stopped, but his companion went on, so he had to follow, +stumbling after him very much as Brightly had followed upon that same +road begging for his "duppence." + +"What do you mean, Mr. Pendoggat? What do you mean?" he kept on saying. + +"You're a happy man," muttered Pendoggat like a mocking bird. "Got a +wife, hoping for a child, manager of a mining company, with a rich fool +of an uncle. You're a lucky man, Pezzack." + +"I'm a 'appy and fortunate man," gasped Eli. + +"Every one respects you. They think you're a poor preacher, but they +know you're honest. It's a fine thing to be honest. You'll be called to +a town some day, and have a big congregation to sit under you if you +keep honest." + +"I 'ope so. You're walking so fast I don't seem able to keep up with +you." + +"It's a cold night. Come on, and get warm. How would you feel if people +found out you weren't honest? I saw a man sentenced to-day--hard labour, +for robbery. How would you feel if you were sentenced for robbery? Gives +you a cold feeling, I reckon. Not much chance of a pulpit when you came +out. Prison makes a man stink for the rest of his life." + +"I can't keep up with you, Mr. Pendoggat, unless I run. I haven't enough +breath," panted Eli. + +Pendoggat put the Bible under his arm, turned, caught Eli by the wrist +and strode on, dragging the clumsy minister after him. + +"Mr. Pendoggat, I seem to think some'ow you don't 'ardly know what you +are a-doing of." Pezzack was confused and becoming uncertain of grammar. + +"You'd stand and freeze. Breathe this wind into you and walk like a man. +What would you think, I'm asking ye, if you were found guilty of robbery +and sent to prison? Tell me that." + +"I can't think no'ow," sobbed Eli, trying to believe that his dear +friend and brother had not gone mad. + +"Can't think," growled Pendoggat. "See down under! That's where the mine +is, your mine, Pezzack, your nickel mine." + +"You are 'urting my arm, Mr. Pendoggat, my rheumatic arm. Don't go on so +fast if you kindly please, for I don't seem able to do it. Yonder ain't +my mine, Mr. Pendoggat. It's yours, but I called it mine because you +told me to." + +"Your uncle thinks it's yours. So do his friends. All the business has +gone through you. What do they think of me? Who do they think I am?" + +"Oh, Mr. Pendoggat, I told them you are the manager." + +"Your man. Your paid servant. Does it pinch here, Pezzack? 'Tis a bit up +here, and the moor's rough." + +"Your 'and pinches, the good right 'and of fellowship," panted Eli. + +"Don't the words pinch? Suppose the mine fails, where are you? Your +uncle will be down on you, and he'll cast you over. You won't see any of +his savings, and there's a wife to keep, and children coming, but you're +a happy man. We're all happy on a frosty night like this. Come on!" + +"What are you a-saying? I don't seem to get hold of it. Let me stop, Mr. +Pendoggat. I want to wipe the sweat off my face." + +"Let it bide there. My name don't appear in the mining business. The +thing is yours from start to finish, and I'm your man. There will be +none more against you if the mine fails, and I'm thrown out of a job. +I've got the cash, Pezzack, every penny of it down to the Barton in +notes. When are we going to start on the new chapel, minister? We're +going to build a new chapel, the finest on the moor. We can't start till +the spring. You told your uncle that? The snow's coming. It's in the air +now, and I reckon 'tis falling thick on the high tors. We can't build +the chapel and get out the nickel while the snow lasts." + +Pendoggat was walking at a furious pace, devouring the keen wind, his +head bent forward, chin upon his chest, lurching from side to side, +dragging the minister like a parent hauling a refractory child. + +"He 'ave lost his senses. He don't know what he's doing with me," Eli +panted, becoming for the first time indirect. + +"We're getting near the top. There will be a fine wind. Do you good, +Pezzack. Make a man of you. What do you think of the nickel down under? +Pretty good stuff, ain't it? Had it analysed yet? Found out what it's +worth a ton? Got permission from the Duchy? I reckon you've done all +that. You're a fine business man. You know a good sample of nickel when +you see it." + +"I left it all to you, Mr. Pendoggat. You know all about it." + +Pezzack tried to say more, something about his feet and rheumatic arm +and the perspiration which blinded him, but he had no more breath. +Pendoggat's fingers were like a handcuff about his wrist. + +"Suppose it ain't nickel at all. I never heard of any on Dartmoor. +They'll be down on you, Pezzack, for the money, howling at ye like so +many wolves, and if you can't pay there's prison. What are you going to +say for yourself? You can't drag me into it. If I tell you there ain't a +penn'orth of nickel down under you can't touch me. If you had proof +against me you couldn't use it, for your own sake. You'd have to keep +your mouth shut, for the sake of your wife and the family what's coming. +It's a fine thing to have a wife, and a fine thing to be expecting a +child, but it's a better thing to be sure of your position. It ain't +wise to marry when you're in debt, and when you've got a wife, and are +depending upon a man for your living, you can't make an enemy of that +man. I reckon we're on top. Bide here a bit and rest yourself." + +They were on the summit of one of the big rounded hills. The heather was +stiff with frost and seemed to grate against their boots. The weather +had changed completely while they had been coming up from the chapel. +Already the stars were covered over with dense clouds which were +dropping snowflakes. There was nothing in sight, and the only sound was +the eternal roar of the Tavy in the distance. Helmen Barton was below. +The house was invisible, but the smell of its peat fire ascended. +Pendoggat was breathing noisily through his nose, while Pezzack stood +before him utterly exhausted, his weak knees trembling and knocking +against each other, and his mouth open like a dog. + +"Why have you done this to me, Mr. Pendoggat?" he gasped at length. + +"To make a man of you. If I have a puppy I make a dog out of him with a +whip. When I get hold of a weak man I try to knock the weakness out of +him." + +"Was it because I didn't talk proper about 'ell?" sobbed the frightened +minister. + +"Come on," cried Pendoggat roughly. "Let's have a bout, man. It's a fine +night for it. Put out your arms. I'll be the making of you yet. Here's +to get your blood warm." + +He raised his Bible and brought it down on Pezzack's head, crushing his +hat in. + +Eli stumbled aside, crying out: "Oh, Mr. Pendoggat, you don't know what +you're doing. 'Itting me with the 'oly word. Let me go home, Mr. +Pendoggat. My wife is waiting for me." + +Pendoggat was too far gone to listen. He followed the wretched man, +hitting at him with the big book, driving him along the top of the hill +with resounding blows. Eli could not escape; he was unable to run, and +he was dazed; he kept on stumbling and bleating, until another good blow +on the head settled his business and sent him sprawling into the +heather. + +"Get up, man," shouted Pendoggat. "Get up and make a bout of it;" but +Eli went on lying flat, sobbing and panting, and trying to pray for his +persecutor. + +"Get up, or I'll walk on ye with my nailed boots." + +Eli shambled up slowly like some strange quadruped, found his awkward +feet, and stood swaying and moaning before his tormentor, convinced that +he was in the hands of a madman, and terribly afraid of losing his life. +Pendoggat stood grim and silent, his head down, the Bible tucked +reverently beneath his arm, the snow whitening his shoulders. It had +become darker in the last few minutes, the clouds were pressing lower, +and the sound of the Tavy was more distant than it had been. + +"'Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give +you rest,'" quoted Pendoggat slowly. "'Tis a cheering text for a whist +winter's night." + +He had finished amusing himself, and now that he was cool again his mind +reverted naturally to his religion. + +Eli could not say anything. It was as much as he could do to stand +upright. His clay-like right hand was pressed to his forehead. He was +afraid he would fall down a great many times going home. + +"Shake," said Pendoggat in a friendly way. "Give me the good right hand +of fellowship, minister." + +Eli heard him, comprehended the meaning of the words, and hesitated, +partly from inability to act, and partly from unwillingness to respond. +He felt he might fall down if he removed the hand from his dazed head. +He smiled in a stupid fashion and managed to say: "You 'ave been cruel +to me, Mr. Pendoggat. You 'ave used me like a beast." + +Pendoggat stepped forward, caught the big cold hand in his, pulled it +roughly from the minister's forehead, and shook it heartily. Not content +with that, he dragged the poor dazed wretch nearer, threw an arm about +his neck, and kissed him on the cheek. Perhaps it was the influence of +his Spanish blood which suggested the act. Possibly it was a genuine +wave of sorrow and repentance. He did not know himself; but the +frightened Maggot only groaned and sobbed, and had no caresses to give +in return. + +"'How good and joyful a thing it is, brethren, to dwell together in +unity,'" quoted Pendoggat, with the utmost reverence. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +ABOUT THE PASSOVER OF THE BRUTE + + +Mary soon forgave her brother for his failure over the electric light +business, and they became as good friends as ever, except when Peter +demanded sums of money for services which Mary could not remember he had +rendered. Peter had a trick of benefiting himself, and charging the cost +to his sister. They were settled for the winter; Peter had turfed up the +chinks in the walls, adding a solid plaster of clay; had repaired the +thatch of gorse where it had rotted, laying on big stones to prevent the +removal of any portion by the gales; and had cut the winter supply of +fern. He sent in the bill to Mary, and she had taken it to Master, and +Master had put on silver spectacles and golden wisdom and revised the +costs so thoroughly, that Peter had to complain he had not received the +price of the tobacco smoked during the work of restoration. + +Mary still mourned for Old Sal, knowing she would never see "the like o' +he again," while Peter cooked his mommet and cursed Pendoggat. Peter was +a weak little creature, who could only revenge himself by deeds of +witchcraft. He was not muscular like his sister, who would have stood up +to any man on Dartmoor, and made some of them sorry for themselves +before she had done with them. Mary believed in witchcraft, because she +was to a certain extent religious; she had been baptised, for instance, +and that was an act of witchcraft pure and simple, as it was intended to +protect the child from being overlooked by the devil; but, if any man +had insulted her, she would not have made a mommet of him, or driven a +nail into his footprint; she would have taken her stick, "as big as two +spears and a dag," and whacked him well with it. + +The prospect of winter encouraged Peter to turn his mind towards +literary pursuits. There were days of storm and long evenings to be +occupied; and the little savage considered he might fill those hours +with work for which his talents seemed to qualify him, and possibly +bequeath to posterity some abiding monument of his genius. Peter had a +weekly paper and studied it well. He gathered from it that people still +wrote books; apparently every one wrote thern, though only about one in +every hundred was published. Most people had the manuscripts of their +books put away in cupboards, linhays, and old teapots, waiting the +favourable moment to bring them forth and astonish the world. This was +something of a revelation to Peter. Where was his book! Why had he +remained so long a mute inglorious scholar? Possibly the commoners who +met him in daily intercourse had their books completed and stored away +safely in their barns, and he was certainly as learned as any of them. +Peter went off to Master, and opened to him the secret of his mind. + +Master was entirely sympathetic. He gave it as his opinion that any one +could write a book. When the art of forming letters of the alphabet had +been acquired, nothing indeed remained, except pen, ink, and paper; and, +as he reminded Peter, Mother Cobley sold ink at one penny the bottle, +while pen and paper could be obtained from the same source for an +additional twopence. Genius could therefore startle the world at +threepence a head. + +Peter was profoundly interested. He indicated the big tomes, which +Master kept always lying beside him: a copy of the _Arcadia_, a Bible +dictionary, a volume of Shakespeare, and a few books of poetry, most of +them presents from a former rector long deceased, and suggested that +Master was accountable for the lot. The old man beamed through his +spectacles, coughed uneasily, and generally assumed that attitude of +modesty which is said to be one of the most marked traits of literary +men. + +"You can spell turnips," Master reminded. + +"Sure 'nuff," said Peter. "I can spell harder words than he. I can spell +hyacinth, and he'm a proper little brute." + +He proceeded to spell the word, making only three mistakes. Master +advised him to confine himself for the present to more simple language, +and went on to ask what was the style and subject of Peter's proposed +undertaking. + +"I wants yew to tell me," was the answer. + +Master had an idea that genius ought to be inspired from within and not +from without, but he merely answered: "Nothing's no trouble, varmer," +and suggested that Peter should compose a diary. "'Tis what a man does +every day," he explained. "How he gets up, and how he goes to bed, and +how he yets his dinner, and how his belly feels." + +Peter considered that the idea was brilliant. Such an item as how he +drank his beer would certainly prove entertaining, and might very well +be original. + +"Then he ses things about other volk, and about the weather," Master +went on. "He puts down all he can think of, so long as it be decent. +Mun't put down anything that bain't decent 'cause that would shock +volks." + +"Nothing 'bout Varmer Pendoggat and Chegwidden's maid?" the other +suggested, in rather a disappointed voice. + +"Hark ye, Peter," said Master decidedly, "you had best bide quiet about +that. Volks wun't tak' your word against his, and if he purty nigh +murders ye no one wun't try to stop 'en. A man bain't guilty till he be +found out, and Varmer Pendoggat ain't been found out." + +"He can't touch I. Mary wun't let 'en, and I've made a mommet of 'en +tu," said the little man. + +"Made a mommet, ha' ye? Aw, man, that be an awful thing to du. It be +calling in the devil to work for ye, and the devil wun't work wi'out +pay, man. He'll come sure 'nuff, and say to yew: 'I wants your soul, +Peter. I've a bought 'en wi' that mommet what yew made.' I be main cruel +sorry for yew, Peter." + +"It be done now," said Peter gloomily. + +Master wagged his head until his silver spectacles dropped off his nose, +added a little wisdom, then returned to his subject. + +"Yew mun write things what you wun't be ashamed to let folk read. When +'tis a wet day yew ses so, and when it be fine you ses it be butiful. +When yew gets thoughts yew puts 'em all down." + +"What du'ye mean?" asked the aspirant. + +"Why, you think as how it be a proper feeling when you'm good, and yew +ses so. That be a thought." + +"S'pose yew bain't feeling good?" suggested Peter quite naturally. + +"Then yew writes about what it feels like to be bad," explained Master. +"Yew puts it down this sort o' way: 'I feels bad to-day. I don't mean I +feels bad in my body, for that be purty middling, but I feels bad in my +soul. It be a cruel pity, and I hopes as how I wun't feel so bad +to-morrow.' All them be thoughts, Peter; and that be the way books are +written." + +"Thank ye kindly, master. It be proper easy," said Peter. + +"You'm welcome, varmer. Nothing's no trouble." + +Peter bought the articles necessary for fame, and went home. Mary was +forking manure, pausing only to spit on her hands; but she stopped for +another reason when Peter told her he was going to keep a diary. + +"What be yew talking about?" she cried, amazed at such folly. "Us ha' +got one as 'tis. What du us want wi' another?" + +Peter had to explain that the business of his diary had nothing to do +with such base commerce as cream and butter, but consisted in recording +the actions of a blameless life upon a pennyworth of paper for the +instruction and edification of those who should come after them. Mary +grasped her fork, and told him he was mazed. + +Peter was not sure that Mary had spoken falsely when he came to test his +'prentice hand. In theory the art of writing was so simple, and +consisted in nothing more difficult than setting down what he would +otherwise have spoken, adding those gems of thought with which his mind +was occasionally enriched under the ennobling influence of moderate +beer. But nothing appeared upon the sheet of paper except dirt. Even the +simplest art requires practice. Not every man can milk a cow at the +first attempt. After much labour he recorded the statement: "This be a +buke, and when 'tis dun 'twill be a dairy. All volks write bukes, and it +bain't easy till you'm yused to it." There he stopped for the day. As +soon as he left the paper all sorts of ideas crowded into his mind, and +he hurried back to put them down, but directly he took up the pen his +mind was a blank again. The ideas had been swept away like butterflies +on a windy day. Mary called him "a proper old vule," and her thought was +probably quite as good as any that were likely to occur to him. "'Tis +bravish times us lives in. Us mun keep up wi' em," was Peter's answer. + +The next day he tried again, but the difficulties remained. Peter +managed to place on record such imperishable facts as there was snow and +more would come likely, and he had got up later than usual, and he and +Mary were tolerably well, and the fare for the day was turnips and +bacon--he wanted to drag in turnips because he could spell the word, and +he added a note to inform posterity that he had taught Master how to do +so--but nothing came in the way of thoughts, and without them Peter was +persuaded his book could not properly be regarded as belonging to the +best order of literature. At the end of his second day of creation Peter +began to entertain a certain feeling of respect, if not of admiration, +for those who made a living with the pen; but on the third day +inspiration touched his brain, and he became a literary soul. The old +gentleman who shared his house, so called out of courtesy, as it +contained only one room, was making more noise than usual, as if the +cold had got into his chest. The diarist kept looking up to peer at +Grandfather's worn features, wondering what was wrong, and at last the +great idea came to him. "Dalled if Gran'vaither bain't a telling to I," +he exclaimed; and then he got up and went cautiously across the room, +which was the same thing as going from one side of the house to the +other, his boots rustling in the fern which covered the floor. + +"Be'ye alright, Gran'vaither?" he asked, lapping the old fellow's chest +with great respect. He was accustomed to chat with the clock, when +alone, as another man higher in the scale of civilisation might have +talked to his dog. Peter noticed that it was getting dark around him, +although it was still early in the afternoon. + +"I be cruel sick," a voice answered. + +Peter cried out and began to shiver. He stared at the window, the panes +of which were no longer white, but blue. Something was taking place +outside, not a storm, as the moor was unusually silent, and there seemed +to be no wind. Peter tried to collect his thoughts into a form suitable +for publication. He shivered his way to the other side of the room and +wrote laboriously: "Gran'vaither be telling to I. Ses he be cruel sick." +Then he had another attack of shivers. + +"Who was that a telling to I?" he shouted, the noise of his voice making +him bolder. + +"'Twas me," came the answer at once; and Peter gulped like a dying fish, +but managed to put it down in the diary. + +"Who be ye?" he called. + +"Old Gran'vaither." + +Peter stood in the fern, biting his fingers and sweating. He was +trembling too much to write any more. So Grandfather was a living +creature after all. He had always supposed that the clock had a sort of +existence, not the same as his own, but the kind of life owned by the +pixies, and now he was sure of it. + +"Why didn't ye tell to I avore?" he asked reproachfully. + +Grandfather appeared to regard the question as impertinent, as he gave +no answer. + +"Yew was making creepy noises last night. I heard ye," Peter went on, +waxing bold. "Seemed as if yew was trying to crawl out o' your own +belly." + +"I was trying to talk," the clock explained. + +Peter had some more shivers. It seemed natural enough to hear old +Grandfather talking, and he tried to persuade himself it was not the +voice which frightened him, but the queer blue light that seemed to be +filling the hut. He remembered that pixies always go about with blue +lanterns, and he began to believe that the surrounding moor was crowded +with the little people out for a frolic at his expense. Then he thought +he would go for Mary, but remembered she had gone to Lewside Cottage +with dairy produce. That reminded him of the diary. What a wonderful +work he would make of it now! + +"Gran'vaither," he called. + +"Here I be," said the voice. + +"I knows yew be there," said Peter, somewhat sharply. The old gentleman +was not so intellectual as he could have wished. "I wants to know how +yew be telling to I?" + +"Same as yew," said Grandfather. + +"Yew ain't got no tongue." + +"I've got a pendulum," said the clock, with a malevolent sort of titter. + +"Yew'm sick?" asked Peter. + +"I be that. 'Tis your doing," came the answer. + +"I've looked after ye fine, Gran'vaither," said Peter crossly. + +"'Tis that there thing on the hearthstone makes me sick," said the +voice. + +"That be a mommet," said Peter. + +"I know 'tis. A mommet of Farmer Pendoggat." + +"What du'ye know 'bout Varmer Pendoggat?" asked Peter suspiciously. + +"Heard you talk about 'en," Grandfather answered. "Don't ye play wi' +witchery, Peter. Smash the mommet up, and throw 'en away." The voice was +talking quickly and becoming hoarser. "Undo what you've done if you can, +and whatever you du don't ye put 'en in the fire again. If ye du I'll be +telling to ye all night and will scare ye proper. I wun't give ye any +sleep, Peter." + +"You'm an old vule, Gran'vaither," said Peter. + +"I'll get the pixies to fetch ye a crock o' gold if you leaves off +witching Pendoggat. I'll mak' 'em fetch ye sovereigns, brave golden +sovereigns, Peter." + +"Where will 'em put the gold?" cried Peter with the utmost greediness. + +"Bottom o' the well. Let the bucket down to-night, and when you pulls +'en up in the morning the gold will be in the bucket. If it ain't there +to-night, look the night after. But it wun't be no good looking, Peter, +if you ain't done what I told ye, and you mun put the broken bits o' +mommet by the well, so as the pixies can see 'em." + +"I'll du it," chuckled Peter. + +"Swear you'll do it?" + +"Sure 'nuff I'll du it. You'm a brave old Gran'vaither if yew can fetch +a crock o' gold into the well." + +"Good-bye, Peter. I wun't be telling to you again just yet." + +"Good-bye, Gran'vaither. You'm welcome. I hopes you'll soon be better." + +The voice did not come again, and Peter was left in the strange light +and eerie silence to recover, which he did slowly, with a feeling that +he had undergone a queer dream. It was not long before he was telling +himself he had imagined it all. Superstitious little savage as he was, +he could hardly believe that Grandfather had been chatting with him as +one man might have talked to another. As he went on thinking suspicious +features presented themselves to his mind. Grandfather's language had +not always been correct. He had not talked like a true Gubbings, but +more as a man of better education trying to bring himself down to his +listener's mode of speech. Then what interest could he feel in Pendoggat +that he should plead for the destruction of the mommet? + +Peter addressed a number of questions to Grandfather upon these +subjects, but the old clock had not another word to say. That was +another suspicious feature; why should the clock be unable to talk then +when it had chatted so freely a few minutes before? Peter rubbed his +eyes, declared he was mazed, lighted his lamp, and scribbled the +wonderful story in his diary until Mary came back. + +"Peter," she called at once. "Aw, man, come and look! Us be going to +judgment." + +Peter rose, overflowing with mysticism, but he too gasped when he got +outside and saw the moor and sky. Indigo-tinted clouds were rolling +slowly down Tavy Cleave, there was apparently no sky, and through rents +in the clouds they could see blocks of granite and patches of black moor +hanging as it were in space. In the direction of Ger Tor was a column of +dark mist rising from the river. On each side of this column the outlook +was clear for a little way before the clouds again blotted out +everything. Those clouds in front were beneath their feet, and they +could hear the roaring of the invisible river still further down. +Overhead there was nothing except a dense blue mist from which the +curious light, like the glow of pixy lanterns, seemed to be reflected. + +"I ha' never seen the like," said frightened Mary. "None o' the volks +ha' ever seen the like on't. Some of 'em be praying down under, and +wanting chapel opened. Old Betty Middleweek be scared so proper that +her's paying money what her owes. They ses it be judgment coming. There +be volks to the village a sotting wi' fingers in their ear-holes so as +they wun't hear trumpets. What shall us du if it be judgment, Peter?" + +"Us mun bide quiet, and go along wi' the rest. If 'tis judgment us wun't +have no burying expenses," said Peter. + +"I'd ha' gone in and asked Master if 'twas judgment, if I hadn't been so +mazed like. He'd ha' knowed. A brave cruel larned man be Master. What +happens to we if they blows on the trumpets?" + +"Us goes up to heaven in a whirlpool and has an awful doom," said Peter +hazily. + +"Us mun go up wi' vull bellies," said practical Mary, marching off to +blow at the fire. + +Peter followed, walking delicately, hoping that witchcraft would come to +an end so soon as he had procured the crock of gold. Inside the hut, +surrounded with comforting lamplight, he told his sister all about +Grandfather's loquacity. Mary was so astounded that she dropped a piece +of peat into the pot and placed a turnip on the fire. "Aw, Peter! Telled +to ye same as Master might?" she gasped. + +"Ah, told I to break the mommet and he'd give I gold." + +Mary sat down, as she could think better that way. She had always +regarded Grandfather as a sentient member of the family, but in her +wildest moments had never supposed he would arouse himself to preach +morality in their own tongue. Things were coming to a pretty pass when +clocks began to talk. She would have her geese lecturing her next. She +did not want any more men about the place, as one Peter was quite +enough. If Grandfather had learnt to talk he would probably proceed to +walk; and then he would be like any other man, and go to the village +with her brother, and return in the same condition, and be pestering her +continually for money. The renaissance of Grandfather was regarded by +Mary as a particularly bad sign; and for that reason she decided that it +was impossible and Peter had been dreaming. + +"You'm a liar," he answered in the vulgar tongue. "'Tis down in my +buke." + +This was sufficient evidence, and Mary could only wag her head at it. +She had a reverence for things that were written in books. + +"Be yew going to break the mommet?" she asked; and Peter replied that it +was his intention to make yet another clay doll, break it into +fragments, and commit the original doll, which was the only one capable +of working evil, to the fire as before. Thus he would earn the crock of +gold, and obtain vengeance upon Pendoggat also. Pixies were simple folk, +who could easily be hoodwinked by astute human beings; and he ventured +to propose that the mommet should be baked upon Mary's hearthstone in +future, so that Grandfather would see nothing of the operation which had +made him sick. + +Mary remained an agnostic. She could understand Grandfather when he +played impish pranks upon them, but when it came to bold brazen speech +she could not believe. Peter had been asleep and imagined it all. They +argued the matter until they nearly quarrelled, and then Mary said she +was going to look about her brother's residence to try and find out +whether any one had been playing a joke upon him. They went outside, and +were relieved to discover that a change had taken place in the weather. +Evidently judgment was not imminent, Betty Middleweek could cease paying +her debts, and the chapel could be closed again. The blue light had +faded, the clouds were higher, and had turned to ghostly grey. + +"Aw, Peter, 'tis nought but snow," said Mary cheerfully. + +"Snow never made Gran'vaither talk avore," Peter reminded her. + +Mary looked about her brother's little hut without seeing anything +unusual. Then she strode around the walls thereof, and her sharp eyes +soon perceived a branch of dry furze lying about a yard away from the +side of the cot. She asked Peter if he had dropped it there, and he +replied that it might have been there for days. "Wind would ha' took it +away," said Mary. "There was wind in the night, but ain't been none +since. That's been broke off from the linny." + +At the end of the hut was a small shed, its sides made of old +packing-cases, its roof and door composed of gorse twisted into hurdles. +The back wall of the cot, a contrivance of stones plastered together +with clay, was also the end wall of the linhay. Mary went into the +linhay, which was used by Peter as a place for storing peat. She soon +made a discovery, and called for the lantern. When it was brought she +pulled out a loose stone about the centre of the wall, and holding the +lantern close to the hole saw at once a black board which looked like +panelling, but was the back of the clock-case. Grandfather stood against +that wall; and in the middle of the plank was a hole which had been +bored recently. + +"Go'ye into the hut and ask Gran'vaither how he be," called Mary. + +Peter toddled off, got before the old clock, and inquired with +solicitude: "How be 'ye, Gran'vaither?" + +"Fine, and how be yew?" came the answer. + +"Ah," muttered Peter. "That be the way my old Gran'vaither ought to +tell." + +After that they soon stumbled upon the truth. It had been whispered +about the place that Peter was dabbling in witchcraft for Pendoggat's +detriment; and Annie Crocker had heard the whisper. To inform her master +was an act of ordinary enjoyment. He had sworn at her, professed +contempt for Peter and all his dolls, stated his intention of destroying +them, or at least of obtaining the legal benefit conferred by certain +ancient Acts of Parliament dealing with witches; but in his heart he was +horribly afraid. He spent hours watching the huts, and when he saw the +inhabitants move away he would go near, hoping to steal the clay doll +and destroy it; but Peter's door was always locked. At last he hit upon +the plan of frightening the superstitious little man by addressing him +through the medium of the clock. He thought he had succeeded. Perhaps he +would have done so had Mary's keen eyes not detected the scrap of gorse +which his departure had snapped from one of the hurdles which made the +door of the linhay. Pendoggat might be a strong man physically, able to +bully the weak, or bring a horse to its knees, but his mind was made of +rotten stuff, and it is the strong mind rather than the stalwart body +which saves a man when "Ephraim's Pinch" comes. Pendoggat's knees became +wobbly whenever he thought of Peter and his clay doll. + +When the blue mist had cleared off, snow began to fall in a business-like +way, and before the last light had been extinguished in the twin +villages the moor was buried. Peter thought he would watch beside the +well during the early part of the night, to see the little people +dragging up his crock of gold, for he had not altogether abandoned the +idea that it had been witchcraft and not Pendoggat which had conferred +upon Grandfather the gift of a tongue, but the snow made his plan +impossible. He and Mary sat together and talked in a subdued fashion. +Peter knitted a pair of stockings for his sister, while Mary mended her +brother's boots and hammered snow-nails into the soles. A new mommet had +been made, broken up, and its fragments were placed beside the well, +while the original doll baked resignedly upon Mary's hearthstone. +Pendoggat or pixies the savages were a match for either. It remained +calm upon the moor, but the snow continued most of the night with a +slight southerly drift, falling in the dense masses which people who +live upon mountains have to put up with. + +In the morning all was white and dazzling; the big tors had nearly +doubled in size, and the sides of Tavy Cleave were bulging as though +pregnant with little Tavy Cleaves. It was a glorious day, one of those +days when the ordinary healthy person wants to stand on his head or skip +about like a young unicorn. The sun was out, the sky was as blue as a +baby's eyes, and the clouds were like puffs of cigarette smoke. Peter +embraced himself, recorded in his work of creation that it was all very +good, then floundered outside and made for the well. He shovelled a foot +of snow from the cover, wound up the bucket, caught a glimpse of yellow +water, and then of something golden, more precious than water, air, or +sunshine, brave yellow pieces of gold, five in number, worth +one-hundred-and-twenty pints of beer apiece. They were lying at the +bottom of the bucket like a beautiful dream. Peter had come into a +fortune; his teeth informed him that the coins were genuine, his tongue +sent the glad tidings to Mary, his mind indulged in potent flights of +travel and dissipation. He had inherited twelve hundred pints of beer. + +"Aw, Peter," Mary was calling. "There ha' been witches abroad to-night." + +"They'm welcome," cried Peter. + +"Look ye here," Mary went on in a frightened voice. "Look ye here, will +ye? Here be a whist sight, I reckon." + +Mary was standing near the edge of the cleave, knee-deep in snow, +looking down. When Peter floundered up to her side she said nothing, but +pointed at the snow in front. Peter's hilarious countenance was changed, +and the five sovereigns in his hand became like so many pieces of ice. +The snow ahead was marked with footprints, not those of an animal, not +those of a man. The marks were those of a biped, cloven like a cow's +hoof but much larger, and they travelled in a perfectly straight line +across the moor, and behind them the snow was ruffled occasionally as by +a tail. Peter began to blubber like a frightened child. + +"'Tis him," he muttered. + +"Aw ees, 'tis him," said Mary, "Us shouldn't meddle wi' mommets and +such. 'Tis sure to bring 'en." + +"He must ha' come up over from Widdecombe in the snow," gasped Peter. + +"Going beyond?" asked Mary, with a motion of her head. + +"Ees," muttered Peter. "Us will see which way he took." + +"T'row the gold away, Peter. T'row 'en away," pleaded Mary. + +"I wun't," howled Peter. He wouldn't have parted with his six hundred +pints of beer for ten thousand devils. + +They floundered on beside the weird hoof-prints, never doubting who had +caused them. It was not the first visit that the devil, who, as Peter +had rightly observed, has his terrestrial country house at Widdecombe, +had paid to those parts. His last recorded visit had been to Topsham and +its neighbourhood half-a-century before, when he had frightened the +people so exceedingly that they dared not venture out of their houses +even in daylight. That affair had excited the curiosity of the whole +country, and although some of the wisest men of the time tried to find a +satisfactory solution of the problem they only ended by increasing the +mystery. The attractions of the west country have always proved +irresistible to his Satanic Majesty. From his country home at +Widdecombe-on-the-Moor he had sallied out repeatedly to fight men with +their own carnal weapons. He tried to hinder Francis Drake from building +his house with the stones of Buckland Abbey, and nobody at that time +wondered why he had taken the Abbey under his special protection, though +people have wondered since. It was the devil who, disguised as a simple +moorman, invited the ambitious parson and his clerk to supper, and then +led them into the sea off Dawlish. There can be no doubt about the truth +of that story, because the parson and clerk rocks are still to be seen +by any one. It was on Heathfield, near the Tavy, that the old +market-woman hid the hare that the devil was hunting in her basket, and +declared to the gentleman with the tail she had never seen the creature. +It was the devil who spoilt the miraculous qualities of St. Ludgvan's +well by very rudely spitting in the water; who jumped into the Lynher +with Parson Dando and his dogs; and it was the devil who was subdued +temporarily by Parson Flavel of Mullion; who was dismissed, again +temporarily, to the Red Sea by Parson Dodge of Talland because he would +insist upon pulling down the walls of the church as fast as they were +built; and who was routed from the house that he had built for his +friend the local cobbler in Lamorna Cove by famous Parson Corker of +Bosava. Mary and Peter knew these stories and plenty of others. They +didn't know that a canon authorising exorcism of the devil is still a +part of the law of the established Church, and that most people, however +highly educated, are little less superstitious than themselves. + +The hoof-prints went towards the village, regardless of obstacles. They +approached walls, and appeared again upon the other side without +disturbing the fresh snow between, a feat which argued either marvellous +jumping powers or the possession of wings. Peter and Mary followed them +in great fear, until they saw two men ahead engaged in the same +occupation, one of them making merry, the other of a sad countenance, +the merry man suggesting that a donkey had been that way, the other +declaring it was the devil. "Donkeys ain't got split hoofs," he stated; +while his companion indicated a spot where the snow was much ruffled and +said cheerfully: "'Tis where he swindged his tail." + +Nearer the village the white moor was dotted with black figures, all +intent upon the weird markings, none doubting who had caused them. The +visitant had not passed along the street, but had prowled his way across +back gardens, taking hedges and even cottages in his stride. Peter and +Mary went on, left the majority of villagers, who were lamenting +together as if the visitation was not altogether disagreeable to them, +and found themselves presently near Lewside Cottage. Boodles was walking +in the snow, hatless, her hands clasped together, her face white and +frightened, taking no notice of the hoof-prints which went through the +garden, but wandering as if she was trying to find her way somewhere, +and had lost herself, and was wondering if she would find any one who +would put her on the right road. + +"She'm mazed," said Peter. "Mebbe her saw him go through." + +"Aw, my dear, what be ye doing?" called Mary. "Nought on your feet, and +your stockings vull o' snow. He never come for yew, my dear. He'm a +gentleman, and wun't harm a purty maid. Be'ye mazed, my dear?" + +"Mary," murmured the child very softly, raising both hands to her +radiant head. "Come with me. I'm frightened." + +"Us wun't let 'en touch ye," cried Mary valiantly. "I'll tak' my gurt +stick to 'en if he tries." + +Boodles caught her big hand and held it tightly. She had not even +noticed the footprints. She did not know why all the villagers were out, +or what they were doing on the moor. + +"He won't wake," she said. "I have never known him sleep like this. I +called him, and he does not answer. I shook him, and he would not +move--and his eggs are hard-boiled by this time." + +"Bide here, Peter," said Mary shortly. + +Then the big strong hermaphrodite put a brawny arm about the soft +shivering little maid, and led her inside the cottage, and up the +stairs--how mournful they were, and how they creaked!--and into the +quiet little bedroom, with the snow sliding down the window-panes, and +the white light glaring upon the bed, where Abel Cain Weevil was lying +upon his back, and yet not his back, but its back, for the old man was +so very tired that he went on sleeping, though his eggs were hard-boiled +and his little girl was terrified. The Brute had passed over in the +night, not a very cruel Brute perhaps, and had placed his hand on the +old man's mouth and stopped his breathing; and the poor old liar liked +it so well he thought he wouldn't wake up again, but would go on +sleeping for a long time, so that he would forget the rabbit-traps, and +his petitions which nobody would sign, and his letters which had done no +good. He had forgotten everything just then, but not Boodles, surely not +his little maid, who was sobbing in Mary's savage and tender arms. He +could not have forgotten the radiant little girl, and he would go on +lying for her in his sleep if necessary, although he had been selfish +enough to go away in such a hurry, and leave her--to the lonely life. + + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +ABOUT WINTER IN REAL LIFE + + +Old moormen said it was one of the worst winters they could remember, +not on account of the cold, but because of the gales and persistent +snow. The first fall soon melted, but not entirely; a big splash of +white remained on Ger Tor until a second fall came; and when that melted +the splash remained, asking for more, and in due time receiving it. +People found it hard to get about; some parts of the moor were +inaccessible; and the roads were deep in slush when they were not heaped +with drifts. It was a bad winter for men and animals; and it made many +of the old folk so disgusted with life that they took the opportunity +offered them by severe colds to get rid of it altogether. + +The villages above the Tavy appeared to be deserted during that dreary +time. It was a wonder how people hid themselves, for the street was +empty day after day, and a real human being crossing from one side to +the other was a sight to bring faces to the windows. One face was often +at a certain window, a frightened little white face, which had forgotten +how to laugh even when some old woman slipped up in the slush, and its +eyes would look first on one side, then on the other, generally without +seeing anything except the bare moor, which was sometimes black, and +sometimes white, and always dreary. Boodles was alone in Lewside +Cottage, her only companions the mice which she hated, and the eternal +winds which made her shiver and had plucked the roses from her cheeks +until hardly a pink petal remained. Boodles was feeling as much alone +without old Weevil as Brightly was feeling without Ju. Sometimes she +thought she might soon have to go out and tramp a portion of the world +like him, and claim her share of open air and space, which was all the +inheritance to which she was entitled. + +To lead a lonely life on Dartmoor is unwholesome at any age; and when +one is eighteen and a girl it is a punishment altogether too severe. +Boodles had got through the first days fairly well because she was +stunned, but when she began to wake up and comprehend how she was placed +the horror bred of loneliness and wild winds took hold upon her. The +first evil symptom was restlessness. She wandered about the cottage, not +doing anything, but feeling she must keep on the move to prevent herself +from screaming. She began to talk to herself, softly during the day as +if she was rather afraid some one might be listening, and towards +evening loudly, partly to assure herself she was safe, partly to drown +the tempestuous noises of the wind. Then she fell into the trick of +shuddering, of casting quick glances behind, and sometimes she would run +into a corner and hide her face, because there were queer shadows in the +room, and strange sounds upon the stairs, and the doors shook so, and +she seemed to hear a familiar shuffling and a tender voice murmuring: +"Boodle-oodle," and she would cover up all the mirrors, dreadfully +afraid of seeing a comic old face in them. Sometimes when the wind was +roaring its loudest over the moor she would rush up to her bedroom, lock +the door, and scream. These were foolish actions, but then she was only +eighteen. + +It was getting on towards Christmas, and at last there was another +moonlit night, full of wind and motion; and soon after Boodles had gone +to bed she heard other sounds which frightened her so much she could not +scream. She crept out of bed, got to the window, and looked out. A man +was trying the door, and when he found it secure he went to the windows. +The moonlight fell upon Pendoggat's head and shoulders. Boodles did not +know of a rumour suggesting that old Weevil had been a miser, and had +saved up a lot of money which was hidden in the cottage, but Pendoggat +had heard it. She got back to her bed and fainted with terror, but the +man failed to get in. The next day she went to see Mary, and told her +what had happened. Mary spat on her hands, which was one of her +primitive ways when she felt a desire to chastise any one, and picked up +her big stick, "I'll break every bone in his body," she shouted. + +Boodles comprehended what a friend and champion she had in this +creature, who had much of a woman's tenderness, and all of a man's +strength. To some it might have appeared ridiculous to hear Mary's +threats, but it was not so. She was fully as strong as Pendoggat, and +there was no cowardice in her. + +"Aw, my dear," she went on, "yew bain't the little maid what used to +come up for eggs and butter. Yew would come up over wi' red cheeks and +laughing cruel, and saying to I: 'One egg for luck, Mary,' and I'd give +it ye, my dear. If you'd asked I for two or dree I'd ha' given 'em. +You'm a white little maid, and as thin getting as thikky stick. Don't ye +ha' the decline, my dear. Aw now, don't ye. What will the butiful young +gentleman say when he sees you white and thin getting?" + +"Don't, Mary," cried Boodles, almost passionately; for she dared not +think of Aubrey as a lover. Their love-days had become so impossible and +unreal. She had written to him, but had said nothing of Weevil's death, +afraid he might think she was appealing to him for help; neither had she +signed herself Titania Lascelles, nor told him of her aristocratic +relations. The story had appeared unreal somehow the morning after, and +the old man's manner and audible whispers had aroused her suspicions. +She thought it would be best to wait a little before telling Aubrey. + +"What be yew going to du?" asked Mary, busy as ever, punching the dough +in her bread-pan. + +"I am going to try and hang on till spring, and then see if I can't make +a living by taking in boarders," said the child seriously. "Mr. Weevil +left a little money, and I have a tiny bit saved up. There will be just +enough to pay rent, and keep me, if I am very careful." + +"Butter and eggs and such ain't going to cost yew nought," said Mary +cheerily, though Peter would have groaned to hear her. + +"Oh, thank you, dear old Mary," said Boodles, her eyes glistening; while +the bread-maker went at the dough as if she hated it. "I shall do +splendidly," Boodles went on. "I have seen the landlord, and he will let +me stay on. Directly the fine weather comes I shall put a card in the +window, and I expect I shall get heaps of lodgers. I can cook quite +well, and I'm a good manager. I ought to be able to make enough one half +of the year to keep me the other half. Of course I shall only take +ladies." + +"Aw ees, don't ye tak' men, my dear. They'm all alike, and you'm a main +cruel purty maid, though yew ha' got white and thin. If that young +gentleman wi' the butiful face don't come and tak' ye, dalled if I wun't +be after 'en wi' my gurt stick," cried Mary, pummelling the dough again. + +"I asked you not to mention him," said Boodles miserably. + +"I bain't to talk about 'en," cried Mary scornfully. "And yew bain't to +think about 'en, I reckon. Aw, my dear, I've a gotten the heart of a +woman, and I knows fine what yew thinks about all day, and half the +night, though I mun't talk about it. I knows how yew puts out your arms +and cries for 'en. Yew don't want a gurt big house like rectory, and yew +don't want servants and railway travelling, but yew wants he, yew wants +to hold on to 'en, and know he'm yourn, and shut your purty eyes and +feel yew bain't lonesome--" + +"Oh, Mary!" the child broke in, with something like a scream. + +Mary left her pan and came and whitened the little girl's head with her +doughy fingers, lending the bright hair a premature greyness. + +"It's the loneliness," cried Boodles. "I thought it would not be so bad +when I got used to it, but it's worse every day. I have to run on the +moor, and make believe there is some one waiting for me when I get home. +It's dreadful to feel the solitude when I go in, to find things just as +I left them, to hear nothing except mice nibbling under the stairs; and +then I have to go and turn on my windy organ, and try and believe I am +amusing myself." + +"Aw, my dear, yew mustn't talk to I so larned like. You'm as larned as +Master," complained Mary. + +"I'll tell you about my windy organ," Boodles went on, trying to force a +little sunshine through what threatened to be steady rain. "With the +wind, doors, and windows, I can play all sorts of marches. With my +bedroom window open, and the door shut, the wind plays sad music, a +funeral march; but when I shut my window, and open the one in the next +room, it is loud and lively, like a military march. If I open the +sitting-room window, and the one in the passage up-stairs, and shut all +the doors, it is splendid, Mary, a coronation march. I hear the +procession sweeping up-stairs, and the clapping of hands, and the crowd +going to and fro, murmuring ah-ah-ah. But the best of all is when I open +what was old daddy's bedroom window, and sit in my own room with the +door shut, for the wind plays a wedding-march then, and I can make it +loud or soft by opening and shutting my window. That is the march I play +every evening till I get the shivers." + +"She'm dafty getting," muttered Mary, understanding nothing of the +musical principle of the little girl's amusement. "Don't ye du it, my +dear," she went on. "'Twill just be making you mazed, and us will find +ye jumping at the walls like a bumbledor on a window." + +"I'll try and keep sensible, but there is Christmas, and January, and +February. Oh, Mary, I shall never do it," cried Boodles. "I shall be mad +before March, which is the proper time for madness." + +"Get another maid to come and bide wi' ye," Mary suggested. + +"How can I?" + +"Mebbe some old dame, who wants a home--" began Mary. + +"She would be an expense, and she might get drunk, rob me, beat me, +perhaps." + +"Her wouldn't," declared Mary, with a glance at her big stick. + +"I must go on being alone and making believe," said Boodles. + +"Won't the butiful young gentleman come and live wi' ye?" said poor +Mary, quite thinking she had found a splendid way out of the difficulty. + +"Silly old thing," sighed Boodles, actually smiling. Then she rose to +go, and Mary tramped heavily to her dairy. "Tak' eggs and butter wi' +ye," she called. "Aw, my dear, yew mun't starve, or you'll get decline. +'Tis cruel to go abroad on an empty stomach." + +"I'm not a snake," said Boodles; and at that moment Peter appeared in +search of thoughts, heard the conversation, agreed that it was indeed +cruel to go abroad on an empty stomach, and went to record the statement +in his diary, adding for the sake of a light touch the observation of +Boodles that she was not a snake, though Peter could not see the joke. + +Mary was a busy creature, but she found time that evening to stalk +across the moor and down to Helmen Barton, where she banged at the door +like the good champion Ethelred, hero of the Mad Trist, until the noise +of her stick upon the door "alarummed and reverberated" throughout the +hollow. When Annie appeared she was bidden to inform her master that if +he ventured again near Lewside Cottage, or dared to frighten "my little +maid," she, Mary, would come again with the stick in her hands, and use +his body as she had just used his door. When Mary had spoken she turned +to go, but the friendless woman called her, feeling perhaps that she too +needed a champion, and Mary turned back. + +"Come inside," said Annie in a strange voice, and Mary went, with the +statement that she could not remain as the cows were waiting to be +milked. + +"Been to Lewside Cottage, has he? He'm crazed for money. He'd rob the +little maid of her last penny, and pray for her whiles he was doing it," +said Annie bitterly. + +Mary said nothing, but her anger rose, and she spat noisily upon her +hands to get a good grip of the stick. + +"I've been wi' 'en twenty years, and don't know 'en yet I thought once +he was a man, but I know he bain't. If yew was to shake your fingers at +'en he'd run." + +"Yew ha' been drinking, woman," said Mary. + +"Ah, I've had a drop. There's nought else to live vor. Twenty years, +Mary Tavy, he've had me body and soul, twenty years I've been a slave to +'en, and now he've done wi' me." + +"What's that, woman?" cried Mary, lifting her long stick, and poking at +Annie's left hand and the gold ring worn upon it. + +"That!" cried Annie furiously. "It be a dirty thing, what any man can +buy, and any vule of a woman will wear. Ask 'en what it cost, Mary Tavy. +A few shilluns, I reckon, the price of a joint o' meat, the price of a +pair o' boots. And it ha' bought me for twenty years." + +"You'm drunk, woman." + +"Ah, purty fine. Wimmin du main dafty things when they'm drunk. Your +brother ha' made a mommet of 'en, and like a vule he went and broke it +for a bit o' dirty money." + +"It bain't broke," said Mary. "Peter made a new mommet, and broke that." + +"Glory be to God," cried Annie wildly, plucking out some grey hairs that +were falling upon her eyes. "I'll tell 'en. 'Twill work, Mary Tavy. The +devil who passed over last month will see to it. He never passed the +Barton. He didn't want his own. I never knowed a mommet fail when 'twas +made right." + +"Du'ye say he bain't your husband?" Mary muttered, looking at the grey +hairs in the woman's hand. + +"See beyond!" screamed Annie, losing all self-control, pulling Mary to +the kitchen window, pointing out. It was a dark cold kitchen, built of +granite, with concrete floor. There was nothing to be seen but the big +brake of furze, black and tangled, swaying slightly. It was a mighty +brake, twenty years untouched, and there were no flowers upon it. The +interior was a choked mass of dead growth. + +"Why don't ye burn 'en, woman?" + +"Ask 'en. It ain't going to be burnt yet--not yet, Mary Tavy." Annie's +voice had fallen to a hoarse whisper. She was half-drunk and half-mad. +Those twenty years were like twenty mountains piled upon her. "Look at +my white hairs, Mary Tavy. I'm getting a bit old like, and I'm for the +poorhouse, my dear. Annie Crocker, spinster--that's me. Twenty years +I've watched that vuzz before this window rocking to and fro, like a +cradle, my dear, rocking 'em to sleep. Yew know what 'tis to live wi' a +man. You'm a fool to first, and a vule always I reckon, but such a vule +to first that yew don't know' how to stop 'em coming. Yew think of love, +Mary Tavy, and you don't care--and there 'em be, my dear, two of 'em, in +the middle o' the vuzz." + +"Did'st du it?" muttered Mary, standing like a wooden image. + +"Me! I was young then, and I loved 'em. He took 'em from me when I was +weak and mazed. I had to go through it here alone, twice my dear, alone +wi' him, and he said they was dead, but I heard 'em cry, twice, my dear, +only I was that weak I couldn't move. 'Twas winter both times, and I lay +up over, and heard 'en walking on the stones of the court, and heard 'en +let the bucket down, and heard 'en dra' it up--and then I heard 'en +cursing o' the vuzz 'cause it pricked 'en, and his hands and face was +bloody wi' scratches when he come up. I mind it all, though I was +mazed--and I loved 'em, my dear." + +"Preaches in chapel tu," said Mary, a sense of inconsistency occurring +to her. "You'm a vule, woman, to tell to me like this." + +"I've ha' bitten my tongue for twenty years, and I'd ha' bitten it +another twenty if he'd used me right. Didn't your brother find 'en wi' +Chegwidden's maid? Don't I know he's been wi' she for months, and used +she as he've used me? Don't I know he wants to have she here, and turn +me out--and spend the price of a pair o' boots on a ring same as this, +and buy she wi' that for twenty years?" + +Mary turned away. It was already dark, the cows were not milked, and +would be lowing for her to ease their udders. Annie was beside herself. +The barrier of restraint had fallen, and the pent-up feelings of a +generation roared out, like the Tavy with its melted snow, sweeping away +everything which was not founded upon a rock. + +"Burn it down, woman," said Mary as she went. + +"Not till the mommet ha' done its work," screamed Annie. Then she +lighted the lantern, and went to the linhay for more cider. + +When lonely little Boodles got home she saw at once that the cottage had +been entered. The sitting-room window had been forced open, and its +catch was broken; but Pendoggat had got nothing for his pains. She had +hidden the money-box so cunningly that he had failed to find it; and she +was glad then that she had seen him prowling about the cottage the night +before. She got some screws and made the window fast. Then she cried and +had her supper. After that she went to her bed and sobbed again until +her head ached, and then she sat up and scolded herself severely; and as +the wind was blowing nicely she turned on the wedding march, and while +listening to it prattled to herself-- + +"You mustn't break down, Boodles. It is much too early to do that, for +things have not begun to go really badly for you yet. There's enough +money to keep things going till summer, if you do without any new +clothes, and by the way you mustn't walk too much or you'll wear your +boots out, and next summer you will have a nice lot of old maids here +for their health, and make plenty of money out of them for your health. +I know you are only crying because it is so lonely, but still you +mustn't do it, for it makes you thin and white. You had better go and +study the cookery-book, and think of all the nice things you will make +for the old maids when you have caught them." + +Boodles never allowed herself to speak upon the subject which was always +in her mind, and she tried to persuade herself she was not thinking of +Aubrey and Weevil's wild story, although she did nothing else. While she +was talking of her prospects she was thinking of Aubrey, though she +would not admit it. She had tried once to put six puppies into a small +cupboard, but as often as she opened the door to put another puppy in +those already inside tumbled out. That was exactly the state her mind +was in. When she opened it to think of her prospects, Aubrey, Weevil's +story, and her unhappy origin, fell out sprawling at once, and were all +over the place before she could catch them again; and when she had +caught them she couldn't shut them up. + +It was absolutely necessary to find something to do, as regulating the +volume and sound of the wind by opening or shutting various windows and +doors, and turning on what sounded to her like marriage or martial +marches, was an unwholesome as well as a monotonous amusement. The child +roamed about the cottage with a lamp in her hand, trying to get away +from something which was not following. She could not sit down to sew, +for her eyes were aching, and she kept starting and pricking her finger. +She wandered at last with an idea into what had been Weevil's bedroom. +There was an old writing-table there, and she had lately discovered a +key with a label attached informing her that it would open the drawers +of that table. Boodles locked herself in, lighted two lamps, which was +an act of extravagance, but she felt protected somehow by a strong +light, and began to dig up the dust and ashes of the old man's early +life. + +Many people have literary stuff they are ashamed of hiding away under +lock and key, which they do not want, and yet do not destroy. Every one +has a secret drawer in which incriminating rubbish is preserved, +although it may be of an entirely innocent character. They are always +going to make a clean sweep, but go on putting it off until death can +wait no longer; and sorrowing relations open the drawer, glance at its +contents, and mutter hurriedly: "Burn it, and say nothing." To know the +real man it is only necessary to turn out his secret drawer when he is +dead. + +There was not much stored away in the old writing-table. Apparently +Weevil had destroyed all that was recent, and kept much that was old. +There was sufficient to show Boodles the truth; that the old man had +always been Weevil, that his story to her had been a series of lame +lies, that his origin had been a humble one. There were letters from +friends of his youth, queer missives suggesting jaunts to the Welsh +Harp, Hampstead, or Rosherville, and signed: "your old pal, George," or +"yours to the mustard-pot. Art." They were humorous letters, written in +slang, and they amused Boodles; but after reading them she could not +suppose that Weevil had been ever what one would call a gentleman. A +mass of such stuff she put aside for the kitchen fire; and then she came +upon another bundle, tightly fastened with string, which she cut, and +drawing a letter from the packet she opened it and read-- + + * * * * * + "My own Dearest. + + + I was so very glad to get your letter and I know you are looking + forward to have one from me but I am so sorry Dearest you have had + such a bad cold. My Dear I hope to sit on your knees and have my + arm around your neck some day. I do love you you are my only + sweetheart now and I hope I am only yours. Many thanks for sending + me your photo which I should be very sorry to part with it. It + makes me feel delighted as I am looking forward to be in your Dear + arms some day. I am waiting for the time to pass so we shall be + together for ever. I sit by the fire cold nights and have my + thoughts in you my Dearest. I knit lace when I have no sewing to + do. It was very miserable last Sunday but I went to church in the + evening but I much rather would like to have been with you. I wish + I could reach you to give you a nice kiss. I am always dreaming + about you my Love and it is such miserable weather now I will stop + in haste with my best love and kisses to my Dear Boy from your + loving and true Minnie." + + * * * * * + +There was a fat bundle of such letters, written by the same illiterate +hand nearly fifty years before, and the foolish old man had kept the +rubbish, which had no doubt a sort of wild-flower fragrance once, and +had left them at his death. Minnie was evidently a servant girl, hardly +Miss Fitzalan of the amazing story, and if the young Weevil of those +days had meant it, and had not been indulging in a little back-stairs +flirtation, his birth was more humble than Boodles had supposed. He must +have meant it, she reasoned, or he would hardly have kept that +sentimental rubbish all his life. + +Another drawer came open, and the child breathed quickly. It was filled +with a parcel of books, and a label upon the topmost one bore the word +"Boodles." The truth was in that secret drawer, there could be no +romancing there, the question of her birth was to be settled once and +for all, she could read it in those books, then go and tell Mr. Bellamie +who she was. The girl's sad eyes softened when she perceived that the +heap of diaries was well thumbed. She did not know that the old man had +often read himself to sleep with one of them. + +The straw, by which she had been, mentally at least, supporting herself +since Weevil's death, was quickly snatched away. She saw then, what Mr. +Bellamie had seen at once, how that the simple old creature had sought +to secure her happiness with lies. The story of the diaries told her +little more. It was true she was a bastard; that she had been wrapped in +fern, and placed in the porch of the cottage, with a label round her +neck like a parcel from the grocer's; that the old man had known as much +about her parents as she knew herself. "She cannot be a commoner's +child," was written in one of the diaries. "I think she must be the +daughter of some domestic servant and a man of gentle birth. She would +not be what she is had her father been a labourer or a farmer." + +Then followed a list of the girls whom Weevil had suspected; but that +was of no interest to Boodles. The old man had nursed her himself. There +was a little book, _Hints to Mothers_, in the pile, and at the bottom of +the drawer was a scrap of the fern in which she had been wrapped, and +the horrible label which had been round her baby neck. She gazed, +dry-eyed and fascinated, forgetting her loneliness, her sorrow, +forgetting everything except that one overmastering thing, the awful +injury which had been done to her innocent little self. Now that she +knew the truth she would face it. The wind was playing a funeral march +just then. + +"I am an illegitimate child," said Boodles. She stepped before the +glass, uncovered it, screamed because she thought she had seen that +grotesque old face which servant girl Minnie had longed to kiss fifty +years back, recovered herself, and looked. "He said I should be perfect +if I had a name," she muttered. She was getting a fierce little +tiger-cat, and beginning to show her pretty teeth. "Why am I not a +humpback, or diseased in some way, or hideous, if I am an illegitimate +child? I am as good as any girl. People in Tavistock turn to look at me, +and I know they say: 'What a pretty girl!' Am I to say to every one: 'I +am an illegitimate child, and therefore I am as black as the devil +himself?' Why is a girl as black as the devil just because no clergyman +has jabbered some rubbish at her parents? Oh, Boodles, you pretty +love-child, don't stand it," she cried. + +She flung the towel over the glass, turned to the window, and cast it +open to receive the wind. "I am not frightened now. I am wild. Let us +have the coronation march, and let me go by while they shout at me, +'bastard.' What have I done? I know that the sins of the parents are +visited upon the children, but why should the children stand it? Must +they, poor little fools? They must endure disease, but not dishonour. I +am not going to stand it. I would go into God's presence, and clench my +fists, and say I will not stand it. He allowed me to be born. If +matrimony is what people say it is, a sort of sacrament, how is it that +children can be born without it?" + +The wind rushed into the room so violently that she had to shut the +window. The lamp-flames were leaping up the glasses. A different tune +began and made the tortured little girl less fierce. + +"I won't be wild any more," she said; but an idea had entered her brain, +and she gave it expression by murmuring again and again: "Nobody knows, +nobody knows. Only he knew, and he is dead." + +That was true enough. Only Weevil and her mother knew the truth about +her shameful origin. The mother had not been seen that night placing the +bundle of fern in the porch. She could not have been seen, as nobody in +the neighbourhood knew where Boodles really came from, and the fact that +the stories which they had invented about her were entirely false proved +their ignorance. Probably nobody knew that her mother had given birth to +a child. Boodles thought of that as she walked to and fro murmuring, +"Nobody knows." Old Weevil's death might prove to be a blessing in +disguise. + +"I will not stand it," she kept on saying. "I will not bear the +punishment of my father's sin. I will be a liar too--just once, and then +I will be truthful for ever. I will make up my own story, and it won't +be wild like his. I understand it all now. In this funny old world of +sheep-people one follows another, not because the one in front knows +anything, but just because he is in front; and when the leader laughs +the ones behind laugh too, and when the leader says 'how vile,' the ones +behind say 'how vile' too. I suppose we are all sheep-people, and I am +only different because I have black wool, and I am on the wrong side of +the hedge and can't get among the respectable white baa-baas. I won't +harm any of them. I will be wicked once, in self-defence, to get this +black wool off, and then I'll be a very good white respectable +sheep-person ever after. The truth is there," she said, nodding at the +little heap of books, "and the truth is going to be burnt." + +She gathered up the pile and cremated the lot in the kitchen fire. Then +she went to bed with a kind of happiness, because she knew that her +doubts were cleared away, and that her future depended upon her ability +to fight for herself. Her eyes were fully opened by this time because +she had left fairyland and got well out into the lane of real life. She +knew that "sheep-people" like the most excellent Bellamies, neatly bound +and edged in the very best style of respectability, must regard little +bastards as a sort of vermin, which it was only kind to tread upon or +sweep decorously out of the way. "I am only going to wriggle in +self-defence because they are hurting me," she murmured. "If they will +be nice to me I will stop wriggling at once and be good for ever. I +wouldn't make an effort if I was ugly or humpbacked. I would curl up and +die like a horrid spider. But I know I am really a nice girl and a +pretty girl; and if they will only give me the chance I will be a good +girl--wicked once, and then good, so very good. I expect you are much +better than most girls, Boodles, and you mustn't let them call you +beastly names," she said; and went off to sleep in quite a conceited +state of mind. + +In the morning there was a letter from Mr. Bellamie, not for Boodles, +but for the old man who was dead, and the girl opened it, not knowing +who it was from, and learnt a little more of the truth about herself. It +was lucky for old Weevil that he was well out of the way. He would +probably just as soon have been dead as called upon to answer that +letter, though it was kindly enough and delicately expressed and full of +artistic touches. Mr. Bellamie adopted a gentle cynicism which would +have been too subtle for Weevil's comprehension. He slapped him on the +shoulder as it were, chaffing him, reproving him mildly, and saying in +effect: "You old rogue, to think that you could fool me with your +fairy-tales." He professed to regard the matter as a joke, and then +becoming serious, suggested that Weevil would surely see the necessity +of keeping Boodles and Aubrey apart in the future. He didn't believe in +young men, and Aubrey was a mere boy, entangling themselves with an +engagement, and altogether apart from that Boodles, though a pretty and +charming girl, was not the partner that he would wish his son to choose. +Writing still more plainly, if Aubrey insisted upon marrying the girl it +would have to be without his consent. He could not receive Boodles at +his house while the mystery of her birth remained unexplained. There was +a mystery, he knew, as he had made inquiries. He did not credit what he +had been told, but the fact remained that Weevil had increased his +suspicions by withholding what he knew. The whole affair was +unsatisfactory, and the only satisfactory way out of it would be to keep +the young people definitely apart until they had found other interests. +Mr. Bellamie concluded by hoping that Weevil was not being troubled by +the wild weather and tempestuous winds. + +It would have been better for Boodles if she had not opened that letter. +For her it was the end of all things. Hardly knowing what she was doing, +she put on her hat, went out, down to the Tavy, and into the woods. It +was not "our walk," but the place where it had been. The big explosion +had cleared the walk away; and there was nothing except December damps +and mists, sodden ferns, and piles of half-melted snow. The once upon a +time stage was very far away then. It was the end of the story, and +there was no happy ever after, no merry dance of fairies to the tune of +a wedding march, no flowers nor sunshine. All the pleasant things had +gone to sleep, and those things which could not sleep were weeping. +Boodles fastened her arms about the trunk of a tree which she +recognised, and cried upon it; then she lay upon the fern which carried +a few memories and cried upon that; and felt her way to the river and +cried into that. She could not increase the moisture. The whole wood was +dripping and far more tear-productive than herself. The rivers and ferns +could not tell her that it was not the end of the story, but only the +end of a chapter; for she was merely eighteen, and the big desert of +life was beyond with a green oasis here and there. But fairyland was +closed. A big fence of brambles ran all round it, and there was a notice +board erected to the effect that Boodles would be prosecuted for +trespassing if she went inside, though all other children would be +welcome. There was the beech-tree where Aubrey and she had once spent an +afternoon carving two hearts skewered upon an arrow, though the hearts +looked rather like dumplings and the arrow resembled a spade. They had +done their best and made a failure. They had tried to tell a story, and +had muddled it all up just because they had been interrupted so often. +Why couldn't ogres leave them alone so that they could finish the story +properly? + +Boodles got back somehow to her home in the wintry solitude, and wrote +what she thought was a callous little note to Mr. Bellamie. Perhaps it +did not sound so very callous. Short compositions appeal as long ones +seldom do. + + + * * * * * + +"Mr. Weevil is dead, and has been buried some time, and I am quite +alone. I am sorry I opened your letter. Please forgive me. I did not +know who it was from. I am going to try and make a living by letting +lodgings when the fine weather comes, and I shall be very grateful if +Mrs. Bellamie and you will recommend me. I am a good cook, and could +make people comfortable. Perhaps you had better not say I am only +eighteen, as people might not like to trust me. It is very cold up here, +and the wind is dreadful. I hope you and Mrs. Bellamie are quite well. I +promise you I will not write to Aubrey again." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +ABOUT THE PINCH + + +Only well-to-do people, those who have many changes of raiment and can +afford to poke the fire expensively, are happy in the winter. For others +there are various degrees of the pinch; lack of fuel pinch, want of food +pinch, insufficient clothes pinch, or the pinch of desolation and +dreariness. To those who dwell in lonely places winter pays no dividends +in the way of amusement, and increases the expense of living at the rate +of fifty per cent. No wonder they tumble down in adoration when the sun +comes. The smutty god of coal, and the greasy deity of oil are served in +winter; there is the lesser divinity of peat also. Each brings round a +bag and demands a contribution; and those who cannot pay are pinched +remorselessly. + +Mrs. Bellamie sat in her drawing-room, and the fire burnt expensively, +and she spread her fragile feet towards it, without worshipping because +it was too common, and around her were luxuries on the top of luxuries; +and yet she was being pinched. It was not the horrid little note, rather +blurred and blotted, lying upon her lap which was administering the +pinch directly, but the thoughts brought on by that note. Mrs. Bellamie +was opening her secret drawer and turning out the rubbish. She was +thinking of the past which had been almost forgotten until that small +voice had come from Dartmoor. She had only to turn to the window to see +the snow-capped tors. The small voice was crying there and saying: "I am +only eighteen, and I am going to try and make a living by letting +lodgings. I promise you I will not write to Aubrey again." Those words +were so many crabs, pinching horribly; and at the bottom of the secret +drawer was a story, not written, because the drawer was the lady's mind, +and the story was about a little girl whose father had fallen on evil +days; a very respectable father, and a proud gentleman who would not +confess to his friends that his position had become desperate, but his +family knew all about it for they had to be hungry, and a very hard +winter came, and the coal-god sent his bag round as usual and they had +nothing to put into it. The father said he didn't want a fire. It was +neither necessary nor healthy. He preferred to sit in his cold damp +study with a greatcoat on and a muffler round his neck, and shiver. As +long as there was a bit of cold mutton in the house he didn't care, and +he talked about his ancestors who had suffered privations on fields +where English battles had been won, and declared that people of leisure +had got into a disgraceful way of coddling themselves; but he kept on +coughing, and the little girl heard him and it made her miserable. At +last she decided to wrap her morals up, and put them away in the secret +drawer, and forget all about them until the time of adversity was over. +There was a big house close by, belonging to wealthy friends of theirs, +and it was shut up for the winter. After dark the little girl climbed +over the railing, found her way to the coal-shed, took out some big +lumps, and threw them one by one into her father's garden. It made her +dreadfully dirty, but she didn't care, for she had put on her oldest +clothes. The next day her father found a fire burning in his study, and +he didn't seem angry. Indeed, when the little girl looked in, to tell +him it was cold mutton time, he was sitting close to it as if he had +forgotten all about the ancestors who had been frozen upon battlefields. +She did the same wicked thing that night, and the night after; and her +father lost his cough and became cheerful again. This robbery of the +rich went on for some time, until one night the little girl slipped +while climbing the railing and cut her knee badly, which kept her in bed +for some days, while she heard her father grumbling because he had no +fire; but he didn't grumble for long, because fine weather came, and his +circumstances improved, and a young gentleman came along and said he +wanted to be a robber too, and went off with the little coal-thief. It +was all so long ago that Mrs. Bellamie found herself wondering if it had +ever happened; but there was still a small mark upon her knee which +seemed to suggest that she ought to have known a good deal about the +little girl who had stolen coals during the days of the great pinch. + +Some of the wintry mist from Dartmoor had got into the room, and had +settled between the lady and the fire, which suddenly became blurred and +looked like a scarlet waterfall. Part of the origin of the mist tickled +her cheek, and she put up her handkerchief to wipe it away; but the +voices went on talking. "I am only eighteen, and I am going to try and +make a living by letting lodgings," said the voice from the moor. +"Mother, I know I'm young, but I shall never change. I love her with my +whole heart." That was a voice from the sea. Mrs. Bellamie rose and went +to find her husband. She came upon him engrossed upon the +characteristics of Byzantine architecture. + +"How are you going to answer this?" she said, dropping the note before +him like a cold fall of snow. + +"Does it require any answer?" he said, looking up with a frown. "She +must struggle on. She is one out of millions struggling, and her case is +only more painful to us because we know of it. We will help her as much +as we can, indirectly." + +"I should like to go and see her. I want to have her here for +Christmas," said the lady. + +"It would be foolish," said Mr. Bellamie. "It would make her unsettled, +and more dissatisfied with her lot. She might also get to look upon this +house as her home." + +"I am miserable about her. I wish I had never kissed her. She has kissed +me every day since," said the lady. "She is always on my mind, and now," +she went on, glancing at the note, "I think of her alone, absolutely +alone, a child of eighteen, in a dreary cottage upon the moor, among +those savage people." + +"If you had seen that weird old man--" began her husband. + +"He is dead, I have seen her, and she haunts me." + +Perhaps Mrs. Bellamie would not have been haunted if she had never +stolen those coals. Adversity breeds charity, and tenderness is the +daughter of Dame Want. Love does not fly out of the window when poverty +comes in. Only the imp who masquerades as the true god does that. The +son of Venus gets between husband and wife and hugs them tighter to warm +himself. + +"I am a descendant of Richard Bellamie," said her husband, getting his +crest up like a proud cockatoo, "father of Alice, _quasi bella et +amabilis_, who was mother of Bishop Jewel of famous memory. You, my +dear, are a daughter of the Courtenays, _atavis editi re gibus_, and +royalty itself can boast of blood no better. Let the whole country +become Socialist, the Bellamies and Courtenays will stand aloof." + +Mr. Bellamie smiled to himself. There was a classical purity about his +utterance which stimulated his system like a glass of rare wine. + +"I know," said the lady. "I am referring to my feelings, nothing else." +She was still thinking of the coals, and it seemed to her that a certain +portion of her knee began to throb. + +"When it comes to affairs of the heart, even the Bellamies and +Courtenays are Socialists," she said archly. + +Mr. Bellamie did not reply directly to that. He loved his wife, and yet +he carried her off, when the days of coal-stealing had been +accomplished, as much for her name as anything else. + +"My dear, let me understand you," he said. "Do you want Aubrey to marry +this nameless girl?" + +"I don't know myself what I want," came the answer. "I only know it is +horrible to think of the poor brave child living alone and unprotected +on the moor. Suppose one of those rough men broke into her cottage?" + +This was melodrama, which is bad art, and Mr. Bellamie frowned at it, +and changed the subject by saying: "She has promised not to write to +Aubrey again." + +"While he has absolutely refused to give her up," his wife added. +"Directly he comes back he will go to her." + +"I can't think where Aubrey gets it from," Mr. Bellamie murmured. "The +blood is so entirely unpolluted--but no, in the eighteenth century there +was an unfortunate incident, Gretna Green and a chambermaid, or +something of the kind. Young men were particularly reckless in that +century. If it had not been for that incident Aubrey would never have +run after this girl." + +"I expect he would," she said. + +"Then he is tainted. This terrible new democracy has tarred him with its +brush," said her husband. "I suppose the end of it will be he will run +off with this girl and bring her back married." + +"There is not the slightest fear of that. The girl would not consent." + +"Not consent!" cried Mr. Bellamie. "Not consent to marry into our +family!" + +"My dear, there is such a thing as nobility of character, though we +don't see much of it, perhaps. I may be allowed to know something of my +sex, and I am certain this girl would never marry Aubrey without our +consent." + +"Why, then, she's a good girl. I'll do all that I can for her if she is +like that," said Mr. Bellamie cheerfully. + +"What do you suppose she is doing now? Sobbing herself to death," said +his wife. + +The full-blooded gentleman stirred uneasily. Bad art again. "You are +pleading for her, my dear. Most distinctly you are pleading for her. If +you are going to side with Aubrey I will give in, of course. I will +write to the secretary of the Socialists' League, if there is such a +thing, and beg humbly to be enrolled as a member, and I will also state +that if the name of Bellamie is too much for them I shall be pleased to +adopt that of Tomkins or Jenkins. I cannot permit pride to stand in my +way, seeing that my future daughter-in-law has no name at all, unless it +is the highly aristocratic one of Smith-Robinson, the father being Smith +and the mother Robinson." He spoke with some heat, employing the weapon +of cynicism as a perfectly legitimate form of art. + +"Surely you do not suggest she is an illegitimate child," said his wife, +with some horror. + +"I suggest nothing, my dear, because I know nothing. I have heard all +sorts of stories about her--probably lies, like those the old man told +me. Understand, please, I cannot see the girl," he went on quickly. "I +like her. She is _bella et amabilis_, and if I saw much of her, pity and +admiration might make a fool of me. You know me, my dear. I am not +heartless, as my words might suggest. I want Aubrey to do well, marry +well, rise in his profession. If I went to see the child in her cottage +the sight would make me miserable. When I left the old man, after he had +choked me with the wildest lot of lies you ever heard, I was sad enough +for tears. His heart was so good though his art was so bad. The play +upon words was unintentional," he added, with a frown. + +Mrs. Bellamie said no more, but the coals continued to trouble her, and +at last the fire kindled, and she ordered a carriage and drove up on +Dartmoor without telling her husband. It was the week before Christmas, +and the road was sprinkled with carts passing up and down filled with +good things, and the men who drove them were filled with good things +too, which made them desire the centre of the road at any price. The +lady's carriage was often kept at a walking pace by these human slugs +with their fill of sloe-gin. + +Lewside Cottage was found with difficulty, most of the residents +appealed to declaring they had never heard of such a place, but the +driver found it at last, and brought the carriage up before the little +whitewashed house which looked very wet and dreary amid its wintry +surroundings. Mrs. Bellamie shivered as she got out and felt the wind +with a sharp edge of frost to it. Somebody else was shivering too, but +not with cold. Boodles watched from a corner of one of the windows, and +when the lady knocked she wanted to go and hide somewhere and pretend +she was miles away. + +"Perhaps she has come to tell me about old maids for lodgers," she +murmured. Then she ran down, opened the door, and straightway became +speechless. + +"I have come to see you, my dear," said the lady. The fact was obvious +enough to need no comment, but when people are embarrassed, and have to +say something, idiotic remarks serve as well as anything. Boodles tried +to reply that she perceived the visitor standing before her in the +flesh; but her tongue seemed to occupy the whole of her mouth, and she +could only smile and flush. + +Mrs. Bellamie, finding the conversation left to herself, observed that +it was exceedingly cold, while poor Boodles was thinking how hot it was. +She knew that her note had brought Mrs. Bellamie, and she was dreadfully +afraid the lady was going to be charitable; open her purse and give her +half-a-sovereign, or call to the driver to bring in a hamper of food, or +perhaps of toys, for Boodles was feeling fearfully young and shy. "If +she gives me anything I shall stamp and scream," she thought. + +"Are you really living here alone?" said Mrs. Bellamie, which was quite +as foolish as her other remarks, as she could not possibly have expected +to see people of various sizes and complexions tumbling suddenly from +the cupboards. "How very dreary it must be for you--dear." + +The last word was not intended to escape. It was on the tip of the +lady's tongue, and rolled off before she could stop it. "Dear" alone +sounds much more tender without any possessive pronoun attached, and the +sound of it made Boodles attempt to swallow something that felt like a +lump of clay in her throat. She knew she would have to howl if that lump +got any higher and reached the tear mark. She felt that if she opened +her mouth she would begin to cry. It was such an awful and a pleasant +thing to have a visitor, and Aubrey's mother; and she was thinking +already how terrible it would be when the visitor went away. + +They went into the little sitting-room. Their breath seemed to fill it +with cold steam, for there was no fire, which was a bad thing for Mrs. +Bellamie, for she thought at once of the past coal-age and the +resemblance of that room to her father's study; and just then Boodles +began to cough. It was all over with Mrs. Bellamie. Her secret drawer +was wide open, and all that she ought to have been ashamed of was +revealed. She was listening again at a certain keyhole, feeling the cold +current of air upon her ear, and with it the gentle persistent noise of +her proud old father coughing because he hadn't got any fire. She was +getting on in life, but her spirit was the same. She would have gone +then, and climbed a railing, and stolen coal to give the poor girl a +fire. + +Boodles looked up with a smile, without in the least knowing that her +eyes were hungry for a caress. Mrs. Bellamie bent and kissed her, and +Boodles promptly wept. + +"My poor child, how can you sit here in the cold? Why don't you have +a fire?" said the lady, who seemed bent on saying foolish things that +day. + +"I--I am so glad to see you," sobbed Boodles, obtaining relief and the +use of her tongue. "I would have lighted a fire if I had known you were +coming. I only use the kitchen and my bedroom." + +"Would you like to show me over the cottage?" said the lady, becoming +more sensible. + +"It won't take long," said Boodles. "I am sorry for crying. This is +Thursday, isn't it? I lose track of the days rather, but the baker comes +Wednesdays and Saturdays, and he came yesterday, and it isn't Sunday, so +it must be Thursday. Well, I hadn't cried since Tuesday. Yesterday was a +day off." + +"You poor child," murmured Mrs. Bellamie. + +"Sometimes I think I ought to keep a record, a sort of rain-gauge," went +on Boodles in quite a lively fashion. It was a part of her idea. She was +playing her game of "not standing it," and after all she was telling the +truth so far. "Monday, three-hundred drops. Tuesday, +one-hundred-and-twenty-and-a-half drops. Wednesday, none. Thursday, not +over yet. It's like a prescription. I'm all right now, you made me feel +funny, as I've never had a civilised visitor before. It is very good of +you to come and discover me." + +Then she took the lady over the tiny house, from the kitchen to her +bedroom, taking pride in the fact that it was all very neat, and +apologising for the emptiness of the larder by saying that she was only +one small girl, and she was well able to live upon air, especially as +the wind of Dartmoor was notoriously fattening. + +"Eating is only one of the habits of civilisation," declared Boodles. +"So long as you live alone you never get hungry, but directly you go +among other people you want to eat. I have often seen two moormen meet +on the road. They didn't want anything while they were alone, but so +soon as they caught sight of one another they felt thirsty. May I get +you a cup of tea?" + +"Well, the sight of you has made me thirsty," said Mrs. Bellamie. + +Then they laughed together and felt better. + +"Look at this basket," said Boodles, pointing to a familiar battered +object covered with a scrap of oilcloth. "It belongs to a poor man who +is in prison now. I brought him here because the people were hunting +him, and the policeman came and took him for stealing some clothes, +though I'm sure he was innocent. Aubrey gave him half-a-crown on Goose +Fair Day, and perhaps he bought the clothes with that. Can you buy a +suit of clothes for half-a-crown? If you can't, I don't know how these +men live. I am keeping the basket for the poor thing, and when they let +him out I expect he will come for it." + +Boodles alluded to Brightly and his basket since they gave her the +opportunity of mentioning Aubrey. She wanted to see if the lady would +accept the opening, and explain the real object of her visit; but Mrs. +Bellamie, who was still respectable, only said that it was rather +shocking to think that Boodles had tried to protect a common thief, and +then she thought again of the coals, for the theft of which she had +never been punished until then. She ought to have been sent to prison +too, although she had done much more good than harm in stealing from a +wealthy man to give comfort to a poor one. It had made her tender and +soft-hearted also. She would never have felt so deeply for Boodles had +it not been for that little hiatus of poverty and crime. Rigid honesty +has its vices, and some sins have many virtues. Virtues are unpleasant +things to carry about in any quantity, like a pocketful of stones; but +little sins are cheery companions while they remain little. Mrs. +Bellamie was a much better woman for having been once a thief. + +"Is that clock right?" asked the lady. "I told the driver to come for me +at five." + +Boodles said she hadn't the least idea. There were two clocks, and each +told a different story, and she had nothing to check them by. She +thought it would be past four as it was getting so dark. She lighted the +lamp, and the lady noticed the little hands were getting rather red. +When the room was filled with light she noticed more; the girl was quite +thin, and she coughed a good deal; nearly all the colour had gone out of +her face, and there were lines under her eyes, lines that ought never to +be seen at eighteen; her mouth often quivered, and she would start at +every sound. Then Mrs. Bellamie heard the wind, and she started too. + +"My dear, you cannot, you must not, live here alone," she said, +shivering at the idea, and the atmosphere. "It would drive me mad. The +loneliness, the wind, and the horrible black moor." + +"I have got to put up with it. I have no friends," said Boodles at once. +"I don't know whether I shall pull through, as the worst time is ahead, +but I must try. You can't think what it is when the wind is really high. +Sometimes in the evenings I run about the place, and they chase me from +one room to another." + +"Not men?" cried the lady in horror. + +"Things, thoughts, I don't know what they are. The horrors that come +when one is always alone. Some nights I scream loud enough for you to +hear in Tavistock. I don't know why it should be a relief to scream, but +it is." + +"You must get away from here," said Mrs. Bellamie decidedly. "We will +arrange something for you. Would you take a position as governess, +companion to a lady--" + +"No," cried Boodles, as if the visitor had insulted her. "I am not going +to prison. I would rather lose my senses here than become a servant. If +I was companion to a lady I should take the dear old thing by the +shoulders and knock her head against the wall every time she ordered me +about. Why should I give up my liberty? You wouldn't. I have got a home +of my own, and with lodgers all summer I can keep going." + +"You cannot do it. You cannot possibly do it," said Mrs. Bellamie. "Will +you come and spend Christmas with us?" she asked impulsively. It was a +sudden quiver of the girl's mouth that compelled her to give the +invitation. + +"Oh, I should love it," cried Boodles. Then she added: "Does Mr. +Bellamie wish it?" + +The lady became confused, hesitated, and finally had to admit that her +husband had not authorised her to speak in his name. + +"Then I cannot come. It would have been a great pleasure to me, but of +course I couldn't come if he does not want me, and I shouldn't enjoy +myself in the least if I thought he had asked me out of charity," she +added rather scornfully. + +Mrs. Bellamie only smiled and murmured: "Proud little cat." + +"Well, I suppose I must be," said Boodles. "Poverty and loneliness +sharpen one's feelings, you know. If I was a rich lady I would come and +stay at your house, whether Mr. Bellamie wanted me or not. I shouldn't +care. But as I am, poor and lonely, and pretty miserable too, I feel I +should want to bite and scratch if any one came to do me a favour. +Aubrey is not coming home for Christmas then?" she added quickly, and +the next instant was scolding herself for alluding to him again. "I mean +you wouldn't ask me if he was coming home." + +The lady asked abruptly for another cup of tea, not because she desired +it or intended to drink it, but because her son was the one subject she +wanted to avoid. That was the second time Boodles had made mention of +him, and the first time the lady had been worried by a pain in her knee, +and now she was haunted by the voice which had spoken so lovingly of the +little girl when it declared: "I will never give her up." That little +girl was standing with the lamplight on her hair, which was as radiant +as ever, and with a longing look in her eyes, which had become sad and +dreamy and altogether different from the eyes of fun and laughter which +she had worn on Goose Fair Day. + +"Oh, Mrs. Bellamie, do say something," Boodles whispered. + +The lady began to choke. What could she say that the child would like to +hear? + +"You know I have given him up, at least my tongue has," the girl went +on. "But I want to know if he is going to give me up?" + +"I cannot tell you, my dear," the lady murmured, glancing at the clock. + +"I think you must know, for he told me he was going to speak to you and +his father. My life is quite miserable enough, and I don't want it made +worse. It will be much worse if he comes to see me when he returns, and +says he is the same as ever, and you are the same as ever. I promise I +won't see him again, if he leaves me alone, and I won't marry him +without your consent. Does he really love me, Mrs. Bellamie?" + +"Yes, my dear," the lady whispered. "Do you think that is the carriage?" + +"It is only the wind. Well, I know he does, but I wanted to hear you say +it. What am I to do when he comes home? He will ask me to meet him, and +if I refuse he will come up here and want to kiss me. What am I to do? I +love him. I have loved him since I was a small child. I am not going to +tell him I don't love him to please you or any one. I have done a good +deal. I will not do that." + +"We will beg him not to come and trouble you," said the lady. + +"But if he does come?" + +"I think, my dear, it will be best for all of us if you ask him not to +come again." + +That was too much for the little girl. She could hardly be expected to +enter into an alliance with Aubrey's parents against herself. She began +to breathe quickly, and there was plenty of colour in her cheeks as she +replied: "I shall do nothing of the kind. How can you expect me to tell +him to go away, and leave me, when I love him? I have got little enough, +and only one thing that makes me happy, and you want me to deprive +myself of that one thing. If you can deprive me of it you may. But I am +not going to torture myself. I have made my promise, and that is all +that can be expected from me. Were you never in love when you were +eighteen?" + +The lady rather thought that at the susceptible age mentioned she fell +in love with every one, though the disease was only taken in a mild form +and was never dangerous. She had a distinct recollection of falling +violently in love with a choir boy, who sang like an angel and looked +like one, but she had never spoken to him because he was only the +baker's son. She had been rather more than twenty when Mr. Bellamie had +fallen in love with her blood, and she had been advised to fall in love +with his. She had been quite happy, she loved her husband in a restful +kind of way, but of the intense passion which lights up the whole +universe with one face and form she knew nothing; she hardly believed +that such love existed outside fairy-tales; and in her heart she thought +it scarcely decent. She had never kissed her husband before marrying +him, and she was very much shocked to think that her son had been +kissing Boodles. She would have been still more shocked had she seen +them together. She would have regarded their conduct as grossly immoral, +when it was actually the purest thing on earth. There is nothing cleaner +than a flame of fire. + +Mrs. Bellamie tried to turn the conversation from her son. She was +uncomfortable and depressed. The surroundings and the atmosphere pinched +her, and she felt she would not have a proper sympathy for Boodles until +she was back in her luxurious drawing-room with a fire roaring shillings +and pence away up the chimney. She would feel inclined to cry for the +girl then, but at the present time, surrounded by winds and Weevil +furniture, she felt somewhat out of patience with her. + +"I came to see if I could do anything for you," she said. "But you are +so independent. If I found you a comfortable--" + +"Situation," suggested Boodles, when she hesitated. + +"I suppose you wouldn't accept it?" + +"I should not," said the girl, holding her head up. "The old man who is +dead spoilt me for being trodden on. Most girls who go into situations +have to grin and pretend they like it, but I should flare up. Thank you +all the same," she added stiffly. + +Mrs. Bellamie looked at the little rebel again and wished she would be +more reasonable. It was a very different Boodles from the merry girl who +had come to tea with her in Tavistock. The girl looked years older, and +the babyish expression had gone for ever. Every month of that lonely +life would leave its mark upon her. December had written itself beneath +her eyes, and before long January would be signed upon her forehead, and +February perhaps would write upon her mind. Mrs. Bellamie saw the little +ring of forget-me-nots, and guessed who had given it her; and then she +began to wonder whether it was worth while fighting against Nature. Why +not let youth and love have their own sweet way, why not ignore the +accident of birth, which had made her a Courtenay and Boodles a blank, +why let pride straddle across the way to stop the youngsters from +getting into the happy land? Little could be gained from preventing +happiness, and much might be lost. That was the influence of the coals, +burning again, although the fire was dying lower; and then the influence +of prosperity and a restful life did their work, and suggested Boodles +in her drawing-room as Aubrey's wife, a pretty sight, a graceful +ornament; and outside the people talking, as they can talk when they +smell the carrion of scandal. + +"Have you no one to look after you?" she asked. "No guardians? Did +your--did Mr. Weevil leave no will?" + +"He left nothing, except the story of my birth," said Boodles. "I don't +know if he left any relations, but if there are any they are entitled to +what he left, as I am no connection of his. It would be dreadful for me +if there is any one, and they hear of his death." + +"You know the story of your birth then now?" Mrs. Bellamie suggested. + +"Yes," said Boodles; "I do." + +She tossed her head and stood defiant. She was losing her temper, and +had already said what she had not intended to say. Having made up her +mind "not to stand it," she had prepared a simple story to tell to +Aubrey if he asked for it. Old Weevil had really been her grandfather, +and her parents had been obscure people of no better station than +himself. She was going to tell a lie, one thorough lie, and then be good +for ever. She was going to make herself legitimate, that and nothing +more, not a very serious crime, she was merely going to supply herself +with a couple of parents and a wedding-service, so that she should not +be in the position of Brightly and suffer for the sins of others. But +the sight of that cold lady was making Boodles mad. She did not know +that Mrs. Bellamie had really a tender feeling for her, and it was only +her artistic nature which prevented her from showing it. Boodles did not +understand the art which strives to repress all emotion. She did not +care about anything just then, being persuaded that both the Bellamies +were her enemies, and the lady had come with the idea of trying to make +her understand what a miserable little wretch she was, fitted for +nothing better than a situation where she would be trampled on. She felt +she wanted to disturb that tranquil surface, make the placid lady jump +and look frightened. Possibly her mind was not as sound as it should +have been. The solitude and the "windy organ," added to her own sorrows, +had already made a little mark. One of the first symptoms of insanity is +a desire to frighten others. So Boodles put her head back, and laughed a +little, and said rather scornfully: "I came upon some diaries that he +kept, and they told me all about myself. I will tell you, if you care to +hear." + +"I should like to know," said Mrs. Bellamie. "But I think that must be +the carriage." + +"It is," said Boodles, glancing out of the window and seeing +unaccustomed lights. "What I have to tell you won't take two minutes. +Mine is a very short story. Here it is. One night, eighteen years ago, +Mr. Weevil was sitting in this room when he heard a noise at the door. +He went out. Nobody was there, but at his feet he found a big bundle of +dry bracken. Inside it was a baby, and round its neck was a label on +which he read: 'Please take me in, or I shall be drowned to-morrow.' +What is the matter, Mrs. Bellamie?" + +Boodles had her wish. The lady was regarding her already with fear and +horror. + +"Don't tell me you were that child," she gasped. + +"Why, of course I was. I told you my story was a short one. I have told +it you already, for that is all I know about myself, and all Mr. Weevil +ever knew about me. But he always thought my father must have been a +gentleman." + +"The carriage is there, I think?" + +"So you see I am what is known as a bastard," Boodles went on, with a +laugh. "I don't know the names of my parents. I was thrown out because +they didn't want me, and if Mr. Weevil had not taken me in I should have +been treated like a kitten or a rat. I am sorry that he did take me in, +as I am alone in the world now." + +Mrs. Bellamie stood in the doorway, trembling and agitated, her face +white and her eyes furious. The coals would not trouble her again. Good +Courtenay blood had washed them, and made them as white as her own +cheeks. + +"You let me kiss you," she murmured. + +"Probably I've poisoned you," said the poor child, almost raving. + +"My son has made love to you, kissed you, given you a ring." + +There was a light in the girl's eyes, unnaturally bright. "If you tried +to take this ring from me I would kill you." She was guarding it with a +shivering hand. "I know what I am, Mrs. Bellamie. I knew before that +look in your eyes told me. I know what a beastly little creature I am, +to have a gentleman for a father and some housemaid for a mother. I know +it was all my own fault. It must have been the wicked soul in me that +made them do what was wrong. I know I deserve to be punished for daring +to live. I am young, but I have learnt all that; and now you are +teaching me more--you are teaching me that if I had been left at your +door you would have sent me to my proper place." + +Mrs. Bellamie was outside, and the driver was assisting her towards the +carriage, as it was too dark for her to see. Then the wheels jolted away +over the rough road, and down the long hill towards luxury and +respectability; and the unlit night pressed heavily upon the moor; and +Boodles was lying upon her bed, talking to the things unseen. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +ABOUT A HOUSE ON THE HIDDEN LANES + + +Thomasine was sitting in the stone kitchen of Town Rising sewing and +trying to think; but the little skeletons of thought that did present +themselves were like bad dreams. She had given notice to the Chegwiddens +and would be leaving in a few days, not because she wanted to go, but +because it had become necessary. Town Rising was a moral place, where +nothing lower than drunkenness was permitted, and Thomasine was able to +comprehend how much better it was to resign than to be turned out. +Pendoggat had found a place for her, not a permanent one as he +explained, a place where she would receive no wages, where indeed a +premium would be required; there she would pay a certain debt to Nature, +and then he would come and take her away. + +Thomasine was making garments which she smuggled away when any one came +to the door. They were ridiculous garments which she could not possibly +have worn herself, but perhaps she was making doll's clothes for a +charity bazaar, although girls like Thomasine are not usually interested +in such things; or she might have been preparing a complete outfit for a +certain little person who had benefited her. Pixies of the Tavy are +famed for their generosity to servant maids who do their work properly; +and the girls have been known to make garments for their benefactors, +and spread them out in the kitchen before going to bed, so that the +little person could put them on in the night. But the clothes, small +though they were, would have been a few sizes too large for pixies, and +somewhat too roomy for dolls. Thomasine seemed to be wasting her time +and materials; and as a matter of fact she was, although she did not +know it because she knew nothing, except that she was not particularly +happy. + +She was trying to think of matrimony while she sewed. All that she knew +about it was that the clergyman mentioned a couple by name publicly +three Sundays running, and then they went to church, the girl in her +fair-clothes, and the man with a white tie which wouldn't fit his +collar, and the clergyman read something which made the man grin and the +girl respectable. Time was getting on, it was the dull month of +February, and the burden of maternity seemed to be much nearer than the +responsibilities of matrimony. Thomasine knew nothing of the place she +was going into except that her duties would be light, merely to look +after an old woman who would in return render her certain services at a +critical time. She did not even know where the place was, for Pendoggat +was not going to tell her until the last moment. She had seen young +Pugsley the previous Sunday, in a hard hat and a suit of new clothes, +the trousers turned up twice in order that a double portion of +respectability might rest upon him, with close-cropped head, and a +bundle of primroses pinned to his coat. He had stepped up, shaken her by +the hand in a friendly way, and told her he was going to be married at +Easter. He had got the promise of a cottage, and the ceremony would take +place early on Easter Monday, and they were going for their honeymoon to +St. Thomas's Fair. Thomasine went back crying, because Pugsley was a +good sort of young fellow, and it seemed to her she had missed +something, though it was not her fault. She had always wanted to be +respectable Mrs. Pugsley, only she had been taken away from the young +man, and told not to see him again, and farm-maids have to be obedient. + +Thomasine spent the remainder of her time sewing when she was not +occupied with household duties, and then the day came when she was to +leave. One of the farm-hands drove her to the station, with her box in +the cart behind, and her wages in her pocket. She knew by then where she +was going; into the loneliness of mid-Devon. She would much rather have +gone home, but that was impossible, for the pious cobbler, her father, +would have taken her by the shoulders, placed her outside the door, and +have turned the key upon her. + +If a map be taken, and one leg of a compass placed on the village of +Witheridge, the other leg may be extended to a circumference six miles +distant, and a wide circle be swept without encountering a railway or +cutting more than half-a-dozen good roads, and inside that circle there +is not a single town. It is almost unexplored territory, there are no +means of transit, and the inhabitants are rough and primitive. Distances +there seem great, for the miles are very long ones, and when a call is +made to some lonely house the visitor will often be pressed to stay the +night, as he would be in Canada or Australia. The map is well sprinkled +with names which suggest that the country is thickly populated, but it +is not. Many of the names are delusions, more suggestive of the past +than the present. A century ago hamlets occupied the sites now covered +by a name, but there is nothing left of them to-day except dreary ruins +of cob standing in a thicket of brambles or in what was once an +apple-orchard. What was formerly the name of a good-sized village is now +the title of a farm-house, or one small cottage which would not pay for +repairing and must therefore be destroyed when it becomes uninhabitable. +It is a sad land to wander through. It suggests a country at the end of +its tether which has almost abandoned the struggle for existence, a +poverty-stricken country which cannot face the strong-blooded flow of +food importations from foreign lands. Even the goods sold in the village +shops are of alien manufacture. A hundred little hamlets have given up +the struggle in the same number of years, and been wiped, not off the +map, but off the land. The country of Devon is like a rosy-cheeked apple +which is rotten inside. + +This region within the circle is densely wooded, and in parts fertile, +though the soil is the heavy dun clay which is difficult to work. It is +well-watered, and is only dying because there are no markets for its +produce and no railways to carry it. It is a country of lanes, so narrow +that only two persons can walk abreast along them, so dirty and ill-kept +as to be almost impassable in winter, so dark that it is sometimes +difficult to see, and so stuffy and filled with flies in hot weather +that any open space comes as a relief. These lanes twist everywhere, and +out of them branch more lanes of the same dirtiness and width; and if +they are followed a gate is sure to be reached; and there, in a dark +atmosphere, may be seen a low white house with a gloomy orchard on each +side, and behind a wilderness of garden, and in front a court containing +crumbling barns of cob and a foul pond; and on the other side of the +court the lane goes on into more gloomy depths, towards some other dull +and lonely dwelling-place in the rotten heart of Devon. + +The country would be less sad without these dreary houses which suggest +tragedies. Sometimes stories dealing with young women and very young +girls reach the newspapers, but not often; the lanes are so dark and +twisting, and the houses are so entirely hidden. It is possible to walk +along the lanes for miles and to see no human beings; only the ruins of +where they lived once, and the decaying houses where they live now. It +is like walking through a country of the past. + +Along one of these lanes Thomasine was taken in a rickety cart ploughing +through glue-like mud, and at one of the gates she alighted. There had +been a hamlet once where the brambles spread, and its name, which had +become the name of the one small house remaining, was Ashland, though +the map calls it something else. The tenant was an elderly woman who +appeared to find the greatest difficulty in suiting herself with a +servant, as she was changing them constantly. She was always having a +fresh one, all young girls, and they invariably looked ill when they +went away, which was a sure sign that the house was not healthy, and +that Mrs. Fuzzey's temper was a vile one. The woman had no near +neighbours, though there were, of course, people scattered round about, +but they saw nothing suspicious in the coming and going of so many +maids. No girl could be expected to stand more than a month or two of +Mrs. Fuzzey and her lonely house, especially as some of the girls she +engaged were rather smart and well dressed. No one suspected that the +mistress of dark little Ashland of the hidden lanes was there solely in +the way of business. + +"How be ye, my dear?" said the lady in an amiable fashion to her new +servant, client, or patient, or whatever she chose to regard her as, +when the driver after his customary joke: "Here's one that will stop vor +a month likely," had been dismissed. "You'm a lusty maid what won't give +much trouble, I reckon. You'm safe enough wi' me, my dear. Seems you ha' +come a bit early like. Well, most of 'em du. They get that scared of it +showing. Not this month wi' yew, I reckon. Be it early next?" + +"Ees," said Thomasine. + +"Well, my dear, I'll be a proper mother to ye. 'Twill du ye good to get +abroad a bit. Run out and pick up the eggs, and us will ha' tea. +Yonder's the hen-roost." + +Mrs. Fuzzey seemed a pleasant body, but it was all in the way of +business. She was a stout woman, with a big florid face, and crisp black +hair which suggested foreign extraction. She reared poultry +successfully, and was quite broken-hearted when a young chicken met an +evil fate and perished, which indicated the presence of a vein of +tenderness somewhere, in the region of the pocket probably, as she was +usually insensible to the suffering of human beings. Still she did not +look the sort of woman who might reasonably be expected to end her life +upon the scaffold, if success in business made her careless, or if any +of her patrons or clients ventured to risk their own safety by giving +information against her. + +Thomasine was not accustomed to stately interiors and fine furniture, +and yet she was astonished at the bareness of the interior of Ashland. +Had everything in the place been put up to auction less than five pounds +would possibly have bought the lot. There was nothing in the way of +luxury, not an article that was unnecessary, except the curtains that +hung across the windows for respectability's sake. It was not a home, +but a place of business. The mistress had the sense to know she might +require to leave in a hurry some day without being allowed time to pack +anything, and she saw no advantage in investing her savings in furniture +which she would have to leave behind. + +The garden was at the back, a dark garden, shadowed and gloomy, like an +Eastern cemetery. It made a sort of quadrangle, with the house at one +end, a jungle-like coppice with bracken and bramble undergrowth at the +other, and an orchard on each side; as an additional protection there +was a stone hedge round the three sides. There was only one entry and +that was from the house. There had been another, a gate leading in from +one of the orchards, but Mrs. Fuzzey had closed it up. She did not want +people trespassing in her garden. + +Near the hedge at the back, and in front of the dense coppice, was an +old well which had not been used for a long time as the water was +supposed to be polluted. It had been practically closed up when Mrs. +Fuzzey came into residence, but she had opened it for her own purposes. +The water supply of the house came from a well in the court, which was +fed either by a spring or by the river Yeo which passed close by. The +old well was very deep and contained a good deal of water with a scum on +it which fortunately could not be seen, and a smell to it which in hot +weather became rather pronounced, as it had not been cleared out for +ages and was filled with dead bodies of rats--and other things. But the +miasma carried no distance, and there was nobody to complain about it +except Mrs. Fuzzey, who didn't mind. Ashland was almost as much out of +the way as a farm upon the back blocks of Australia. Nobody ever entered +the garden except herself and her maid for the time being. It was in a +land where the sanitary inspector ceases from troubling. She did her own +gardening, planting her potatoes and onions, being a strong woman well +able to wield a spade. She had piled a lot of rocks about the well and +made quite a pleasant flower garden there. She was fond of flowers, and +in the warm weather would take out a chair and sit beside the well, +admiring the beauty of the various saxifrages, creepers, and trailing +plants which her efforts had induced to grow. She called it the Grotto. +She had penny novelettes sent her regularly, and would devour them +greedily as she sat in her garden, being very much addicted to romance +and sentiment when it was strong enough; and sometimes she thought it +would be agreeable to retire from business and have a husband and family +of her own. It was so very dull at Ashland though she was making money. +There never had been a Mr. Fuzzey, although she always gave herself the +courtesy title of Mrs. + +Thomasine got on very well with Mrs. Fuzzey and almost liked her. The +girl was taken round the garden and the Grotto was pointed out to her +with pride, although there was nothing to be seen except wet rocks, +sodden plants, and decayed woodwork; but she was informed it would be a +place of great beauty in the spring. Indoors there was cleaning to be +done, with cooking, dairy-work, and egg-packing. A tradesman's visit was +rare, and when one did come it was on foot along the narrow muddy lane, +his cart being left far behind at the corner of some road or bigger +lane. The evenings would have been fearfully dreary had Mrs. Fuzzey been +less entertaining. The lady made and drank sloe-gin in some quantity; +and she gave Thomasine a taste for it, with the result that sometimes +they laughed a good deal without apparent cause, and the elderly lady +became sentimental and embraced Thomasine, and declared that she loved +young women, which was natural enough seeing that she made her living +out of them. Then she would read selected portions from her latest +novelette and weep with emotion. + +"If ever I come to change my business I'll write bukes," she said one +night. "I'd like to sot down every day, and write about young volks +making love. I feels cruel soft to think on't. Lord love ye, my dear, +there bain't nothing like love. Volks may say what 'em likes, but 'tis +the only thing worth living vor. I've never had none, my dear, and I'd +like it cruel. You'm had plenty, I reckon. Most o' the maids what comes +here ha' had a proper butiful plenty on't, and some of 'em ha' talked +about it till my eyes was fair drapping. I cries easy," said Mrs. +Fuzzey. + +Thomasine admitted she had received her share, and rather more than she +had wanted. + +"Yew can't ha' tu much when it comes the way yew wants it," said the +lady. "I'm wonderful fond o' these little bukes 'cause 'em gives yew the +real thing. I can't abide 'em when they talks about butiful country, and +moons a shining, and such like, but when they gets their arms around +each other and starts smacking, then I sots down tight to 'en. I can +tak' plenty o' that trade. Sets me all of a quiver it du. I ses to +myself: 'Amelia'--that's me, my dear--'just think what some maids get +and yew don't.' Then I starts crying, my dear. I be a cruel tender +woman." + +The conversation was entirely one-sided, because Thomasine had never +learnt to talk. + +"If ever I got to write one o' these, I'd mind what the maids ha' told +me. I'd start wi' love, and I'd end wi' love. I'd ha' nought else. I'd +set 'em kissing on the first line, and I'd end 'em, my dear, I'd end 'em +proper, fair hugging, my dear," hiccupped Mrs. Fuzzey. The bottle of +sloe-gin was getting low, and her spirits were proportionally high. She +kissed Thomasine, breathed gin down her back, and lifted up her voice +again-- + +"I loves maids, I du, I loves 'em proper. I loves children tu, innocent +little children. I loves 'em all, 'cept when they scream, and then I +can't abide 'em. I reckon, my dear, you wouldn't find a tenderer woman +than me anywheres. I tells myself sometimes I be tu soft, but I can't +help it, my dear." + +The old swine slobbered over the girl, half-drunk and half-acting, +giving her loud-sounding kisses; and Thomasine did not know that most of +the girls who had been placed under Mrs. Fuzzey's protection had been +used in the same way as long as they would stand it. People have many +peculiar ways of easing the conscience; some confess to a priest, some +perform charitable works; others, like Mrs. Fuzzey, assume they are +rather too good, though they may be vile. The old harridan posed as a +tender-hearted being in love with every living creature; and she had +read so many ridiculous love-tales and wept over them, and drunk so many +bottles of sloe-gin and wept over them, and listened with lamentations +to so many amatory details from the young women who had placed +themselves under her charge, that she had pretty well persuaded herself +she was a paragon of loving-kindness. Thomasine thought she was; but +then Thomasine knew nothing. + +It was rare to see a human being cross the court in front of Ashland. If +more than one person passed in a day it was a thing to talk about, and +sometimes a whole week went by bringing nobody. The policeman who was +supposed to patrol the district had possibly never heard of the place, +and had he been told to go there would have wanted a guide. Ashland was +more isolated at that time than most of the dead hamlets, because the +two farm-houses that stood nearest were empty and dropping to pieces. + +About half-a-mile beyond the court another dark little lane branched +off, and presently it divided into two dark little lanes like rivers of +mud flowing between deep banks. They were like the dark corridors of a +haunted house; and one of them led to the dead hamlet of Black Hound, +now one cob farm-house until lately occupied by Farmer Hookaway who had +shot himself the previous autumn; and the other finished up at the dead +hamlet of Yeast-beer, which was also one cob farm-house with the thatch +sliding off its roof, and this had been tenanted by Farmer Venhay, who +had not shot himself but had drowned his bankrupt body in the Yeo. It +was a pretty neighbourhood in summer, for the foxgloves were gorgeous, +so were the ferns, and the meadow-sweet, irises, ragged-robins and +orchids in the marshy fields; but it was sad somehow. It wanted +populating. There were too many ruins about, too many abandoned orchards +overrun with brambles, too many jagged walls of cob which represented a +name upon the map. Once upon a time the folk of Merry England had danced +and revelled there. Their few descendants took life tragically, and +sometimes put it off in the same way. There was no music for them to +dance to. + +The time passed quickly enough for Thomasine, too quickly because she +was frightened. She quite understood why she had become Mrs. Fuzzey's +assistant for the time being. She comprehended that it is the duty of +every girl to remain respectable, and in a vague way she had grasped the +code of morality as it is practised in certain places. It was necessary +for girls in her condition to go away and hide themselves, either at +home, if her parents would permit it, or if not in lodgings provided for +the purpose. She would never be seen, and would not have the doctor, +because it was not anything serious, generally measles, or a stubborn +cold. When everything was over she could appear again, and get strong +and well by taking outdoor exercise; and nobody ever knew what had +happened, unless the child, which was always born dead, had been +disposed of in a particularly clumsy fashion. + +As time went on Mrs. Fuzzey became irritable. She said Thomasine would +have to pay something extra if she was not quick about her business. Her +own affairs were by no means prospering, as she had not received any +applications to fill the position of general help when Thomasine had +vacated it. The truth of the matter was, as she explained bitterly, +girls in country districts were becoming enlightened and imbued with the +immoral spirit of the towns, which displayed articles of convenience in +the windows of shops professing to be hygienic and surgical drug stores. +These things had penetrated to the country, and a knowledge of them had +reached even the most out of the way districts. Every small chemist did +a large back-room business in such things, and many a girl was taking +the precaution of carrying one about in her handkerchief, or when going +to church between the leaves of her prayer-book. Mrs. Fuzzey had no +hesitation in denouncing the entire system as immoral, and one which +conduced towards the destruction of her business which she had built up +with so much care and secrecy. The lady had been finding her novelettes +dull reading lately. The love interest had not been nearly strong enough +for her taste, and she felt that her imagination could have supplied +many details that were wanting. In the meantime flowers were springing +in the garden, which was on low ground and entirely sheltered from every +wind; and one morning Mrs. Fuzzey came in to announce that the Grotto +would soon be beautiful, as the white arabis and purple aubrietia were +smothered with buds. + +Soon after that it happened with Thomasine after the manner of women, +and she gave birth to twins, both girls. Mrs. Fuzzey was kindness itself +while she attended the girl, but when the first had been followed by the +second she began to grumble and said she should require another +sovereign. She couldn't work for nothing, and she echoed Brightly's +frequently expressed complaint that trade was cruel dull. The infants +were removed, and then Thomasine gave birth to a third, a boy this time. +Mrs. Fuzzey became really angry, and wanted to know if this sort of +thing was likely to continue. She knew all about the legend current +around Chulmleigh, of the Countess of Devon who met a labourer carrying +a basketful of seven infants, which his wife had just given birth to, +down to the river that he might dispose of them like kittens, and she +thought it possible that Thomasine might be about to emulate that +woman's example. Mrs. Fuzzey was not prepared to deal with infants in +such quantity, and she stated she should require an additional five +pounds to cover extra work and risk. + +"Have ye purty nigh done?" she asked at length. + +"Ees," muttered Thomasine faintly. + +"About time, I reckon. Well, I'll step under and ha' a drop just to +quiet my nerves like." + +Mrs. Fuzzey had her drop, then attended to her professional duties, +which did not detain her long, had another drop, which kept her engaged +some time, and finally returned and asked the girl how she did. + +"Proper bad. I reckon I be dying," said Thomasine. + +Mrs. Fuzzey laughed her to scorn. "You'm as fresh as a trout. Come +through it fine, my dear. You can't say I bain't a tender woman," she +went on, the various "drops," and the knowledge that the unpleasant part +of her work was over, having rendered her amiable. "I know the trade, I +du, and I be so soft and gentle that you didn't feel hardly anything. +'Twas lucky for yew, my dear, they sent yew to me. Any old doctor might +ha' killed ye. I reckon I'm just about the handiest at the trade a +living, and cruel tender tu. Done a lot o' good in my time, I ha'. Saved +many a maid just like I've saved yew." + +Mrs. Fuzzey talked as if she regarded herself eminently qualified for +decorations and a pension. + +"'Tis a pity yew can't claim the bounty," she went on. "But there, it +bain't much, only a pound or two, though a little bit be a lot for poor +wimmin like yew and me, my dear. 'Twould help yew to pay me, for I can't +du all this extra work for nought, wi' times so bad, and maids not +coming reg'lar. I can't du it, my dear. Well, I reckon I'll go under and +ha' a drop." + +Mrs. Fuzzey lived on sloe-gin during such days, feeling she required it +to strengthen her nerve, or possibly to ease her abnormal conscience. +She finished the bottle before she appeared again. + +It remained as peaceful as ever about Ashland. Nobody passed that day, +or the day after; and the dark little lanes hidden away like caves were +full of mud and water as they always were at that season of the year. + +When Thomasine felt better she asked for the infants, and Mrs. Fuzzey, +who could not walk without lurching from side to side, cast up her eyes +and her hands, and wondered whatever the girl was talking about. + +"Having dree of 'em and thinking they'm alive, the purty little lambs. +They was proper booties, my dear. I could ha' kissed 'em I loved 'em so +cruel. I never did see babies I loved so much. I'd like to ha' nursed +the purty dears, given 'em baths, dressed 'em, made 'em look fine. But +what can ye du wi' dead babies, my dear, 'cept get 'em out o' the way?" + +"I heard 'em cry," said Thomasine. + +"Lord love ye, my dear, you'm that mazed yew could fancy anything. 'Twas +just the door creaking as I carried 'em out." + +"Where be 'em?" asked Thomasine. + +"Safe in the Grotto, my dear. There be a bit o' warm sunshine, and 'tis +butiful." + +"Was 'em all born dead?" + +"All dree," hiccupped Mrs. Fuzzey with the utmost cheerfulness. "'Tis a +good thing for yew. What would an unmarried girl du wi' dree babies?" + +Thomasine had not considered that point. She could not know that every +girl who had occupied that bed before her had asked much the same +questions, and had received exactly the same answers. She admitted that +it was a good thing, although she had to murmur: "I'd ha' liked to +cuddle 'em just once," which was a long speech for Thomasine. + +She was thankful her ordeal was over, though she wondered what Pendoggat +would say when he heard the children were dead. He had often told her +how he should love any child that was theirs. Still he could not refuse +to marry her now. She would have to get strong again as soon as she +could, because she knew he would be waiting for her. + +The next day Mrs. Fuzzey entered in excellent spirits and half-sober. +The sun was shining, she said, and the arabis and aubrietia were in +flower among the rocks, and "The Grotto be looking just butiful, my +dear." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +ABOUT BANKRUPTS + + +Swaling-time had come, red patches of fire flickered every night on +Dartmoor, and the furze-prickles crackled in the flames. The annual war +between man and the prickly shrub was being waged, and the atmosphere +was always clouded and tainted with bitter smoke. Every one seemed to be +infected with the idea of furze destruction, from the granite-cracker +who as he went to his labours would push the match with which he had +just lighted his pipe into some thick brake, to the small boys who +begged or stole boxes of matches and went out after dark to make the +moor fiery. With those huge bonfires flaming it looked as if not a +particle of furze would survive; and yet when summer arrived there would +be apparently as much as ever; and not a bush would be killed; only +burnt to the ground, and the roots still living in the peat would soon +send forth green shoots. + +People who looked down into the hollow thought Helmen Barton a peaceful +place, but they were wrong; there was plenty of passion beneath the +surface, and at night often there was noise. It was dark down there; a +watcher on the top of the hill might have seen no light, though he could +hardly have failed to hear the noise, which was made by a drunken woman +railing at a silent man; at least the man appeared to be silent, as his +voice did not carry out of the hollow. Possibly he did nothing but +mumble. + +Annie was degenerating rapidly; cider satisfied her no longer; and she +went into the village to procure fiercer liquors. Pendoggat had become +more reserved, and there was craftiness in his every movement. He kept +his temper somehow and refused to answer the woman's taunts, which made +her scream louder. He could stand it; he was nearly ready to go; only +one little matter was detaining him, and when that was settled he could +let himself out in the night, walk down to Tavistock, and the first +train westward or eastward--he did not care which--would carry him away. + +Thomasine had left Mrs. Fuzzey's hospitable roof. Pendoggat had seen +her, and at once made the discovery that he loved her no longer. The +girl had changed so much; she seemed to have lost her blood, her +wonderful ripeness, her soft flesh, and her passion-provoking look. She +had become thin and quite unattractive. Pendoggat wondered how he could +ever have been so wildly in love with her, and he told her so, adding +that his conscience would not permit him to take her away with him, and +it would be nothing less than a grievous sin if he married her without +love. He admitted he had sinned occasionally in the past, and he did not +wish to add to the number of his transgressions. The wretched girl +implored him to make her a decent woman, as she called it, to keep his +promises, to remember all the oaths that he had sworn. People more than +suspected the truth; the Chegwiddens would not have her back and had +refused her a character; her father had greeted her with an austere +countenance, had opened his Bible and read for her benefit a damnatory +verse or two from the Revelations of St. John the Divine, and then had +shown her the way out, while her mother had locked the door behind her. +Her appearance suggested to them how she had been occupied during her +retirement. Measles wouldn't go down with them. She had left Ashland too +soon, but Mrs. Fuzzey would not keep her any longer. The old witch had +kissed and embraced her, had wheedled every penny of her wages out of +her, had declared that she loved her as she had never loved anybody else +in her life, and had then told her to get out. She had no place to go +to. She hung to Pendoggat, and implored him to remember what had passed +between them; but he naturally wanted to forget it. He told Thomasine +she was a sinful woman, and when she made a scene he lost his temper, +and reminded her that a girl could make a living on the streets of +Plymouth if she walked them long enough. Afterwards he had a feeling +that he had acted without charity, so he went to chapel and repented, +and was forgiven in the usual way. Still he decided he could have +nothing more to do with Thomasine. His conscience would not permit it. + +His thorn in the flesh was Annie, but he let her rave, thinking she +would be less dangerous while she barked. The little matter which +detained him at the Barton was a mercenary one. He could not leave the +furniture for strangers to seize or Annie to profit by. His beasts he +had sold already to two different persons, which was not a dishonest +act, but merely good business; it was for the two men to settle the +question of ownership when they came together. The furniture was not +worth much, but he could not leave the place without getting value for +it. So he sent for a dealer from Tavistock to come and make him an +offer, taking precautions to get Annie out of the way during the time of +his visit; but she heard of it, and instinct told her the truth again. + +One morning a letter came, Annie saw the name on the flap of the +envelope, and knew that it was from the dealer. Probably he had bought +what few chattels she possessed and had brought with her when she came +to live with Pendoggat. She was silent all the morning; it was a dark +day, there had been no sun for some time, and a spell of frost had set +in; it was black above and white below, a black unbroken sky and a white +sheet of frost. She shivered as she crept about the kitchen, listening +for the movements of the master. He did not speak to her; when she +passed he put his head lower than ever. + +Later in the day it became difficult to see on account of the smoke. +Swaling was going on all round, and there was a choking mist over the +Barton, even inside as if the house itself was smouldering. Pendoggat +could scarcely breathe. He had become horribly afraid of fire since +Peter made the mommet, which he had tried to purchase but had failed +because the little savage carried too many wits for him. He determined +to get away that night, obtaining what money he could from the mercenary +dealer as he went through Tavistock. The atmosphere was getting tainted +with things stronger than smoke. He had often wondered whether his +conscience would permit him to murder Annie, but he was beginning to +fear then she might attempt to murder him. He went out into the court +with a feeling that he was trying to escape from a burning building; and +Annie followed him without a sound. She saw him standing as if dazed, +peering into the smoke, clutching at his breast pocket where the capital +of the Nickel Mining Company was hidden in the form of notes. He did not +know which way to turn that he might escape from the multitude of little +clay dolls which seemed to him to be dancing upon the hills. Then he +remembered it was chapel evening. He could not go away until he had been +to Ebenezer to seek a blessing and absolution, to give Pezzack one more +grasp of the good right hand of fellowship, to remind the congregation +of the certainty of hell-fire. He did not see Annie until she came up +softly and touched him. + +"Where be ye going?" she said in a smooth manner, which suggested that +she still loved him. + +"Nowhere," he muttered, wishing the smoke would clear away and make an +opening for his escape. + +"That be a long way," she said, with pleasant humour. "'Tis where I've +been going the last twenty years. Reckon I be purty nigh there." + +He made no reply, only moved away, but she followed, saying: "How about +that letter yew had this morning?" + +"'Tis my business," he said. + +"Yew never did nought that warn't your business. You'm selling up the +home. That's what I ses. You'm going away. Who be going wi' ye?" + +"Nobody," he muttered. + +"Hark to 'en," said Annie in the same smooth voice. "He'm going nowhere +wi' nobody. I knows some one who be going wi' yew." + +"You're a liar." + +"Times I be. I've played a lie for twenty years, and mebbe it comes +nat'ral. I reckon I be telling the truth now. When you start some one +will be behind yew, and her wun't be dumb neither. Yew took me twenty +years ago, and you'm going to tak' me now." + +"I'm not going away," he said hoarsely. He was afraid of the woman while +she was soft and gentle. He had been so crafty and done nothing to +arouse her suspicions; at least he thought so; but he was acquainted +only with the bodily parts of women, not with their instincts and their +minds. + +"If one of us be a liar it bain't me," said Annie. "What be yew leaving +me? When a woman gets past forty her don't want clothes. Her can cover +herself wi' her grey hairs, and her don't want a roof over her and food. +Only young maids want such. Be I a liar, man?" + +"Get back into your kitchen," he muttered, still moving away, but she +steadily followed. + +"I've been in the kitchen twenty years, and I reckon I want a change," +she answered. "A wife bides in the kitchen 'cause her's willing, and a +servant 'cause her has to, but I bain't a wife and I bain't a servant, +though volks think I be the one, and yew think I be the other. Be ye +going, man? I've got a pair o' boots, a bit worn, but they'll du. Reckon +I'll get 'em on." + +"Get inside and keep your mouth shut," he said roughly. + +"I bain't going under. Dartmoor be a free place, and my tongue be my own +yet. Hit me, man. Pick up thikky stick and hit me wi' 'en. It wun't be +the first time you've hit some one weaker than yourself." + +Pendoggat was losing his temper and seeing red flames in the smoke, +though they were not there. If she continued in that soft voice he would +strike her, perhaps too hard, and silence her for ever. It was a pity he +had not done so before, only his conscience, or fear of the law, had +kept him from it. Now she was at his side, pulling at his arm, quite +gently, for she was sober and in full possession of her senses, and she +was pointing to a side of the Barton where the brake of furze stood, not +black, but shrouded in smoke and starched with frost, and she was saying +in an amiable voice: "You'm a vule, man. A woman bain't so easy beat. I +ses you'm a vule, man, as every man be a vule who gives a woman power +over 'en. I bain't a going to follow yew. I can get men to du it vor me. +You'm a murderer, man," she said in a caressing way. + +Pendoggat shrank away, not so much from her, as from her horrible words. +She had insulted him before, but never like that. It was true he had +committed indiscretions in the past, sins even, but he had always gone +to chapel with the big Bible under his arm, and he had always repented +in bitterness of spirit, and he had always been forgiven. It was time +indeed for him to break away from such a woman. He could not listen to +such vile language. A little more of it, and his conscience would permit +him to silence her. He began to walk towards the gate of the court, but +she was holding on to him and saying: "You'm in a cruel hurry, man, and +it bain't chapel time. Twenty years us ha' lived together as man and +wife, and now you'm in a hurry to go. Chegwidden's maid can bide 'cause +yew don't want she. I can bide 'cause I knows yew wun't get far avore +they fetch ye back to hear what I got to say about ye. Tak' thikky +stick," she said, picking it up from the lifting-stock and pushing it +into his hand. "Mebbe 'twill be a help to ye, mak' yew walk a bit +faster, and yew can keep policeman off wi' 'en." + +He grasped the stick, clenched his teeth, and struck her on the head, +across the ear; the first actual blow he had ever given her, and he was +only sorry that the stick was so light and small. She screamed once, not +so much in anger, as with pain. Her head went dizzy and her ear became +red-hot. After the scream she said nothing, but steadying herself went +back to the house, into the kitchen, and took down a bottle from the top +shelf; while he walked on mumbling towards the gate. The vile creature +deserved it because she had called him a murderer. It was not only +wicked of her but foolish, because she had no evidence against him, +beyond what was hidden in the furze; and those remains would incriminate +herself more strongly than him. She never attended to her religious +duties, while he was the light and foundation stone of Ebenezer, and +nobody could accept her word against his. Still it would be advisable, +if possible, to remove every trace of her guilt from that thick brake of +furze. To abandon her would be a sufficient punishment. He did not want +to get her into more trouble. + +Out of the smoke two figures advanced towards the Barton gate; a short +round man and a tall lean one. Pendoggat hesitated, and would have +turned back, for they were strangers, and he could not know what they +wanted him for, but he had been seen, one of the men called him by name, +and he could not find a way to escape. He went to them, and the stout +man became the retired grocer, uncle of Pezzack, chairman of the Nickel +Mining Company, while the other was his friend and a principal +shareholder. Neither showed friendliness and both were agitated. They +were running after their savings and didn't know where to find them. The +grocer would not shake hands, but stood struggling to find words. His +had not been a liberal education, and had not included lessons in +elocution. + +"It's what I call a dirty business," he shouted, then gasped and panted +with rage and fast walking, and repeated the expression, adding +blasphemy; while the lean man panted also, and stated that he too called +the scheme a dirty business, and added that he had come for satisfaction +and a full explanation. + +Pendoggat was himself again when confronted by these two wise men of +Bromley who had been meddling in matters which they didn't understand. +The entire company of shareholders would not have terrified him because +the nickel mine was Pezzack's affair, not his. People seemed to be in +the mood for accusing him of sins which had long ago ceased to weigh +upon his conscience. He remarked that he was at a loss to understand why +the gentlemen had brought their complaints to him. + +"What about that dirty mine?" shouted the grocer, although he did not +use the adjective dirty, but something less clean. "What about the +nickel that you said was going to make our fortunes?" + +"The minister tells me it is there. He's waiting for fine weather to +start," said Pendoggat. + +"The minister says he knows nothing about it. You put him up to the +scheme," said the lean man. + +Pendoggat shook his head and looked stupid. He did not seem able to +understand that. + +"You've got the money. Every penny of it, and we've come to make you +fork out," spluttered the grocer. + +Pendoggat could not understand that either. + +"I've been writing every week, and hearing nothing, except always going +to begin and never beginning," went on the fat grocer. "I've been +worrying till I couldn't sleep, and till there ain't hardly an ounce o' +flesh on my bones. I couldn't stand it no longer, and I says to my +friend here, I'm a going down to see what their little game is, and my +friend said he was coming too, and it's just about time we did come from +what my nephew Eli tells me. Says you found this here mine and put him +up to getting money to work it. Says he's given the money to you. Says +you've been like a madman, and pulled him up here one night, and pretty +near punched his blooming head off." + +Pendoggat made up his mind that the grocer was an untruthful and a +vulgar person. All that he said was: "I hope the minister hasn't been +telling you that." + +"Are you going to deny it?" cried the lean man. + +"I don't understand you, gentlemen," said Pendoggat. "I'll take you down +to the mine if you like. I don't know if nickel is to be found there. +The minister says there's plenty, and I believed him." + +The grocer was whirling round and round after the manner of a dancing +dervish and huzzing like a monstrous bee. He felt that he was losing his +savings, and that sort of knowledge makes a man dance. "What do he know +about nickel? He's a minister of the Gospel, not a dirty miner," he +howled. + +"Are you telling us the minister hasn't given you the money?" demanded +the other man, who made his living by buying cheap vegetables and +turning them out as high-class jam. + +"Pezzack never told you that, gentlemen. He's treated me fair enough, +and paid my wages regular as working manager, and I'm not going to think +he's put that tale on you," Pendoggat answered. + +"He did," shouted the grocer, but in a less fiery manner, because he was +impressed by the simple countryman. "He told us he'd given you every +penny." + +"I'll not believe it of him, not till he stands before me, and I hear +him say it." + +"If you ain't got the blooming oof, who has?" cried the vulgar little +chairman. + +"Judge for yourself," Pendoggat answered. "Here am I, a poor man, +scratching a bit of moor for my living, and pressed so hard that I've +just had to sell my beasts, and now I'm selling most of my furniture to +meet a debt. I've a letter in my pocket making me an offer, and you can +see it if you like. There's the minister living comfortable, and +married, gentlemen, married since this business started and since the +money came." + +"I always wondered what he had to marry on," the grocer muttered. + +"Go and ask him. Tell him I'll meet him face to face and answer him word +for word. I know nothing about mining. If you put a bit of nickel and a +bit of tin before me I couldn't tell one from the other. Stay a bit and +I'll come with you. It's near chapel time," said Pendoggat, righteous in +his indignation. "I'll meet him in the chapel and answer him there." + +"What about that sample you gave me when I came down before? Knocked it +off the wall, you did, before me, and that was nickel, for I had it +analysed, and paid the chap five bob for doing it." + +Pendoggat looked confused and did not have an answer ready. He kicked +his boot against the gatepost, and turned away, shaking his head. + +"Got him there," muttered the jam-maker. + +"Well, I'll tell you," said Pendoggat roughly. "I wouldn't have said a +word if the minister had played fair, but if it's true he's gone against +me to save himself I'll tell you. He gave me that bit of stuff and told +me what I was to do with it. I didn't know what it was, and I don't know +now. I did what I was told to do, and got an extra ten shillings for +doing it." + +The grocer and his friend looked at one another, and the uncle muttered +something about the nephew which Eli would have wept to hear. Some one +had uttered particularly gross lies to him, and he had an idea Pendoggat +was telling the truth. The grocer and jam-maker were men easily deceived +by a smooth manner; and Pendoggat's story had impressed them far more +than Pezzack's, just because the countryman had a straightforward +confession, while the minister rambled and spoke foolishly. + +"Gave him ten bob for doing it," whispered the jam-maker, nudging the +grocer. + +"I'm ready to come with you, gentlemen," said Pendoggat. + +It was nearly dark, and by the time they reached the village the chapel +doors would be open. Pendoggat knew he must get away that night because +he was afraid of Annie. He had struck her at last, and she had been at +the liquor ever since. He could hear her screaming in the house; she +might get hold of his gun and blaze at him during the night. It was +going to be clear and frosty, a good night for a long walk, and the +notes were packed away in his pocket. There was only one duty +remaining--the unmasking of Pezzack, who apparently had been trying to +blacken his character. Annie would quiet down when she found herself +alone. She would not follow him, or give information against him; and if +she did the one thing he could outwit her, and if she did the other it +would go hard with her. "I'll come with you, gentlemen," he repeated. +"The soul that sinneth it shall die. That's a true saying, and it comes +from the true word." + +"What about my blooming money, though?" muttered the grocer; while his +friend was wondering whether an extra halfpenny on jam would recoup him +for his losses. + +They met no one as they crossed the smoky stretch of moor. It was going +to be a hard night, and already the peat felt as unyielding as granite. +The grocer slapped his arms across his unwieldy chest, and said it was +"a bit parky" in his vulgar way, and longed for his snug jerry-built +villa; while his friend agreed that Dartmoor was a place of horror and +great darkness, and wished himself back in his gas-scented factory +superintending the transformation of carrots into marmalade. They walked +in single file along a narrow pony track, Pendoggat leading with his +eyes upon his boots. + +Pezzack was in the chapel when the little party arrived. He was whiter +than ever, not altogether with cold, though Ebenezer was like a damp +cave by the sea, but with nervousness, with fear of his rotund uncle and +dread of the mysterious Pendoggat. He did not know even then whether +Pendoggat was his friend or his enemy. He could not explain the fit of +madness which had come upon the man that night they had left the chapel +together, and had made him use his wretched self so shamefully; but then +he could explain nothing, not even a simple text of Scripture. He could +only bleat and flounder, and tumble about hurting himself; but he was +still a happy man, he told himself. Partner Pendoggat was a rough +creature, almost a brute sometimes, but he would not desert him when the +pinch came. + +The visitors did not approve of Ebenezer, and expressed themselves to +that effect in disdainful whispers. It was altogether unlike the +comfortable tabernacle where the grocer thanked God he was not like +other men; and as for the jam-maker he was of the Anglican brood, a +sidesman of his church, a distributer of hymn-books, a collector of +alms, and all the ways of Nonconformity he utterly abhorred. He settled +himself in an Established Church attitude, in a corner with his head +lolling against the wall and his legs stretched out; while the grocer +adopted the devotional pose of Wesleyanism, sitting upright with his +hands folded across his watch-chain and his chin upon his chest. + +"Brother Pendoggat will lead in prayer," said Eli nervously. + +The grocer admitted afterwards that the prayer had been strong, and had +overlooked few of those weaknesses to which the flesh occasionally +succumbs. He especially admired the phrase alluding to honest and +respectable tradesmen who after leading a life of integrity in business +were able to retire with a blessing upon their labours and devote the +remainder of their lives to good works. He was surprised to find a +countryman with such a keen insight into human character. Pendoggat +prayed also for pastors and teachers, and especially for those shepherds +who led members of their flock astray; while Pezzack grew whiter, and +the grocer went on nodding his head like a ridiculous automaton. The +jam-maker had wrapped himself up in his greatcoat and gone to sleep, so +that he should not be defiled by listening to false doctrine. He was a +prosperous man and the handful of sovereigns he had lost in "Wheal +Pezzack" did not trouble him much. A few florid advertisements would +bring them back again. + +The service came to an end, and Pendoggat rose to address the meeting. +He asked the people to remain in their places for a few moments, and he +turned to Eli, who was still at the reading-desk, and said, with his +eyes upon the walls which were sweating moisture-- + +"You called a meeting here last summer, minister. You said you had found +nickel on Dartmoor, and you wanted to start a company to work it." + +"No, no," cried Eli, beginning to flap his big hands as if he was +learning to fly. He had expected something was going to happen, but not +this. "That is not true, Mr. Pendoggat." + +"Let him talk," muttered the grocer. "Your time's coming." + +"I say you called a meeting, and I came to it," Pendoggat went on. +"There are folks here to-night who came to that meeting, and they will +remember what happened. You sent round a sample of nickel, and then I +got up and said there was no money in the scheme, and I said I would +have nothing to do with it, and I told the others they would be fools if +they invested anything in it. I ask any one here to get up and say +whether that is true or not." + +"It was your mine, Mr. Pendoggat. It was your scheme. Oh, Mr. Pendoggat, +'ow can you talk like this, and uncle listening?" cried the miserable +Eli. + +Up got the old farmer, who had been present at the meeting, and said in +his rambling way that Pendoggat had spoken nothing but the truth; and he +added, for the benefit of the visitors, what his uncle, who had been a +miner in the old days, had told him concerning the various wheals, and +the water in them, and the difficulty of working them on account of that +water. And when he had repeated his remarks, so that there might be no +misunderstanding, the grocer sent his elbow into the jam-maker's ribs, +and whispered in his deplorable phraseology that his nephew had been up +to a blooming lot o' dirty tricks and no error; while the jam-maker +awoke, with a curt remark about the increasing protuberance of his +wife's bones, and found himself in cold lamp-lighted Ebenezer, looking +at Eli's countenance which was beginning to exude moisture like the +stones of the walls. + +"Friends, uncle, and Mr. Pendoggat--" stammered the poor minister, +trying to be oratorical; but the grocer only muttered: "Stow your gab +and let the man talk." + +"After the meeting we stopped behind, and you told me you were going to +run the mine, and you asked me in this place if I would be your +manager," Pendoggat went on. "I said I would if there wasn't any risk, +and then you told me you could get the money from friends, from your +uncle in Bromley--" + +Eli cut him off with wailings. It was his peculiarity to be unable to +speak with coherence when he was excited. He could only gasp and +stammer: "It's not true. It's the other way about. I never 'ad nothing +to do with it. You are telling 'orrid, shameful lies, Mr. Pendoggat;" +but the grocer muttered audibly: "A dirty rascal," while the jam-maker +muttered something about penal servitude which made him smile. + +"You told me you had an uncle retired from business," said Pendoggat. "A +simple old chap you called him, an old fool who would believe anything." + +The grocer began to splutter like a squib, while his companion laughed +beneath his hand, pleased to hear his friend's weaknesses clearly +indicated; and Eli, losing all self-control, came tumbling from the desk +and sprawled at his relation's feet, sobbing like the weak fool he was, +and saying: "Oh, Mr. Pendoggat, 'ow can you talk so shameful? Oh, uncle, +I never did." + +The people behind were standing up and pressing forward, shocked to +discover that their minister had been standing on such feet of clay. +Pendoggat looked at his watch and smiled. He had judged Pezzack +accurately; the weak fool was in his hands. The grocer, scarlet to the +tip of his nose, caught his nephew by the neck, shook him, and, +forgetting everything but his own losses desecrated the chapel by his +mercenary shouts: "Where's my money, you rascal? Give me back my money, +every penny of it, or I'll turn you out of house and home, and make a +beggar of you." + +"I 'aven't got it, uncle. I never 'ad a penny of it. I 'anded it over as +fast as it come to Mr. Pendoggat, and he 'ave got it now." + +This was literally true, as the money was in Pendoggat's pocket, but the +grocer had formed his own impressions and these were entirely +unfavourable to Eli. He went on shaking his nephew, while the jam-maker +in moving his foot kicked the bankrupt, and found the operation so +soothing to his nerves that he repeated the act with intention. + +"I ain't got none o' the money. I gave it 'im, and he's been keeping +wife and me. I thought he was my friend. He've a shook me by the 'and +many a time, and we've been like brothers. I didn't never call you a +simple old chap, uncle. I love you and respect you. I've always tried to +do my duty, and my wife's expecting, uncle." + +"You married on my money. Don't tell me you didn't. 'Twas a trick of +yours to get married. If you don't pay it back, I'll turn you out, you +and your wife, into the street. I'll get a bit of my own back that way, +sure as I'm a Christian." + +"Ask Jeconiah," sobbed Eli. "I've 'ad no secrets from her. She'll tell +you I 'aven't touched a penny of your money 'cept what Mr. Pendoggat +gave us." + +The jam-maker kicked again, finding a softer spot, and muttered +something about one being as bad as the other, and that if he couldn't +find a more likely story he had better keep his mouth shut. + +Pendoggat stepped forward, took the wretched man by the shoulders, +making him shudder, and asked reproachfully: "Why did you tell these +gentlemen I have the money?" + +"God 'elp you, Mr. Pendoggat," moaned Eli. "You have used me for your +own ends, and now you turn against me. I don't understand it. 'Tis +cruelty that passes understanding. I will just wait and 'ope. If I am +not cleared now I shall be some day, I shall be when we stand together +before the judgment seat of God. There will be no money there, Mr. +Pendoggat, nothing that corrupteth or maketh a lie, only justice and +mercy, and I won't be the one to suffer then." + +Had the grocer been less angry he must have been impressed by his +nephew's earnestness. As it was he pushed him aside and said-- + +"I'll get my own back. Pay us our money, or you go to prison. I'll give +you till to-morrow, and if I don't have it before evening I'll get a +warrant out." + +"Oh, 'elp me, Mr. Pendoggat. 'Elp me in the name of friendship, for my +poor wife's sake," sobbed Eli. + +"I'll forgive you," Pendoggat muttered. "I don't bear you any +ill-feeling. Here's my hand on it." + +But Eli wanted no more grasps of good fellowship. He buried his big +hands between his knees, and put his simple head down, and wept like a +child. + +The chapel emptied slowly, and the people stood about the road talking +of the great scandal. Some thought the minister innocent, but the +majority inclined towards his guilt. All agreed that it would be +advisable, for the sake of the chapel's reputation, to ask him to accept +another pulpit, which was a polite euphemism for telling him to go to +the dogs. They did not like Pendoggat, but they believed he had spoken +the truth when they remembered how strongly he had opposed the minister +when the scheme of the nickel mine was first suggested. The grocer and +jam-maker drove away in a rage and a small cart, to put up for the night +in Tavistock; and Pendoggat walked away by himself towards the +swaling-fires. His time had come. He had only to put a few things +together, and then depart through the frosty night to find a new home. +But before going he thought it best to make himself absolutely safe by +burning the brake of furze, and burying in some secret spot upon the +moor what had been hidden there. + +Before morning Pezzack had fled from his uncle's anger. Always a weak +man, he could not face the strong; and so he set the seal of guilt upon +himself by flight. He was going to work his way out to Canada, and when +he succeeded there, if he did, he would send for his wife. They could +think of no better plan. His wife went back to her parents, to become +their drudge as before, with the burden of a child to nurse added to her +lot. It was a dreary ending to their romance; there was no "happy ever +after" for them; but then they were both poor things, and the light of +imagination had never shone across their paths. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +ABOUT SWALING-FIRES + + +Peter sat by his hearthstone and repeated with the monotony of a tolling +bell-- + +"There be a lot o' volks in the world, and some be vulish, and some be +artful, but me, Peter, be artful." + +This was numbered one-hundred-and-seventy, and it was the latest gem +from his book of aphorisms; artful meaning in that connection clever, +the author having a tendency to use irregular forms of speech. Peter +read the thought aloud until most people would have found him tedious; +he recited it to every one; he had carried it to Master, and made the +old man commit it to memory. Master finally inscribed it, number and +all, in his presentation copy of Shakespeare, thinking the sentiment +well worthy of being incorporated with the work of the poet, and +declared that Peter's literary fame was assured. He added the +information that his old pupil was beyond question a philosopher, and +Peter agreed, then asked Master for his dictionary. It was an old book, +however, and the word was not given, at least not in its proper place, +under the letter F; so Peter failed at that time to discover his precise +position in the intellectual world. + +The diary was certainly advancing, as Peter was already in his second +pennyworth of paper, and his bottle of ink was on the ebb. Thoughts had +been coming so freely of late that interesting details of the daily life +were crowded out. He omitted such confidential details as Mary was +dunging the potato-patch, or he had just mended his trousers; he filled +his pages instead with ingenious reflections which he supposed, and not +without some justification, had possibly not occurred to the minds of +thinkers in the past. He neglected biography for philosophy, and the +fluency with which such aphorisms as "'Tis better to be happy than good" +came from his pen, merely confirmed his earlier impression that the +manufacture of literary works was child's play. He would not have +allowed that he had been assisted by collaboration, even if the meaning +of the word had been explained to him; although most of the sentiments +which adorned, or rather which blotted, his pages were distorted +versions of remarks which had fallen from the lips of Boodles. His work +was entirely original in one respect; the style of spelling was unique. + +Boodles did not know that she had developed into an inspiration, and the +poor child was certainly far too miserable to care. She came to Ger +Cottage every evening in the dimsies, stopped the night with Mary, and +went home in the morning. She followed Mary like a dog, knowing that the +strong creature would protect her. Her mind would have gone entirely had +she stayed at Lewside during those endless winter evenings and the long +nights. She owed her life, or at least her reason, to Mary. There was a +good heart under that strong creature's rough hide, a heart as soft and +tender as Boodles who clung to her. At first the child had refused to +leave Lewside Cottage, but when she screamed, "The shadows are getting +awful, Mary; they seem to bite me," the stalwart savage picked her up +like a baby, finding her much too light, and stalked over the moor deaf +to protest. She made up a little bed for Boodles in the corner of her +hut, and every night there was the strange sight of Mary bringing the +little girl a glass of hot milk to drink before going to sleep, and +singing quaint old ballads to her when she couldn't. Mary had got into +the way of asking Boodles for a kiss every night; she said it did her +good, and no doubt she spoke the truth. It seemed to give her something +she had missed. + +"But I am ugly now, Mary," said Boodles, in response to her nurse's +oft-repeated "purty dear." + +"That yew bain't," came the decided answer. "You'm butiful. I never saw +ye look nothing like so butiful as yew be now." + +"I feel hideous anyhow," said the child. "I don't believe I can look +pretty when I feel ugly." + +Peter overheard that, put his head on one side in philosophic +contemplation, and presently took his pen and wrote: "Bootiful maids +what feels ugly still be bootiful. It be contrairy like, but it be +true;" and the number of that thought was one-hundred-and-seventy-one. + +Mary was not far wrong, for Boodles was quite as attractive as ever. She +was more womanly, and had put pathos on her face with the little lines +and shadows which impelled love for very pity. Her eyes seemed to have +become larger, and her pale frightened face, under the radiant hair +which had not changed, was fascinating with its restless changes. There +was one thing left to her, and she called it everything. Each week the +cold weather went away for a few hours, and warm June came round with a +burst of flowers and sunshine, and her heart woke up and sang to her; +for Aubrey had not forgotten. He wrote to her, though she kept her +promise and did not write to him. Every week the question came: "Why +don't you write?" and sometimes she thought the letters were getting +colder, and then the stage sunshine was turned off and real thunder +rolled. He had written to his parents, but they had told him nothing. +They didn't even refer to her in their letters. It seemed to him as if +she was dead, and he was getting miserable. But she would not break her +promise and write; and if consent had been given she could not tell him +the truth, send him out of her life for ever, and end those wonderful +mornings when the postman came. + +Aubrey loved her still, that gave her everything, and while his love +lasted she was still on the green oasis, and could shut her eyes to the +desert, scarred with the bodies of those who had tried to cross it and +had fallen in the attempt, the bare desert of life without any sweet +water of love, which she would have to try and cross without a guide +when he came back and she had told him plainly what she was. She thought +it would kill her, for love cannot be removed without altering the +entire universe; for with love the sun goes, and the flowers go, and all +the pleasant nooks; and there is nothing left but the rocks, the moaning +of the sea, the fierce and ugly things, and faces that scowl but never +smile. The only perfect happiness is the birth of love; the only +absolute misery is the death of it; and it is such a tender growth that +one careless word may chill it into death. + +The three were sitting together in the lamplight, and Peter was giving +oral evidence of his inspiration, when there came a knock upon the door, +a thing almost without precedent after dark. Boodles shivered because +she hated sudden knocks which suggested unpleasant visitors and horrors, +while Mary turned from her work and went to the door. Annie was standing +there, or staggering rather, a black shawl round her head, her face +ghastly. + +"Please to come in," said Mary. + +Annie lurched in, and gazed about her wildly. She was sober enough to +know what she had come for. She stared at them, then upon the +hearthstone where the ceremonial of witchcraft was still being observed; +while Peter babbled of great thoughts like a running brook. The door was +open, and some of the smoke of the swaling-fires entered, and they could +hear the crackling of distant flames. + +"I reckon yew can tak' 'en off," said Annie hoarsely, pointing to the +hearthstone. "He've done his work. All Dartmoor be in flames, and the +Barton be in flame tu, I reckon. I flung the lamp into the kitchen and +set a match to 'en. Coming wi' me, Mary Tavy? Best come wi' me and see +the end on't." + +"What would I want to come wi' yew for, woman?" said Mary. + +"Where be the old goose yew was so fond of?" + +"My Old Sal. He be gone. Mebbe he got stugged, and some old fox come +along and took 'en," said Mary. + +"Stugged was he? I saw 'en stugged," Annie shouted. "Came across Barton +court, he did, and the man took 'en, and twisted the neck of 'en, and +flung 'en in the vuzz. 'He be Mary's Old Sal,' I ses, but he only +swore." + +Mary spat upon her hands. + +"He picked up a stick, and hit me on the ear, me, a free woman. I ses to +'en avore, 'If yew lifts your arm at me, Mary knows.'" + +"I be coming," said Mary. + +"Me tu," said Peter. + +There was much for Mary to avenge. Pendoggat had beaten her brother, had +terrified Boodles, to say nothing of his attempt to rob her, and now +Mary knew he had killed the old goose. She had never ceased to mourn for +Old Sal; and Pendoggat had destroyed the leader of her flock out of +sheer malice and cruelty. The spirit of the lawless Gubbings entered +into Mary as she picked up her staff and made for the door, while Peter +shambled after her, a philosopher no longer, but a savage like herself. + +But Boodles was crying: "Don't leave me, Mary. The shadows will get big +and thick and take hold of me." + +"Aw, don't ye be soft, maid," cried Annie. + +"Bide here, my dear. Us will lock ye in, and no one shan't touch ye," +said Mary. + +"He may come this way. I can't stay here, with the light of these fires +upon the window. I shall scream all the time." + +"Come along wi' us," said Mary. "Come between Peter and me, my dear. +Lord love ye, I'd break the head of any one what touched ye." + +Peter left the hut-circles last, securing both doors, and dropping the +keys in his baggy pocket. Then they set forth, the smoke over them, the +fires on each side, and the white frost like snow upon the ground. + + * * * * * + +Pendoggat gave a sigh of relief as he descended into the hollow of the +Barton and saw nobody, and heard nothing except the crackling of the +flames and the furze screaming as the fire rushed through it; for the +furze screams when it is burnt like a creature in torment. There was a +smell of fire about the house and the heavy stink of paraffin; and in +the kitchen he saw the broken lamp, but the fire had gone out; it could +not feed upon damp stones. Pendoggat smiled when he saw the kitchen. So +Annie was drunk again, which was what he had hoped for, as she was less +dangerous in that condition; she could only scream and tumble about, +hurting nobody but herself. She would not be able to follow him, and if +she picked up his gun she would be more likely to kill herself than him. +Probably she was lying in the linhay, or on her bed, hardly conscious, +groaning herself to sleep. Everything was in his favour; the whole night +was before him, and he had only to finish his work there, then escape +through the warm scented smoke. He was feeling sorry for the minister, +but the ordeal which Eli had just undergone might prove a blessing, +strengthen his character, make a man of him. Annie was not in the house. +Perhaps she had gone down to the Tavy to drown herself. Pendoggat shook +his head as that idea occurred to him. There could be no hope in the +future state for a suicide. Still it was better she should drown herself +than obstruct him; and after all she was getting on in years, she would +soon be homeless, and would naturally shrink from the workhouse. +Pendoggat was not going to judge her harshly, as that would not be +right, and she had looked after him well at one time. If she had not +been so foolish as to grow elderly, and have grey hairs, he might have +remained constant to her. + +He had destroyed everything in his secret drawer already, so he had only +to collect a few things, burn the furze and tidy up there. He fastened +up his things into a bundle before remembering that Annie had a bag +which was not likely to be of much use to her, so he went and fetched it +and packed his things in that. He brought the bag into the court, went +to the linhay for a spade, carried it to the edge of the furze, then +discovered he had no matches. He went back towards the house, but as he +crossed the court a figure came out of the smoke and laughed at him, the +figure of a white-faced woman who seemed pleased to see him; and behind +her towered another figure, tall and gaunt, the sort of figure which +might have made those weird footprints in the snow; and as the smoke +drifted upward there were two others in the background, a little girl +wrapped up in a big coat, and gnome-like Peter with big beard and +turned-up nose like an old man of the moor. + +Annie said nothing, but only laughed, as a woman will when she feels +satisfied. She staggered to one side, and Mary came forward. There was +no laughter on her wooden face, and no drunken stupor over her body. She +dropped the big stick and it clattered upon the stones of the court. The +swaling-fires were all round, and they gave light enough, a weird kind +of light which tinted the smoke and made the walls of the Barton red. + +"Aw, man," cried Mary. "You killed my Old Sal, and I be come to pay ye +vor't." + +Pendoggat went white when he heard that. He could not stand before the +wiry creature who seemed to represent no sex, but the cruel principle of +natural strength. The trap had snapped upon him and he felt its iron +teeth. He had caught others and enjoyed watching their struggles, and +now he was caught himself and others were enjoying his struggles. A few +yards cut him off from the moor, but there was no way out except by the +gate of the court, and Mary was before him. He wondered if Brightly had +felt like that when he was running for his liberty with the hand of +every man against him. + +"I never knew the old bird was yours," he muttered; and added: "I'll pay +you for him;" but Annie watched him, saw his face, and laughed louder. + +Mary made an ungainly movement, a sort of lurch as if to collect her +strength, then she caught him by the neck. He struggled free and she had +him round the body, twisting him like a willow-stick; a big hand came +upon his throat and he felt as if water was rushing over his head. He +could hear Annie's mad laughter and her jeering voice: "You'm a strong +man, they ses. Why don't ye get away? She'm only a woman. Why don't ye +throw her off, man?" He began to fight at that, struggling and hitting +wildly, but Mary had a certain science as well as strength. She knew an +animal's weak points. She struck at them with a fist like a lump of +granite, and when he retaliated by hitting her on the face her savage +blood seemed to rise before her eyes, and she drove him about the court +until his face was bloody. Boodles turned away then, and went to the +side of the house between the wall and the brake of furze, half-sick, +trying not to give way. She had never felt so horribly alone. Mary, her +friend and protector, was a wild beast of the moor, the savage principle +of the cruel Nature which was crushing her. The red light of the fire +fell upon her radiant head, which resembled it, as if she had been +intended to punish Pendoggat, and not Mary, because her head was like +fire just as his nature was like furze. All the time she could hear +Annie's furious laughter and her mocking voice: "Why don't ye stand up +to she, man? Tak' your stick and hit she on the head till she'm mazed. +Hit she on the ear, man, same as you hit me. Yew twisted the old +goosie's neck easy enough. Why don't ye du the like to she?" + +"Aw, man, I reckon I've paid ye," gasped Mary. + +"Two or dree more vor I," shouted little Peter, jumping about the court +in riotous joy. + +Mary was satisfied. She flung the man aside, still holding him by the +collar of the coat, which was an old one, as he was too miserly to buy a +better. The fabric parted at the seam, and as he fell the coat came +asunder and half remained in Mary's hand, the sleeve rending off with +the violence of her strength. It was the part containing the pocket +which was bulging, and when Mary threw it away Annie snatched it up and +tore out the contents, a letter or two, some papers, and the precious +roll of notes, which Pendoggat had played for with all his cunning, had +ruined the minister for, and finally had won; only Annie was too dazed +and mad to know what she was holding. She staggered to the furze, +holding the packet above her head, and flung it as far as she could; and +it fell in the centre and settled down there invisible among the frosted +prickles. + +Pendoggat watched as he stood half-dazed against the well, wiping the +blood from his face, and again thanked his stars which remained +propitious. His soul had been thrown into the furze, but he could regain +it. Annie's madness had saved him. Had she been more sane and sober she +might have discovered what it was she had taken. Nobody knew he had the +money even then. His punishment was over. He deserved it for being +perhaps unnecessarily hard upon the minister; and now he was not only a +free man, but the sin had been wiped away, because he had been punished +for it and had suffered for it. The disgrace was nothing, as he would +never be seen there again. He edged away towards the furze, and no one +stood in his way. He caught up the spade, which he had placed there, and +began to hack at the big bushes, trying to make a passage. The +swaling-fires above were dying down and the red light was fading from +the hollow. + +"Ah, go in there, man. Go in," muttered Annie, becoming quiet when she +saw what he was after. + +Pendoggat had lost his senses, as men will when their money is taken +from them. Had he waited a little, until Mary had gone, and he had got +rid of Annie for a time, he might have started for Tavistock presently +with nothing lost except honour which was of no value. But he could not +wait; he was dazed by Mary's blows; and all the time he fancied he saw +that precious packet which contained his future stuck in the furze; and +if he could not see it he knew it was there and he must get at it. He +went on hacking at the bushes, burrowing his way in, without feeling the +prickles; while Mary picked up her stick, turned to Peter, and said she +was going home. Then she looked for Boodles, but the girl was not there, +and when she started round Annie was not there either. She and Peter +were alone in the court, and the furze beyond was convulsed as though a +beast had fallen there and was trying to flounder its way out. + +"He'm mazed, sure 'nuff," said Peter, in a happy voice. The blows which +Pendoggat had dealt him were avenged. Peter forgot just then the power +of witchcraft which he had invoked by the arts that were in him. Neither +he nor Mary remembered the mommet, but Annie had not forgotten. She +thought of the little clay doll squatting in the glowing peat, and she +seemed to see the fantastic object shaking its head at her and saying: +"Who is on my side?" Annie went into the house for something, then +passed round the wall, and came upon Boodles standing at the other end +of the furze brake, rubbing the frost off the white grass stalks. + +"Is it all over?" asked the child. + +"Aw ees, it be done. You'm cold, my dear," whispered Annie hoarsely. +"Tak' this, my dear, and warm yourself. You've been out swaling, I +reckon." + +She pushed a box of matches into the girl's hand. + +"He wun't have it burnt just to spite me. Makes the kitchen so cruel +dark I can't see from one side to t'other. Now be the time, for he'm +mazed and can't stop us. Sot a match here, my dear." + +"It's so close to the house," said Boodles. + +"The house can't burn. 'Tis stone and slates. I don't want 'en to think +I did it," said Annie cunningly. "Quick, my dear. Mary be calling ye." + +Boodles loved swaling expeditions. In the past, furze-burning had been +almost her only outdoor pleasure; and, though she was unhappy then, she +was very young and the sense of enjoyment remained. That huge brake +would make the most glorious blaze she had ever seen. Dropping to her +knees she struck a match, hearing Annie gasp once, and then the fire +touched the tinder-like masses of dead growth, there was a splutter +caused by the frost, a flame darted up, then down, and up again higher; +and then there was a roar, and the brake before her became in an instant +like an open furnace and she jumped back to save her face and hair. + +"Oh, it's splendid," she cried. + +Annie was leaning against the wall screaming, sheltering her face, +perhaps from the heat, perhaps from what she might see. + +"It's done. My God, it's done, and nothing can put it out." + +Somewhere in those flames a man's voice was shouting horribly. The fire +seemed to sweep through with the rapidity of light, but nothing else +could be heard except the roaring and the screaming and hissing as the +big bushes melted away. Mary came running round, and Annie screamed at +her-- + +"I never done it. I never put the match to 'en." + +"Aw, my dear, what have ye done?" + +"I am swaling. Did you ever see such a blaze?" cried innocent Boodles. + +"Her don't know," screamed Annie. Then she staggered into the court and +fell fainting. + +"The man's in the vuzz," Mary shouted. + +All the sounds had ceased, and already the great flames were going out, +leaving a red smoulder of ashes and big scarlet stems. It seemed to be +getting very dark. Boodles did not realise what she had done, and Mary +said no more; but Peter shuffled round, understanding it all perfectly, +though not in the least ashamed. + +"'Twas just the mommet," he explained. "Her had to du it 'cause her +couldn't help it." + +Presently they trod over the fiery ground and dragged the body out, +without clothes, without hair, without sight; without money also, for +the roll of notes had melted away in one touch of those terrible flames. +He looked dead, but, like the furze which seemed to be annihilated, he +lived. The heart was beating in the man's body, and the roots were alive +in the glowing soil. Both would rise again, the one into a fierce +prickly shrub; the other into a man destined for the charity of others, +scarred, maimed, and blind. There was to be no escape for Pendoggat, no +new life for him. Boodles of the fiery head had fulfilled her destiny; +had burnt out one malignant moorland growth which had caught so many in +its thorns; and had rendered it harmless for ever. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +ABOUT 'DUPPENCE' + + +Down the hill from St. Mary Tavy to Brentor came Brightly, most +irrepressible of unwanted things, his basket on his arm, feeding on air +and sunshine. It was early spring, there were pleasant odours and a fine +blue sky, all good and gratuitous. Brightly had been discharged from +prison as a man of no reputation, to be avoided by some and trampled on +by others. His one idea was to get back to business; rabbit-skins ought +to have accumulated, he thought, during' the months of his confinement; +there would be a rich harvest awaiting him, which might mean the pony +and cart at last, with prosperity and a potato-patch to cheer his +closing days. He went for his basket, and it was not until it was slung +upon his arm and he had bent himself into the old half-hoop shape to +carry it over the moor, that he comprehended its emptiness. Formerly his +stomach was empty and the basket was full; now both were empty; and the +crushing difficulty of starting afresh without capital was with him +again. + +Brightly determined to subsist for a little on charity, but he soon made +the discovery that Samaritanism was no longer included among the +Christian virtues. People refused to do business with him on a +benevolent basis. They slammed the doors in his face, and called him +unpleasant names. They reminded him he had been in prison, as if he had +forgotten it; and some of them added an opinion that he had got off far +too cheaply. Others said if he came there again they would set the dog +on him. Brightly soon became very hungry, and almost longed for the +comforts of prison. It had been no easy matter to make a sort of living +during those days when he thought himself honest. Now that he knew he +was a criminal it appeared impossible. + +Brightly was in danger of becoming an atheist. He stopped his +hymn-singing; verses descriptive of the wonderful dairy were no longer +found in his mouth, nor did he use the jingling refrain which concludes: +"Jesu, Master, us belongs to yew." What was the use of belonging to some +one who did nothing for him? Wise men have puzzled over that question, +so it was not surprising if it bewildered poor foolish Brightly. He had +been told in the prison that if he prayed for anything it would be +granted; and his informer had added it was obviously his duty to pray +for honesty. Brightly did nothing of the kind; he prayed for the pony +and cart, throwing himself heart and soul into the business, as he had +plenty of time. Instead of being a purveyor of rabbit-skins he became a +praying machine. He considered that if there was any truth in the theory +that prayers are answered, he ought to find the pony and cart awaiting +him at the door of the prison. He did see one as he came out, but it +could not have been intended for him, as the name upon the board was not +A. Brightly, and near it was a man looking like a sweep who would +probably have resisted Brightly's claims with every prospect of success. +His teacher would have said the prayer was not answered because it was +not a proper one, but that would not have helped Brightly in the least. + +The little man went down the hill sniffing at the sweet wind, but +conscious that it was not invigorating as it used to be. The truth of +the matter was he was getting tired of life. He had become feeble, his +cough was worse, and his eyes troubled him so much that he had to stop +often, take off his spectacles, and rub them. But he couldn't rub the +darkness away. The eyes were getting bigger than ever because he +strained them so, trying to find the road. Sometimes he found himself +sinking in a bog; his eyes had never played him such a trick before he +became a criminal. As he walked he would look back and whistle or say: +"Us will pitch presently." He was always forgetting that Ju had ceased +to exist; and when he sat down to rest he would talk to her or stroke +the heather beside him. + +He entered the village of Brentor, but trade remained "cruel dull," so +he gave it up and tramped along the road towards the church on the tor. +As he went an idea came to him. He must give up the old stretch and try +a new one. He might take the eastern side of the moor, Moreton to +Ashburton, with the villages between, taking in Widdecombe where the +devil dwelt. His old road had been dominated in a sense by St. Michael's +Church upon its mount, but the connection had proved of no service to +him, and the devil might be a better patron. He could get across to the +other side in two days, and perhaps he would find there some one who +would give him half-a-crown and set him up in business again. + +Brightly was not entirely without capital, for Boodles had given him +twopence with his basket, saying she was sorry it was so little, but she +too was poor. That was another blow to Brightly; the angel had her +limitations, and seemed to have lost her power of working wonders for +the time. She too looked ill and miserable, and when celestial beings +suffered what chance was there for him? Brightly was not going to invest +that twopence in the rabbit-skin business, nor did he regard it as the +nucleus round which the fund for his pony and cart would gather. He +wrapped it up in many changes of paper, vowing not to touch it until he +should require food. The time had almost come, he thought, when he +should want food, not to stimulate his body, but to cease its action +entirely. The twopence was set aside for his funeral as it were, or +rather for the rat-poison which would make the funeral necessary. It +amused Brightly to think that people would have to spend money upon him +when he was dead, though they refused to give him anything while he was +living. + +He left Brentor behind and went along the winding road; and the sun came +out so pleasantly he wondered if the gods or human beings would be +offended if he whistled. He decided to remain silent, as the constable +might be in hiding behind one of the furze-bushes, and he would be sent +back to prison for making obscene noises. He knew every yard of the +country, though he could see so little of it. Higher up was a big slab +of granite, flat and smooth like an altar-tomb, upon which he had often +sat and watched the tower of St. Michael's juggling with the big ball of +the setting sun. He went up there, and it was not until his boot touched +the flat stone that he discovered it was already occupied. A woman was +sitting on it. Brightly apologised most humbly for his intrusion, for +walking along the road, and for cumbering the face of the earth. He was +always meeting people, and he felt he had no right to do so. + +"You'm welcome," said the woman. + +Then Brightly opened his nearly useless eyes wider and found that she +was Thomasine, the young woman who had been so good to him and Ju, and +had fed them when they were starving, and helped them on the way to +Tavistock. He had always associated Thomasine with a well-stocked +kitchen and food in abundance. She had become mixed up in his mind with +Jerusalem, and he had thought of her as presiding over the milk and +honey, and ladling them out in large quantities at the back door to +hungry men and dogs. And there she was sitting on the big stone looking +miserable, with her clothes bedraggled and boots muddy. Brightly began +to think hard and to reason with himself. He was not the only miserable +creature after all; there were other human things belonging to the +neuter gender besides himself. Even the angel was miserable and had +confessed to poverty; and not a scrap of food surrounded the former Lady +Bountiful of Town Rising. Brightly was in Thomasine's debt, and he was +prepared to pay what he owed as well as he could. He was willing to +share his twopence with Thomasine; she should have an equal portion of +the rat-poison if she was hungry for it; and they could wash the meal +down with sweet water from the moor. As for Thomasine, the little +dried-up fragment which had once represented a mind responded to +Brightly's presence and she recognised a friend. + +"I be in trouble," she said. + +Brightly was glad to hear it, though he did not say so. It was good to +find a partner who would enter into an alliance with him against the fat +constable, the Bench of Magistrates, and all the wigs and ermine of +oppression. Here was another Ju, a human being this time, and perhaps +she too had been sentenced to be destroyed because she was savage, and +was trying to hide from the constable and the crowd. Brightly was +prepared to show her all sorts of secret places where she would be safe. + +"Be yew a criminal tu?" he asked. + +Thomasine was not sure, but thought she must be. + +"I be one. I be the worst criminal on Dartmoor," said Brightly, trying +to draw himself up and look conceited. He had never done any good in his +business, but as a criminal he was entitled to regard himself as a +complete success. + +"I ain't got no friends. My volks wun't ha' me to home, and I've lost my +character," said Thomasine. + +"I never had no friends, nor volks, nor yet character," said Brightly. + +"You'm the man what went to prison for robbing Varmer Chegwidden," she +said, using her memory with some success. + +"Dree months wi' hard labour," said Brightly proudly. + +"Yew never done it. I know who done it. 'Twas Varmer Pendoggat," she +said. + +"I thought mebbe I might ha' done it and never knowed," explained +Brightly. "Why didn't 'em tak' he then?" + +"No one knows 'cept me, and I only guesses. He was wi' I just avore I +heard master galloping over the moor, and he mun ha' passed master lying +in the road. 'Twas no good me speaking. They wouldn't ha' took my word, +and he'd ha' killed I if I'd spoke. 'Tis through he I be here now." + +Adversity had sharpened Thomasine's tongue. She could not remember when +she had last made such a lengthy speech. + +"Where be yew going?" asked Brightly. + +"Nowheres," said the girl. "Where be yew?" + +"Anywhere," said Brightly, which meant the same thing. "Shall us get +on?" he added. + +Thomasine accepted the invitation, rose from the stone, and they walked +on, up the road and the steep tor, and came out at last beside the +church with its tiny burying-place of granite and its weather-beaten +gravestones. They sat down to rest upon the edge of the precipice, and +Thomasine wanted to know why they had come there. + +"I wun't never be here again. I used to come up here to whistle and +sing, and now I be come to look out for the last time," said Brightly. +"I reckon I'll try t'other side o' the moor. Mebbe volks bain't so cruel +wicked there." + +"I reckon 'em be," said Thomasine. + +"Du ye reckon they'll know I be a criminal?" + +"Sure 'nuff. Policeman will tell 'em." + +"My cough be cruel bad got, and I can't hardly see. If I can't mak' a +living what be I to du?" asked Brightly. + +This was much too difficult a question for Thomasine, and she did not +attempt to answer it. + +"B'est hungry?" she asked. + +"I've ha' been hungry for years and years, 'cept when I was in prison, +and then I was hungry for air," said Brightly. + +"Got any money?" + +"Duppence." + +"I ain't got nothing," she said. + +"Shall us get on?" said the restless little man. He felt business +calling him, though he could do nothing with his empty basket. + +They went back the way they had come, through Brentor village, and +towards Lydford, Brightly walking on one side of the road and Thomasine +upon the other. The only remark the girl made was: "This bain't the way +to Plymouth;" and Brightly replied: "It bain't the place for yew." He +had some knowledge of the world, and knew that it could not be well for +a girl without home or friends or character to walk about the streets of +a big town. + +They stopped at Lydford, and Thomasine went to a cottage where people +dwelt whom she had known in the days of respectability, and they gave +her food which she brought out and shared with her companion. They went +to the foot of the cascade in the gorge and ate their meal to the +subdued murmur of the long white veil of water sliding down the face of +the precipice. They were alone in the gorge, where the Gubbingses had +once dwelt, as the place is deserted during the early months of the +year. + +"Have ye got a home?" asked Thomasine. + +"Ees, a proper old cave to Belstone Cleave." + +"What be I to du?" she murmured. + +"Come wi' I," said Brightly gallantly. "I be going home." + +The girl tried to think, but soon gave up in despair. She was barely +twenty-three, and her life seemed done already. Her parents had shut the +door upon her, and erased her name from the book of life--the family +Bible which retained the record of those who were respectable--not so +much because she had done wrong as because the man who had led her +astray would not marry her. It was quaint logic, but the world reasons +that way. She was ready to go with Brightly because he was friendly and +she required friendship badly; she hardly looked upon him as a man; he +was such a poor incomplete thing; if a man, without the power of sinning +like a man. She would go with him to the cave in the cleave, and cook +for him, if there was anything to be cooked, with the old frying-pan +with a bottom like a sieve. + +"Ees, I've got a butiful home," muttered ridiculous Brightly with pride. + +He was regarding Thomasine as the reincarnation of Ju. The little dog +had come back to him in the form of a woman. He could talk to her, tell +her trade was dull, and he was hungry; could whistle, and sing for her +amusement, and pat her gently when she rested upon the heather. She +could reply to him in a manner that was better than tail-wagging. Ju had +come to the cave gladly and found it homelike, so why not Thomasine? He +would not be called on to pay seven-and-sixpence a year for her; but on +the other hand she was so big, larger than himself in fact, and he was +afraid she would want a lot of food. Brightly became prouder every +minute. He had a woman of his own and "duppence" wrapped up in bits of +paper. He would not touch his hat to the next man he met on the road. He +would stare him in the face and say: "How be ye?" just as if he had been +a man himself. + +"Shall us get on?" he said again. + +They went on and reached windy Bridestowe that night. Brightly, who knew +every building upon that part of the moor, found a shelter for Thomasine +in a peat-linhay, and a resting-place for himself in a farmyard. They +started off early in the morning, and Brightly produced eggs with the +half-apologetic and half-proud explanation: "Us be criminals." He had +stolen them. Up to the time of his conviction he had never been a thief, +but since leaving prison he had felt it was necessary to live up to his +reputation as a desperate character, and so he took anything he could +find. Under the oil-cloth of his basket was a feathered fowl, and +Thomasine was informed there would be a good supper for her that +evening. + +"Yew stoled 'en?" exclaimed the girl. + +"Volks wun't give I nothing," said Brightly. "They ses 'you'm a thief,' +and 'tis no use being called a thief if yew bain't. Yew fed me and Ju +when us was starving, and now I be going to feed yew." + +They reached the cave, and Brightly produced all his possessions with +pride, explaining to his housekeeper that a fire must not be lighted +until after dark lest the commoners should see the smoke. The girl +shivered at the wretched prospect, but resigned herself; and that night +she told Brightly her story, and he told her all about his ambitions, +and about the pony and cart which would not come in spite of the vain +repetitions which he called prayers. + +Miserable days followed. The spell of fine weather ceased and frost +returned; with it a biting wind which swept across the moor and got into +the cave, the outside of which became a pretty piece of architecture +with icicles hanging from the rock to the ground like bars of cold steel +through which the prisoners gazed into the depths of the gorge. Brightly +had become a real criminal at last; and the basket, which had been the +symbol of honesty, was then a receiver of stolen goods. He sallied out +every day to rob fowl-houses and dairies; to gather articles of clothing +from hedges and furze-bushes where they had been put out to dry. His +eyes had been opened by necessity and justice; dishonesty was the only +way in business; had he practised it from the start he would have +obtained all those good things which he had always desired; the cottage +and potato-patch, the pony and cart; perhaps his asthma and blindness +would have been stayed as well. It would have been better for Brightly +had he died in prison; he was living too long, and had become a moral +failure, a complete failure now in every sense. + +One Sunday evening they crept out of their hole in the gorge and went to +Sticklepath. Thomasine wanted to hear the pure gospel preached again, +and she persuaded Brightly to come with her to the big chapel in the +middle of the village that he might have his frosted soul warmed by +listening to a realistic account of the place "down under" towards which +he was hurrying. A strange preacher arose in the pulpit, an old +white-bearded man near the end of his days, and he preached from the +text: "I have been young, and now am old, and yet saw I never the +righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging their bread." He seemed a pious +old man, although he could not have been observant, or perhaps he had +gone about with his eyes shut, as the psalmist must have done; but he +was eloquent, and his words thundered upon the congregation like +Dartmoor rain upon a tin roof. + +When they left the chapel Thomasine was weeping, and Brightly seemed to +have become quite blind. Still he could not understand things. He had +been righteous, as he had comprehended it, slipping into a church or +chapel as often as he dared, and singing "Jerusalem the Golden" at every +opportunity. Yet he had been forsaken and had begged his bread; Ju had +been taken from him; he had been cast into prison. Who could explain +these things? Perhaps he had not endured long enough; if he had held out +another year the pony and cart might have been brought to him driven by +the angel; but he could not hold out when people would not permit him to +do business, and when he was starving. It was too late then to go back +and tread the old road, for he had fallen at last, become dishonest in +act; and if he went on in his wicked ways the policeman would run him +down again; and if he reverted to honesty the poorhouse would claim him. +There was only one way out. He must buy a ticket for Jerusalem. It would +only cost twopence. + +They returned to the cave, and Thomasine went on crying. She said she +could stand it no longer. The moor was black with storm clouds, a thaw +had set in, and water was trickling everywhere. Brightly sat huddled up +and moaning. His eyes were nearly useless, and rheumatism racked his +poor limbs. He knew that the decree had been given against him, he had +been found guilty in the higher court, judgment had been signed against +"A. Brightly. Rabbit-skin merchant. Abode Nowhere." + +"Us mun get on," he said firmly. + +"I can't bide here," sobbed Thomasine. + +"Us will walk to-morrow," said Brightly. + +"I'll go to Plymouth," she said. + +"Live honest;" he begged. "Don't ye go to the dirty trade." + +"I wun't," she cried. "I'll live clean if they'll let me. No one knows +me there, and I'll get some job mebbe." + +"I ha' been young, and now I be getting old," said Brightly. "I ha' been +righteous tu, and I ha' begged, and I ha' prayed, and got nought." + +"What be yew going to du?" she asked. + +"I be coming wi' yew as far as Okehampton. I'll set ye on the road to +Plymouth." + +"Wun't ye come tu?" + +"'Twould kill me," said Brightly. "I be that blind I'd get run over, and +my asthma be got so cruel bad I wouldn't be able to breathe. I reckon +I'll stop on Dartmoor." + +"You'll live honest?" she said. + +"I wun't tak' what bain't mine no more," Brightly promised. + +In the morning they set out. It was raining, but they did not notice +that. They crossed the Taw river, passed through Belstone, and struck +into the lane which would bring them down to the Okehampton road. They +had not gone far before they came upon a pony and cart fastened to a +gate, belonging to the washerwoman, but the cart was empty and there was +no one in sight. It carried a lamp, and a board was at the side +revealing the owner's name, and the bottom was covered with fern. +Brightly brought his pinched face near the cart, stopped to regard this +revelation of his life-long dream, and then he succumbed to the great +temptation. He unfastened the pony, climbed into the cart, and drove in +majesty up the lane. + +"What be yew doing?" cried Thomasine in great fear. "It bain't yourn." + +Brightly did not hear her. He knew at last what it was like to jog along +the lane in a little pony-cart, and for five precious minutes he was in +dreamland. In that short space of time he completed the allotted span of +human existence. He was returning to the littlie cottage in the midst of +the potato-patch, after a day of successful work. The cart behind was +piled high with rabbit-skins, and in her own little corner Ju was +sitting, fat and content. Brightly put up his ridiculous head and +whistled "Jerusalem the Golden" for the last time. Then he got down, +tied up the pony to another gatepost, and tramped through the mud with +Thomasine. + +In the town they passed a window where a notice was displayed: "Men +wanted," and the girl drew his attention to it, but Brightly only +coughed. The dream had faded and he had returned to realism. Men were +wanted to dig foundations, build houses, work in stone, hairy-armed men +who could lift granite, not a poor creeping thing who had hardly the +strength to strangle a fluttering fowl. + +They went through the town, up the long hill on the other side, and near +a quarry of red stone they stopped. + +"It be the way to Plymouth," Brightly said. + +"Thankye kindly," said Thomasine. "Be yew going back?" + +"Ees; I be going back," he answered. + +"Be yew going far?" + +"A bit o' the way towards Meldon." + +"Yew ha' got no money," she said pityingly. + +"I ha' got duppence," he reminded her. + +"You'll live honest?" she said again. + +"It wun't be long. I ha' a sort o' choking feeling," he said, putting a +raw hand to his throat. + +"Be ye going down under?" Thomasine was looking over the hedge and +between the bare trees. Some way below, beside the river, she could just +see the workhouse. + +"I be a going to walk towards Meldon, and sot by the river. If the pains +get bad I'll fall in mebbe." + +"No," she cried. "Don't ye du that." + +"Us mun get on," said Brightly, mindful of business. "I wish ye +good-bye." + +They shook hands, and Thomasine began to cry again. She did not like the +idea of walking along a lonely road all the way to distant Plymouth. +"Thankye kindly," she sobbed. + +"You'm welcome," said Brightly. + +They parted, and the little man shuffled back to the town. Upon the +bridge which spans the Okement he stopped, and took out the little +packet which contained the "duppence." It was a wonderful sum of money, +after all, if it would procure for him admission to the celestial dairy, +where he could feast, and listen to, an organ playing, and see people +dancing; and perhaps Ju would be sitting at his feet, wagging her tail, +looking up, and enjoying it all too. It would be better than the wet +cave, better than the workhouse, better than going back to prison. He +would have to be quick, or they might discover how he had attempted to +steal the pony and cart. He seemed to have become quite blind suddenly, +and his heart was thumping against his side. He had to feel his way +along towards the chemist's, which was the ticket office where he could +obtain his twopenny pass into Palestine. There would be no stop on the +journey, and they would be certain to let him in. Already he seemed to +hear some one like Boodles saying: "Please to step inside, Mr. Brightly. +Have a drop o' milk, will ye?" And there was another Boodles coming +towards him with the pleasant words: "Be this your little dog, mister? +Her's been whining vor ye cruel." + +Brightly held the precious "duppence" for his fare tightly in his raw +hand. He was smiling as he entered the chemist's shop. + + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +ABOUT REGENERATION AND RENUNCIATION + + +Sad-eyed little Boodles stood in the porch of Lewside Cottage holding a +letter which the postman had just left. She did not know who it was +from, nor did she care, as there was no foreign stamp on the envelope, +and the postmark was only unromantic Devonport. Aubrey had not written +for a month, and she knew the reason. His parents had told him the truth +about her, and he was so horrified that he couldn't even send her a line +on a naked postcard as a sort of farewell. Still it was better to have +no letter than a cruel one; if he could not write kindly she was glad he +didn't write at all. + +What was supposed to be spring had come round again, and something which +used to be the sun was shining, and the woods beside the Tavy were +carpeted with patches of blue and yellow which "once upon a time" had +been called bluebells and primroses. The ogre had done his work of +transformation thoroughly, leaving nothing unchanged. During those days +Boodles went about the house so quietly that she wondered sometimes if +she was much better than a shadow; she seemed to have lost the power of +making pleasant noises; and when she caught sight of herself in the +glass as she moved about her bedroom she would say: "There it is +again--the ghost!" She told her friends of the hut-circles that the +cottage was haunted, and Mary exclaimed: "Aw, my dear, I'll be round wi' +my big stick," while Peter rebuked his sister for her folly, pondered +the matter deeply, and at last told Boodles he should come in his own +good time to "exercise the ghost" with various spells. Peter had fallen +into the pernicious habit of using strange words, as he had purchased a +cheap dictionary, and made constant use of it. He was developing other +evil traits of authorship, having added to his ordinary costume of no +collar and leather apron a yard of flimsy material about his neck in the +form of a flowing tie. Master had told him philosophers wore such +things, and Peter was also contemplating the purchase of a pair of +spectacles, not because he required them, but Master declared that no +man could possibly appear philosophic unless he regarded men and matters +through gold-rimmed circles of glass. Every evening Peter approached +Boodles with the utterance: "I be coming. I be coming to-morrow to +exercise the ghost." She reminded him of the clock which he had been +going to clean for two years, and added: "I'm the ghost," which brought +upon her the fierce denunciation of Mary, who still maintained Boodles +to be the "most butiful maid that ever was," and now that her Old Sal +was no more the most perfect of all living creatures; while Peter went +away, not like his apostolic namesake to weep bitterly, but to indite +illegible aphorism number three-hundred-and-one dealing with the sad +truism that men of wisdom do not receive a proper tribute of respect +from the young and foolish. + +Boodles was afraid of her mysterious letter and did not open it for some +time. It might be from some relation of Weevil's, claiming what property +he had left; or from her unknown mother concerning the obligations upon +daughters to support their parents. At last she pulled the envelope +apart, glanced timidly at the signature, and her dread departed, or +became lost in astonishment, when the most extraordinary name caught her +eye: "yours faithfully, Yerbua Eimalleb." + +Boodles had a little fun left in her, not much, but enough to let her +laugh sometimes. She plunged into the letter, to discover that Miss +Eimalleb had only recently come to England, she wanted lodgings on +Dartmoor, and having heard of Miss Weevil she was writing to know if she +could accommodate her. "I believe you prefer old ladies," Boodles read. +"I am not old, indeed I am quite young, and shall be glad to be a +companion to you, but I am not well off, so I cannot come unless your +charges are very moderate. I have only about £80 a year left me by an +aunt, though my parents are still living." + +"Oh, you darling!" cried Boodles. Then she sat down and began to think. +Here was a young girl wanting to come and live with her, and willing to +pay; a girl to be her companion and friend, who would go about with her +everywhere, help her, comfort her, work with her--what a splendid +prospect it was! They would cling together like two sisters, and the +winds would not trouble, and the shadows would not terrify, any more; +and she could laugh at the windy moonlit nights. The gods were being +good to her at last, perhaps because she had been truthful and had not +told Mrs. Bellamie the lie she had invented. They had taken the great +thing from her because it was obviously impossible that she should have +it. Aubrey was gone from her for ever, but surely this was the next best +thing; a girl friend to live with her, perhaps to enter into partnership +with her. Boodles felt she could face the big desert with a friend to +help her, and a companion to depend upon. Love was not for her, but she +would have the next best thing, which is friendship. + +The letter was certainly a remarkable one, the writer's candour being no +less extraordinary than her name. It was obvious she was a foreigner, +but the signature gave Boodles no clue as to her nationality until she +recalled a certain book on Eastern travel which she had once read, where +a Persian name--or at least she thought it was Persian--very much like +Eimalleb had occurred. + +"I hope she's not a nigger," Boodles sighed, as her ethnical knowledge +was slight and she had no idea what a Persian girl would be like. +"Ethiopians have black faces, I'm sure. And she's certain to be a +heathen. What fun it will be! She will wake me at some unearthly hour +and say: 'Come on, Boodles, we must hurry up to the top of Gar Tor and +worship the sun.' I hope she won't have a lot of husbands, though," she +went on with a frown. "Don't they do that? Oh no, it's the men have a +lot of wives, and they are not Persians, but Mohammedans. I am sure +Persians worship fire. Persian cats do, I know. She will kneel before +the grate and say her prayers to the coals." + +Boodles was getting excited. The prospect of a companion was bringing +smiles to her face and colour to her cheeks. One young maid would be +decidedly more congenial to her than a covey of old ones. She would give +up her own bedroom to the Persian girl, and when the cottage was nicely +crammed with unquestionable old maids they could sleep together. She was +sure her friend wouldn't mind, because she seemed so nice. + +"She must be an impulsive, warm-hearted girl," Boodles murmured. +"Telling me, a perfect stranger, about her private affairs." Then she +plunged again into the letter, which was full of astonishing sentences. +"Could you meet me on Friday morning at eleven o'clock in Tavy woods?" +she read. "There is a gate at the Tavistock side and I would meet you +close to that. You are sure to know me, as it is not likely there will +be any one else about. I shall wear grey flannel and a plain straw hat. +I understand you are not elderly. I think you will like me." + +"I shall love you," cried Boodles with much decision, laughing joyously +at the concluding sentences. "She understands I am not elderly, but I +expect she will be astonished when she sees what a very young thing I +am. Perhaps I had better make myself look older, wear a rusty black +frock trimmed with lace, and a huge flat brooch at my throat, and a +bonnet--Boodles, a little black bonnet with a lot of shaking things on +it." + +She ran indoors, singing for the first time since Weevil's death, and +sat down to answer the wonderful letter as primly as she could. "I will +be at the gate of the wood Friday morning," she wrote. Shall I say +weather permitting or God willing? she thought. No, I shall be there +anyhow. "I will come whatever happens," she went on, in defiance of gods +and thunderbolts. "I am rather a small girl with lots of golden hair, +and like you I am quite young. I feel certain I shall like you." This +note she fastened up, and addressed to Miss Y. Eimalleb, again +exclaiming: "What a name!" at the Post Office, Devonport. + +When the fit of high spirits had exhausted itself she became unhappy +again. It was unfortunate that the foreign girl with the wonderful name +should have asked her to come to that gate where she and Aubrey had +parted for ever, the gate which was just outside fairyland. All that +childish nonsense was over, and the story had finished that day they +roamed about the wood, and the gate had closed with unnecessary noise +and violence behind them; but still it would be hard for her to wait +there, not for Aubrey, but for a stranger. Her new friend would be +coming from Tavistock, she supposed, meeting her halfway, just as Aubrey +had done. It was quite natural she should do so, but Boodles wished she +had appointed any other meeting-place. It cheered her a little to think +that the Bellamies had cast aside enough of their respectability to +recommend her, as she did not know how the young foreigner could have +heard of her except through them. "She cannot be quite a lady, or they +would never have sent her to me," was the girl's natural inference. +"Perhaps they think foreigners don't count. I do hope she will have a +nice English girl's face. If she is a nigger I shall scream and run +away." + +She carried the good news to Ger Cottage, but the savages both expressed +their disapproval. Peter, who had travelled to distant lands, such as +Exeter and Plymouth, told Boodles that foreigners, by which he meant +dwellers in the next parish, were fearful folk with no regard whatever +for strangers. Peter did not know anything about Persia, but when +Boodles talked about the East he supposed she meant that mythical land +of dragons and fairies called Somerset, which was the uttermost limit of +his horizon in that direction; and he declared that the folk there were +savage and unscrupulous, and spoke a language which no intelligent +person could understand. Peter implored Boodles to have nothing to do +with such people. While Mary, who had not travelled, except in one +memorable instance from Lydford to Tavistock, said regretfully: "It +bain't a maid yew wants, my dear, but the butiful young gentleman." Mary +was much too outspoken, and was always making Boodles wretched with her +blundering attempts at happy suggestions. + +When Peter was shown the astonishing signature, and had obtained the +mastery over it letter by letter, he nearly strangled himself with his +abnormal tie, and expressed an opinion that the stranger was coming from +absolutely unheard-of places, from the paint-clad aborigines of some +land beyond Somerset, although his geography did not extend beyond that +county. + +"Her's a heathen," he cried, without any regard for the fact that he was +himself no better. "Her will worship idols." + +"Aw, my dear, don't ye ha' nought to du wi' she," begged Mary. + +"I think Persians worship the sun," said Boodles doubtfully. + +"Aw, bain't 'em dafty?" said Mary scornfully, though she too was a +sun-worshipper without being aware of it. + +"Her will be a canister tu," said Peter lugubriously. + +"What be that?" asked Mary, who did not profess to know things. + +"Her will et she, and then mebbe her will come on and et we," explained +Peter, with needless apprehension, as the most ravenous cannibal would +certainly have turned vegetarian before feasting upon him. + +Boodles was always rude enough to correct Peter's most obvious errors, +though he was so much older than herself, and she did so then, with the +usual result that he went away muttering for his dictionary. He looked +up cannon-ball, and of course discovered that he had been quite right +and she was hopelessly in the wrong. Then he looked up canister, and +found that it was a box for holding tea; and when he turned to tea he +discovered it was sometimes made of beef, and beef was meat, and meat is +what human beings are composed of; and canister was, therefore, a box +for containing meat. He had been perfectly right, and the presumption of +young maids was intolerable. + +When Boodles got back to the village she saw the people standing about +the street in groups as if they were expecting some one of importance to +pass that way. She looked about but could see nothing; the people were +almost silent; they did not laugh and spoke only in whispers. She felt +as if some calamity was impending, so she hurried indoors and kept away +from the windows, as it was rather a bright day for her and she did not +want it spoilt; but presently a rumbling sound made her look out, and +soon she was shuddering. A black closed vehicle, like a hearse, passed, +drawn by two horses; and white-faced grey-haired Annie was seated beside +the driver; and then Boodles knew what the people were standing about +for. It was to see the vehicle go through on its way down to the +workhouse infirmary. Boodles went very white, drew back, and hid her +face in her hands. She thought Annie had turned her head and seen her at +the window. + +"Those flames will haunt me all my life," she whispered. "I shall see +them jumping about my bed, and hear them roaring--but it wasn't my +fault. He must have been a brute. How awful it would have been for me if +he had died there." + +Had she known all the evil that Pendoggat had done she would have felt +less guilty and less sorry. She could only comfort herself with the +knowledge that it had been Annie rather than herself who had started +those terrible and uncontrollable flames. She would not be troubled with +either of them again, apart from memory, for the workhouse had received +them; one would remain there, crippled and blind, the other would +doubtless go on into the world, and try to earn a livelihood for a few +years before returning there again in the twilight of her days. + +That night there was moonlight but no wind, and Boodles awoke in horror, +fancying she heard for the second time that rumbling beneath her window, +and screamed when she found and felt her body enveloped in flames. She +sprang up to discover that she had been frightened by her own glowing +hair. She was so sleepy before tumbling into bed that she had neglected +to plait it, and it was all over the sheets like fire. "I shall always +get these horrors while I am alone," she cried; and then she thought +again of the wonderful letter, and the foreign girl with the amazing +name whom she was to meet at the gate of the wood on Friday morning, and +an intense longing for that strange girl came over her, and she cried +aloud to the pale and equally lonely moon: "I hope she is nice. I will +pray for her to be nice. The very first thing I shall ask her will be if +I may sleep with her." + +Friday, day of regeneration, came clothed in a white mist, and found the +girl asking herself: "Shall I try and make myself look older?" She +peeped out, saw the moor shining, and thought she would be natural, and +go out upon it young and fresh; dressed in white to suit the mist, like +a little bride; and, having decided, she was soon trying to make herself +look as sweet as possible. When she had finished, slanting the bedroom +glass to take in as much of the picture as it would, she was fairly well +satisfied, and was just beginning to sing the old song, "I'm only a +baby," when she stopped herself severely with the rebuke that she was +only a common person trying to let lodgings. + +All the spring flowers lifted up their heads and laughed at the +lodging-house keeper when she appeared among them--they were really +spring flowers that morning--and the real sun smiled, and real +singing-birds mocked the little girl in white as she tripped towards the +woods, because it appeared to them quite ridiculous that Boodles should +relinquish her claims to childhood. The book of fairy-tales had been +shut up and put away, thought she; but somehow the young spring things +about her would not admit that. + +Everything in the woods was wide awake and laughing; not crying any +more, and saying, lisping, murmuring, whispering: "Here's the +happy-ever-after little girl." It was the proper ending of the story, +the ending that the gods had written in their manuscript and the +compositor-ogres had tried to mar in their wicked way. How could any +story end unhappily on such a morning? The yellow patches in the woods +were not artificial blobs of colour but real primroses, and the blue +patches were bluebells, and the white patches were wind-flowers with +warm mist hanging to them; and Boodles was not a mere girl any longer, +but the presiding fairy of them all going out to find another fairy to +play with. It was not the best ending perhaps, but it was the second +best. So she went down to the woods and met another fairy, and they +played together happily ever after. The furze, in genial generous mood, +showered its blossoms at her feet and said: "Here is gold for you, fairy +girl." The Tavy roared on cheerily, and a little cataract said to a +conceited whirlpool too young to know how giddy it was: "Isn't that the +goddess Flora crossing by the stepping-stones?" And the flowers said: +"We are going to have a fine day." Boodles was ascending in the romantic +scale. She had started as a lodging-house keeper; then she had become +quite a young girl; from that to the fairy stage was only one step; and +then at a single bound she became the goddess of flowers; and she went +along "our walk" with sunshine for hair, and wind-flowers for eyes, and +primroses for skin; and the world seemed very sweet and fresh as if the +wonderful work of creation had only been finished that morning at nine +o'clock punctually, and Boodles was just going through to see that the +gardener had done his work properly. + +Life at eighteen is glorious and imaginative; sorrows cannot quench its +flame. One hour of real happiness makes the young soul sing again, as +one burst of sunshine purges a haunted house of all its horror. Boodles +was down by Tavy side to bathe in the flowers and wash off the past and +the beastly origin of things; the black time of winter, the awful +loneliness, the windy nights. She was going to meet a friend, a +companion, somebody who would frighten the dark hours away. The past was +to vanish, not as if it had never been, but because it really never had +been. The story was to begin all over again, as the other one had been +conceived so badly that nobody could stand it. The once upon a time +stage had come again, and the ogres had agreed not to interfere this +time. Boodles baptised herself in dew, and rose from the ceremony only a +few hours old. The child's name was Flora; no connection of the poor +little thing which had been flung out to perish because nobody wanted it +except silly old Weevil, who hated to see animals hurt. Weevil belonged +to the other story too, the rejected story, and therefore he had never +existed. Nobody had wanted Boodles, which was natural enough, as she was +merely a wretched illegitimate brat; but every one wanted Flora. The +world would be a dreary place without its flowers. Flora could laugh Mr. +Bellamie to scorn; for the sun was her father and the warm earth her +mother; and nobody would stop to look at the flowers while she was going +by with them all upon her face. + + * * * * * + +At last Boodles looked up. She had been sitting on the warm peat just +outside the gate until all Nature struck eleven; and the warmth and +fragrance of the wood had made her sleepy. Dreams are the natural +accompaniment of sleep, and she was dreaming then; for the expected +figure was close to her, the figure in grey flannel and a plain straw +hat; not elderly certainly, not much older than herself; and it was true +enough she would have liked that figure if it had only been real. + +"Go away," she murmured, rather frightened. "Please go away." + +There was something dreadfully wrong. It was a nice girl's face that she +saw, at least she had often called it so, and it was not black, and the +owner of that face was assuredly going to like her very much indeed, +although it was hardly a case of love at first sight; for the girl had +failed to keep her appointment, the foreign girl with the amazing name +was not there, the Persian girl who was to adore the sun and the coals +of Lewside Cottage was evidently a deceiver of the baser sort. She had +not come, and instead she had sent some one who could not fail to +recognise the little girl waiting at the gate of the wood, who was +calling her fond names, and actually kissing her, just as if the story +was going to end, not in the second best way, but in the most blissful +manner possible, with a dance of fairies on Tavy banks and a +wedding-march. It was Aubrey who had come to the gate of the wood. + +"I wish you wouldn't," said Boodles rather sleepily. "I am waiting here +for a girl." + +Then something appeared before her eyes which woke her up; the letter +which she had written to Devonport; and she heard a voice saying very +close to her ear, so close indeed that the lips were touching it-- + +"I wrote it, darling. I was afraid you would not come unless I deceived +you a little. But I signed it with my own name." + +"Yerbua Eimalleb--what nonsense!" she sighed. + +"It is only Aubrey Bellamie written backwards." + +"Oh, you must not. How could you? It made me so happy. I thought at last +I should have a friend, to drive the loneliness away--and now, it is all +dark again and miserable. You are sending me back to the creeping, +crawling shadows." + +"I have given up the Navy. I have given up my people, and everything, +for the one thing, the best thing, for you," Aubrey said. + +Boodles put her head down, as if the wind had snapped her slender neck, +and he kissed the hair just as he had done at different periods of her +life, when she was a very small girl and the radiance was hanging down, +and when she was rather a bigger girl and the radiance was up--and now. +It was the best kiss of all, a man's kiss, the kiss which regenerated +her and renounced all else. + +"You don't know what you are saying. I am an illegitimate child. You +must not give up anything for me." + +Boodles had forgotten that it was the beginning of a new story. His +great act of renunciation staggered her. Everything, birth, name, +prospects, respectability, for her. She could not let him, but how was +she to resist? She threw the sleep off, and said almost fiercely-- + +"You must not. The time may come when you will be sorry. I shall be a +weight upon you, dragging you down. You might become ashamed of me." + +"Darling, I have been true to you all my life. I will be true for the +rest of it." + +"I promised your parents I would not." + +"You promised me, year after year, that you would." + +Boodles tried to smile. She would have to be false to some one. + +"I have left my father's house, and I am not going back," Aubrey went +on. + +"It will be terrible for them," she murmured. + +"It would be worse for you and for me. They have known nothing but +happiness all their lives. It is their turn to have a little trouble. +They are bringing it upon themselves. I have told them I shall not go +back until they are willing to receive my wife." + +"They will never do that. Oh, Aubrey, you must not marry me. I shall +spoil your life." + +"If I lost you it would be spoilt. I am being selfish after all," he +said. "And if you were left alone what would you do?" + +Boodles said nothing, but the Tavy went roaring by, answering the +question for her. + +"I am going to take you away, darling." He was holding her tightly, and +she did not resist much, perhaps because she felt she ought to give up a +little to him as he was giving up so much for her. "We will be married +at once, and live in a tiny home. I have got it already, at Carbis Bay, +looking over St. Ives at the sea, a lovely place where the sun shines. +We will have our own boat and go fishing--" + +"And drown ourselves sometimes," added happy Boodles. + +"Not till we quarrel, and that will be never." + +"Look, Aubrey!" she cried, lifting herself, pointing between the bars of +the gate into the wood. "There is our walk in a blue mist." + +The atmosphere of the wood was the colour of bluebells, which stretched +in a magic carpet as far as they could see. + +"Let us go in," he said. + +"Not yet. Not unless I--Oh, Aubrey, if we go in it will be all over. Do +I deserve it? Those winter evenings, the loneliness, the winds," she +murmured. + +"It is all over," he said firmly, with a man's seriousness. "We have to +start life now, for I have nobody but you--my little sweetheart, my wife +of the radiant head, and the golden skin--" + +"And the freckles," she said, looking down, without a smile. + +"They have faded. You are so thin, sweet. You have been indoors too +much, out of the sun." + +"There wasn't any sun; not until to-day," she whispered. + +"You see, darling, we are alone together." + +"It is what we wanted always, to be alone. Oh, my boy, I must--I must +spoil your life, because I have got you in my heart and you won't go +out. You never would leave me alone," she said, looking up with the +childlike expression which had come back to her. + +Aubrey swung the gate open and she went to him. They kissed as they went +through, and the gate slammed behind with a pleasant sound. They were +inside, surrounded by the blue mist. It seemed to them very warm in +there. They went on hand in hand, not speaking just then, not laughing +as in the old days; for their eyes were opened, and they understood that +life is not a fairy-tale, but a winding path between rocks and cruel +furze; and only here and there occurs the Garden of Happiness; only here +and there in the whole long path; but the gardens are there, and every +one may walk in them if they can only find the way in. + +"I think you are such a nice boy, Aubrey," said a small voice in sweet +school-girl tones. The little girl was feeling ridiculously young and +shy again. It seemed absurd to think that she was going to be a bride so +soon. + +They were walking upon the magic carpet of bluebells. The work of +regeneration was finished at last; and the world was only a few hours +old. + + +THE END + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Furze the Cruel, by John Trevena + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FURZE THE CRUEL *** + +***** This file should be named 34543-8.txt or 34543-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/5/4/34543/ + +Produced by Christine Bell and Marc D'Hooghe +http://www.freeliterature.org + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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: Furze the Cruel + +Author: John Trevena + +Release Date: December 2, 2010 [EBook #34543] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FURZE THE CRUEL *** + + + + +Produced by Christine Bell and Marc D'Hooghe +http://www.freeliterature.org + + + + + + +</pre> + +<h1>FURZE THE CRUEL</h1> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>JOHN TREVENA</h2> + +<h4>AUTHOR OF "A PIXY IN PETTICOATS" AND "ARMINEL OF THE WEST"</h4> + +<h4>LONDON</h4> + +<h4>ALSTON RIVERS, LTD.</h4> + +<h4>BROOKE ST., HOLBORN BARS, E.C.</h4> + +<h4>1907</h4> + +<hr style="width: 95%;" /> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<blockquote><p>Almost everywhere on Dartmoor are Furze, Heather, and Granite. The +Furze seems to suggest Cruelty, the Heather Endurance, and the +Granite Strength. The Furze is destroyed by fire, but grows again; +the Heather is torn by winds, but blossoms again; the Granite is +worn away imperceptibly by the rain. This work is the first of a +proposed trilogy, which the author hopes to continue and complete +with "Heather" and "Granite." </p></blockquote> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="caption">CONTENTS</p> + + + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#INTRODUCTORY">INTRODUCTORY</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">I.</a> ABOUT THE TAVY FAMILY</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">II.</a> ABOUT BRIGHTLY</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">III.</a> ABOUT PASTOR AND MASTER</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">IV.</a> ABOUT BEETLES</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">V.</a> ABOUT THOMASINE</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">VI.</a> ABOUT VOCAL AND INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">VII.</a> ABOUT FAIRYLAND</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">VIII.</a> ABOUT ATMOSPHERE</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">IX.</a> ABOUT A KNAVE AND A FOOL</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">X.</a> ABOUT THE VIGIL OF ST. GOOSE</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">XI.</a> ABOUT THE FEAST OF ST. GOOSE</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">XII.</a> ABOUT THE OCTAVE OF ST. GOOSE</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">XIII.</a> ABOUT VARIOUS EMOTIONS</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">XIV.</a> ABOUT A STRUGGLE AT THE GATE OF FAIRYLAND</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">XV.</a> ABOUT JUSTICE</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">XVI.</a> ABOUT WITCHCRAFT</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">XVII.</a> ABOUT PASTIMES</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">XVIII.</a> ABOUT AUTUMN IN FAIRYLAND</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">XIX.</a> ABOUT THE GOOD RIGHT HAND OF FELLOWSHIP</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">XX.</a> ABOUT THE PASSOVER OF THE BRUTE</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">XXI.</a> ABOUT WINTER IN REAL LIFE</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">XXII.</a> ABOUT THE PINCH</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">XXIII.</a> ABOUT A HOUSE ON THE HIDDEN LANES</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">XXIV.</a> ABOUT BANKRUPTS</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">XXV.</a> ABOUT SWALING-FIRES</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">XXVI.</a> ABOUT "DUPPENCE"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">XXVII.</a> ABOUT REGENERATION AND RENUNCIATION</span><br /> +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2>FURZE THE CRUEL</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="INTRODUCTORY" id="INTRODUCTORY"></a>INTRODUCTORY</h3> + +<h2>ABOUT RAINDROPS</h2> + + +<p>The river of Tavy is a great mountain-carver. From its mud-holes of +Cranmere to the walls of Tavistock it is a hewer of rocks. Thenceforth +it becomes a gardener, raising flowers and herbs; it becomes idyllic. +It goes into Arcadia. And at last it floats ships of war.</p> + +<p>There is a story in Hebrew literature of a king called Solomon, a man +reputed wise, although a fool with women, who desired to build a temple +to his God. There was a tradition which forbade the use of hammer or +chisel in the erection of a place of worship, because, according to the +Mischna, "Iron is used to shorten life, the altar to prolong it." The +stones were not to be hewn. The temple was to be built noiselessly. The +narrative suggests that Solomon had the stones cut and shaped at some +distance from the building site, which was a decidedly Jesuitical way of +solving the problem. Myth suggests that the king sought the aid of +Asmodeus, chief of the devils, who told him where he could discover a +worm which would split the toughest rock. The introduction of the devil +to assist in the building of the temple was no doubt of Persian origin, +since Persian thought influenced Hebrew literature just as Grecian +thought was later to influence that of Rome. The idea of noiseless +building, of an altar created by supernatural powers, of burrowing for +minerals and metals without tools, is common to the literature of every +country. It is one of the stock tales of folk-lore found everywhere. In +one place it is a worm which shatters the mountains; in another a black +stone; and in another a herb, such as the innocent forget-me-not, and +the various saxifrages of the cottage garden. All the stories agree upon +three points: the name of the rock-shatterer signifies irresistible +force; it is invariably a small and insignificant object; and it is +brought to mankind by a bird. That bird is the cloud; and the worm, +pebble, or herb, which shatters mountains is the raindrop.</p> + +<p>This is the story of the river Tavy, its tors and cleave, just as the +pixy grandmother told it to the little round-eyed ones on a stormy +night, when the black-winged raven-cloud was bringing the rain over +Great Kneeset, and the whist hounds were yip-yip-yipping upon the +"deads"—</p> + +<p>"It all happened a long time ago, my impets, a very long time ago, and +perhaps I shan't be telling you the story quite right. They say the +dates are cut upon the Scorhill Rocks. I couldn't make them out the last +time I was there, but then my eyes are getting feeble. You know the +Scorhill Rocks, my dears? They are just by the Wallabrook, and near our +big dancing stone which the silly mortals call a tolmen. You remember +how we danced there on All Hallows E'en. What a beautiful night it was, +sure 'nuff! And then you went and pinched the farm maids in their beds, +and made them dream of their lovers, mischievous young toads! Well, I +don't blame ye, my dears. I liked a bit of a gambol when I was a winikin +bit of a pisky maid myself.</p> + +<p>"This old Dartymore was a gurt big solid mountain of granite in those +days, my pretties. You can't imagine what it was like then, and I can't +either. There was no grass on it, and there were no nice vuzzy-bushes to +dance round, and no golden blossoms to play with, and no fern to see-saw +on, and no pink heather to go to sleep in—and worse and worse, my +dears, there wasn't a single pixy in those days either."</p> + +<p>"Oh, what a funny old Dartymore!" cried the little round-eyed ones.</p> + +<p>"It wasn't an old Dartymore, my pets. It was a brand-new one. There were +no bullocks or ponies. There were no bogs and no will-o'-the-wisps. +There were no stone remains for stupid mortals to go dafty over, for as +you and I know well enough most of 'em are no more stone remains than +any other rocks, but are just as the wind and rain made them. There was +not a single mortal in those days either, and none of the triumphs of +their civilisation, such as workhouses, prisons, and lunatic asylums. +There was just the sun and the gurt grey mountain, and right upon the +top of the mountain was a little bit of jelly shivering and shaking in +the wind."</p> + +<p>"But how did it get there?" cried the little round-eyed ones.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my loves, you mustn't ask such silly questions. I don't know. +Nobody can know. It was there, and we can't say any more. Perhaps there +was a little bit of this jelly on the top of every mountain in the +world. I can't tell you anything about that. But this little bit on the +top of Dartymore was alive. It was alive, and it could feel the wind and +the sun, and it would have kicked if it had got any legs to kick with. +You will find it all written on the Scorhill Rocks. I couldn't find it, +but it must be there, because they say it is. Well, this little bit of +jelly shivered away for a long time, and then one day it began to rain. +That was a wonderful thing in those days, though we don't think anything +of it now. The little bit of jelly didn't like the rain. If it had been +a pixy it would have crawled under a toadstool. If it had been a mortal +it would have put up its umbrella. But toadstools and umbrellas hadn't +been invented. So the poor thing shivered and got wet, because it was a +very heavy shower. They say it lasted for several thousand years. While +it rained the little bit of jelly was thinking. At last it said to the +rain, 'Where do <i>yew</i> come from?' But the rain only replied that it +hadn't the least idea.</p> + +<p>"'What are ye doing?' went on the bit of jelly; and the rain answered, +'Making the world ready for you to live in.' The piece of jelly thought +about that for a million years, and then it said to the wind—the rain +had stopped, and it was the First Fine Day—'Someone must have made me +and put me here. I want to speak to that Someone. Can't you tell me what +to do?'</p> + +<p>"'Ask again in a million years,' said the wind.</p> + +<p>"'I think I'll go for a walk,' said the piece of jelly. You see, my +dears, it was getting tired of sitting still, and besides, it had +discovered little bits of things called legs. They had grown while it +had been thinking. So it got up, and stretched itself, and perhaps it +yawned, and then it went for a long walk. I don't know how long it +lasted, for they thought nothing of a few thousand years then; but at +last it got back to the top of Dartymore, and found everything changed. +The big mountain had been shattered and hewn into cleaves and tors. +There were rivers and bogs; grass and fern; vuzzy-bushes and golden +blooms. In every part, my dears, the mountain had been carved into tors +and cut into gorges; but there were still no pixies, and no mortals. +Then the piece of jelly went and looked at itself in the water, and was +very much astonished at what it saw. It was a piece of jelly no longer, +but a little hairy thing, with long legs and a tail, and a couple of +eyes and a big mouth."</p> + +<p>"Was it the same piece of jelly? What a long time it lived!" cried the +little round-eyed ones. They didn't believe a word of the story, and +they were going to say so presently.</p> + +<p>"Well, my pretties, it was, and it wasn't. You see, little bits of it +kept breaking off all those years, and they had become hairy creatures +with long legs and a tail. Part of the original piece of jelly was in +them all, for that was what is called the origin of life, which is a +thing you don't understand anything about, and you mustn't worry your +heads about it until you grow up. The little hairy creature stood beside +the Tavy, and scratched its ear with its foot just like a dog. A million +years later it used its hand because it couldn't get its foot high +enough, and the wise men said that was a sign of civilisation. It was +raining and blowing, and presently a drop of rain trickled down the nose +of the little hairy creature and made it sneeze.</p> + +<p>"'Go away,' said the little hairy creature. 'I wun't have ye tickling my +nose.' You see, my dears, it knew the Devonshire dialect, which is a +proof that it is the oldest dialect in the world.</p> + +<p>"'Let me bide. I be fair mazed,' said the Devonshire raindrop. 'I've +been drap-drappiting on this old Dartymore for years and years.'</p> + +<p>"'You bain't no use. You'm only a drop o' rainwater,' said the little +hairy thing.</p> + +<p>"'That's all. Only a drop o' rain-water,' came the answer. 'This gurt +big mountain has been worn away by drops o' rain-water. These tors were +made by drops o' rainwater. These masses of granite have been split by +drops o' rain-water. The river is nought but drops o' rain-water."</p> + +<p>"'You'm a liar,' said the little hairy thing. You see, my dears, it +couldn't believe the raindrop."</p> + +<p>The little round-eyed ones didn't believe it either. They were afraid to +say so because Grandmother might have smacked them. Besides, they knew +they would not have to go to bed in the pink heather until she had +finished her story. So they listened quietly, and pinched one another, +while Grandmother went on—</p> + +<p>"It was a long time afterwards. There were bullocks and ponies and +plenty of pixies, and the little hairy thing had become what is called a +primitive man. Tavy Cleave was very much the same as it is now, and Ger +Tor was big and rugged, and Cranmere was full of river-heads. The +primitive man had a primitive wife, and there were little creatures with +them who were primitive children. They lived among the rocks and didn't +worry about clothes. But there was one man who was not quite so +primitive as the others, and therefore he was unpopular. He used to +wander by himself and think. You will find it all upon the Scorhill +Rocks, my dears. One evening he was beside the Tavy, which was known in +those days as the Little Water, and a memory stirred in him, and he +thought to himself: I was here once, and I asked a question of the wind; +and the wind said: 'Ask again in a million years.' Someone must have +made me and put me here. I want to speak to that Someone. Then the +Little Water shouted; and it seemed to say: 'I have worn away the +mountain of granite. I have shattered the rocks. Look at me, primitive +man! I have given you a dwelling-place. I was made by the raindrops. The +cloud brought the raindrops. And the wind brought you, primitive man. +That Someone sent you and the wind together. You want to speak to that +Someone. You must seek that Someone in a certain place. Look around you, +primitive man!'</p> + +<p>"So he looked, my dears, and saw what the Little Water had done during +those millions of years. On the top of every little mountain it had +carved out a tor. They were rough heaps of rock, shapeless, and yet +suggesting a shape. They were not buildings, and yet they suggested a +building. The primitive man went up on the highest tor, and spoke to +that Someone. But, my pretties, I'm afraid you can't understand all +this."</p> + +<p>The little round-eyed ones were yawning dreadfully. Grandmother was +getting wearisome in her old age. They thought they would rather be in +bed.</p> + +<p>"The primitive man made himself a hut-circle. You see, my dears, the +Little Water had taught him. He had become what is called imitative. +When he made his hut-circle he just copied the tors. Later on he copied +them on a larger scale and built castles. And then the time came when +another man stood beside the Tavy and asked: 'I have had dreams of +treasure in the earth. How can I get at that treasure?'</p> + +<p>"Then the Little Water shouted back: 'Look at me. I have worn away the +rocks. I have uncovered the metals. Work in the ground as I have done.'</p> + +<p>"So the man imitated the river again and worked in the ground, until he +found tin and copper; and the river went on roaring just as it does now. +You see, my children, there would have been no river if there had been +no raindrops; and without the river no tors and cleaves, no vuzzy-bushes +and golden blossoms, no ferns or pink heather, no buildings, no mortals, +and no pixies. Dartymore would have remained a cold grey mountain of +granite, and the piece of jelly would never have become a primitive man +if it hadn't rained."</p> + +<p>"But what is the rain doing now?" cried the little round-eyed ones.</p> + +<p>"Just the same, my pretties. Making the river flow on and on. And the +river is making the cleave deeper, and Ger Tor higher, just as it has +always been doing. Only it works so slowly that we don't notice any +change. Now you must run away to bed, for it is quite late, and you are +gaping like young chickens. Come and kiss your old granny, my dearies, +and trot away and have your dew-baths. And when you are tucked up in the +pink heather don't be afraid of the black cloud and the raindrops, for +they won't harm little pisky boys and maids if they're good. They are +too busy wearing away the granite, and cutting the cleaves deeper, and +making the mountains higher and our dear old Tavyland stronger and +fresher. There, that's all for to-night, my impets. I'll tell ye another +story to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Funny old thing, G'an'mother," whispered the little round-eyed ones, +while they washed their pink toes in the dew. "She'm old and dafty."</p> + +<p>That's the story of river Tavy and its cleave; not all of it by any +means, but the pixy grandmother did not know any more. Nobody knows all +of it, except that Someone who sent the wind, which swept up the cloud, +which brought the rain, which wetted the piece of jelly, which shivered +on the top of the big grey mountain of Dartmoor.</p> + +<p>The pixy grandmother was right about the primitive man who wanted so +much to know things. She was right when she said that the river taught +him. He looked about him and he imitated. The river had made him models +and he copied them. The tor to which he ascended to speak to that +Someone was the first temple and the first altar—made without noise, a +temple of unhewn stone, an altar of whole stones over which no man had +lifted up any iron. It was the earliest form of religion; a better and +purer form than any existing now. It was the beginning of folk-lore. It +was the first and best of mysteries: the savage, the hill-top, and the +wind; the cloud and the sun; the rain-built temple; the rain-shaped +altar. It was the unpolluted dwelling-place which Hebrew literature +tried to realise and failed; which philosophers and theocrats have tried +to realise and failed; which men are always trying to realise and must +always fail, because it is the beginning of things, the awakening of the +soul, the birth of the mind, the first cry of the new-born. It is the +first of all stories, therefore it cannot die; but the condition can +never come again. The story of the rain-shattered rocks must live for +ever; but only in the dimly-lighted realm of folk-lore.</p> + +<p>Thus, in a sense, Peter and Mary, and the other folk to be described in +these pages, are the children of the river, the grandchildren of the +cloud and the rain. Ages have passed since the cloud first settled upon +Dartmoor and the rain descended. Pandora's box has been opened since +then, and all the heavenly gifts, which were to prove the ruin of +mortals, escaped from it long ago, except hope left struggling in the +hinge. What have the ignorant, passionate, selfish creatures in common +with the freshness and purity of the wind and rain? Not much perhaps. It +is a change from the summit of Ger Tor, with its wind and rain-hewn +altar, to Exeter Cathedral, with its wind instrument and iron-cut +sculpture—a change for the worse. It is a change from the primitive +man, with his cry to the river, to Mary and Peter, and those who defile +their neighbours' daughters, and drink to excess. A change for the +worse? Who shall tell? Men cast back to primitive manners. The world was +young when the properties of the fruit of the vine were discovered; and +we all know the name of the oldest profession upon earth.</p> + +<p>The river of Tavy flows on and on, dashing its rain sea-ward. Go upon +the spectral mount of Ger Tor. Let it be night and early spring. Let +there be full moonlight also. Hear the water roaring: "I have worn away +the mountain of granite. I have shattered the rocks. Look at me, +civilised man. I have made you a dwelling-place, but you will not have +it. You swarm in your cities like bees in a rotten tree. Come back to +the wind and the rain. They will cool your passions. They will heal your +diseases. Come back to Nature, civilised man."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h3> + +<h2>ABOUT THE TAVY FAMILY</h2> + + +<p>"Coop, coop!" called Mary Tavy. "Cooey, cooey! Aw now, du'ye come, my +dear. He be proper contrairy when he'm minded to," she cried to Farmer +Chegwidden as she shook a gorse-bush, which was her shepherd's staff, +towards a big goose waddling ahead of her in the path of its own +selection, and spluttering and hissing like a damp firework.</p> + +<p>"Did ever see such a goosie?" said Mary. "When I wants 'en to go one way +he goes t'other. There he goes, down under, to Helmen Barton. If he lays +his egg there they'll keep 'en, and say one of their fowls dropped 'en. +He wun't come home till sundown. Contrairiest bird on Dartmoor be Old +Sal."</p> + +<p>"I don't hold wi' old geese," said Farmer Chegwidden. "They'm more +trouble than they'm worth. When they gets old they'm artful."</p> + +<p>"So be volks," said Mary. "Goosies be cruel human. Old Sal knows as much +as we. He'm twenty-two years old. He lays an egg every month. He'm the +best mother on Dartmoor, and Peter says he shan't die till he've a mind +to." By her continued use of the masculine gender any one might have +thought Mary was not quite convinced herself as to her goose's sex; but +it was not so really. There is nothing feminine on Dartmoor except +tom-cats.</p> + +<p>Mary lived with brother Peter close to the edge of Tavy Cleave, a little +way beyond Wapsworthy. There was a rough road from the village of St. +Peter Tavy, passing round the foot of Lynch Tor, and ending in a bog +half-a-mile further on. Ger Cottage—so named because the most prominent +feature of the landscape was Ger, or Gurt, Tor—which was the home of +the Tavys, the man and the woman, not the river, nor the cleave, nor the +stannary town, nor the two villages of that ilk, appeared amid boulders +and furze between the rough road and the gorge cut by the river. The +cottage, or to be strictly accurate, the cottages, for Peter and Mary +had separate apartments, which was quite right and proper, was, or were, +in a situation which a house-agent would have been justified in +describing as entirely detached. There was no other dwelling-place +within a considerable distance. The windows looked out upon romantic +scenery, which has been described in somewhat inflated language, +six-syllabled adjectives, and mixed metaphors, as something absolute and +unassailable; and has been compared to the Himalayas and Andes by +excitable young people under commission to write a certain number of +words for cheap guide-book purposes. However, the ravine of the Tavy is +perhaps the finest thing of its kind on Dartmoor; and "gentle readers" +who go abroad every winter have some reason to feel ashamed of +themselves if they have not seen it.</p> + +<p>When the New Zealander comes to explore England, he will, perhaps,—if +he is interested in such things—write letters to such newspapers as may +have survived concerning the source of the Tavy. He will probably claim +to have discovered some new source which the ignorant and vanished race +of Anglo-Saxons never happened on. Most people will say that the Tavy +rises at the south side of Cut Hill. Others, who do not wish to commit +themselves, will make the safe statement that its source is upon +Cranmere. As a matter of fact the Tavy would be a very wise river if it +knew its own head. By the time it has assumed any individuality of its +own and received its first titled tributary, which is the Rattle Brook, +it has come through so many changes, and escaped from such a complicated +maze of crevasses, that it would have to be provided with an Ariadne's +clue to retrace its windings to its source. In the face of general +opinion it seems likely that the Tavy begins its existence rather more +than two miles north of its accredited source, at a spot close to +Cranmere Pool, and almost within a stone's cast of the Dart. It would be +impossible, however, to indicate any one particular fissure, with its +sides of mud and dribble of slimy water, and declare that and none other +was the river of Tavy in extreme and gurgling infancy.</p> + +<p>There is no doubt about the Tavy by the time it has swallowed the Rattle +Brook and a few streams of lesser importance, and has entered the cleave +which it has carved through the granite by its own endless erosion. It +is an exceedingly self-assertive river; passing down with a satisfied +chuckle in the hot months, when the slabs of granite are like the floors +of so many bakers' ovens; and in the winter roaring at Ger Tor, as +though it would say, "I have cut through a thousand feet of granite +since I began to trickle. I will cut through a thousand more before the +sun gets cold." It is a noble little river, this shallow mountain +stream, the proudest of all Dartmoor rivers. More romance has gathered +around the Tavy than about all the other rivers in England put together, +leaving out the Tamar. The sluggish Thames has no romance to compare +with that of the Tavy. The Thames represents materialism with its +pleasure-boats and glitter of wealth. It suggests big waistcoats and +massive watch-chains. The Tavy stands for the spiritual side. Were the +god of wine to stir the waters of each, the Thames would flow with beer; +good beer possibly, but nothing better; while the Tavy would flow with +champagne. The Tavy is the Rhine of England. It was beside the Tavy that +fern-seed could be gathered, or the ointment obtained, which opened the +eyes of mortals to the wonders of fairyland. It was on the banks of the +Tavy that the pixies rewarded girls who behaved themselves—and pinched +and nipped those who didn't. Beside the Tavy has grown the herb +forget-me-not, which not only restored sight to the blind, but life also +to the dead; and the marigold which, when touched early on certain +mornings by the bare foot of the pure-minded, gave an understanding of +the language of birds. Many legends current upon the big Rhine occur +also beside the shallow Tavy. There are mining romances; tales of +success, struggles, and failures, from the time of the Phoenicians; +tales of battles for precious tin; tales of misery and torture and human +agony. That is the dark side of the Tavy—the Tavy when it roars, and +its waters are black and white, and there are glaciers down Ger Tor. The +tiny Lyd runs near the Rattle Brook, the bloody little Lyd in which the +torturers of the stannary prison cleansed their horrible hands. The +Rattle Brook knew all about it, and took the story and some of the blood +down to Father Tavy; and the Tavy roared on with the evidence, and +dashed it upon the walls of Tavistock Abbey, where the monks were +chanting psalms so noisily they couldn't possibly hear anything else. +That was the way of the monks. Stannary Laws and Tavistock Abbey have +gone, and nobody could wish for them back; but the Tavy goes on in the +same old way. It is no longer polluted with the blood of tin-streamers, +but merely with the unromantic and discarded boots of tramps. The +copper-mines are a heap of "deads"; and Wheal Betsey lies in ruin; but +the Tavy still brings trout to Tavistock, although there are no more +monks to bother about Fridays; and it carries away battered saucepans +and crockery for which the inhabitants have no further use. This +attention on the part of the townsfolk is not respectful, when it is +remembered that the Tavy brought their town into being, named it, and +has supplied it always with pure water. It is like throwing refuse at +one's godfather.</p> + +<p>The Tavy is unhappily named, so is its brother the Taw—both being sons +of Mother Cranmere—if it is true their names are derived the one from +the Gaelic <i>tav</i>, the other from the Welsh <i>taw</i>. The root word is +<i>tam</i>, which appears appropriately enough in Thames, and means placid +and spreading. The Tavy and the Taw are anything but that. They are +never placid, not even in the dog-days. They brawl more noisily than all +the other rivers in Devon. Perhaps they were so named on the <i>lucus a +non lucendo</i> principle; because it is so obvious they are not placid. +The river Tavy has a good deal of property. Wherever it winds it has +bestowed its name. The family of Tavy is a very ancient one. It was rich +and important once, possessing a number of rights, many valuable mines, +much romance, to say nothing of towns abbeys, and castles; but, like +most old families, it has decayed, and its property is not worth much +now. It possesses Tavy Cleave; the villages of St. Peter and St. Mary +(they were twins, exceedingly healthy in their youth, but growing feeble +now); Mount Tavy, which is of no importance; Tavystoc, the fortified +place upon the Tavy, which has been turned into Tavistock and has become +famous, not for its Abbey, nor for its great men, but solely and simply +for its Goose Fair; and Mary and Peter Tavy, who were not made of cob, +or granite, or water, or tin, or any of those other things which made +the fortune of the Tavy family, but were two simple animals of the human +race, children of the river out of that portion of Dartmoor which it +owns, two ignorant beings who took life seriously enough and were like +the heather and gorse which surrounded them. Evolution has accomplished +such marvels that Peter and Mary may possibly have been lineally +descended from antediluvian heather and gorse; or perhaps Nature had +intended them for heather and gorse, and while making them had come +across a couple of shop-soiled souls which were not of much use, and had +stirred them into the mixture which, after a certain treatment only to +be explained by a good deal of medical dog-Latin, resulted in Mary and +Peter being brought forth as divine images upon the edge of Tavy Cleave.</p> + +<p>Peter and Mary were savages, although they would have used strange +language had any one called them so. They did not display their +genealogical tree upon their cottage wall. Had they done so it would +have shown, had it been accurate, that they were descended from the +Gubbingses, who, as every man knows, were as disreputable a set of +savages as have ever lived. This pedigree would have shown that a +certain young Gubbings had once run away with a certain Miss Gubbings to +whom he was attached, and with whom he was probably related more or less +intimately. Fearing capture, as they had conveyed from the gorge of the +Lyd as much of the portable property of their connections as they could +conveniently handle, the young couple assumed the name of Tavy from the +river beside which they settled. They had a number of little Tavies, +who, it was said, founded the villages of Peter Tavy and Mary Tavy, +which good Christians subsequently canonised; and who, by intermarriage +without much respect for the tie of consanguinity, or for such a form of +religious superstition as a marriage service—if, indeed, they had ever +heard of such a thing—became in time a rival band of Scythians almost +as formidable to law-abiding commoners as their relations in Gubbings +Land. Peter and Mary were direct descendants of these pleasant people. +They didn't know it, however. It was just as well they were in +ignorance, because knowledge of the truth might have turned their heads. +The chief of the Gubbings was a king in his own land; therefore Peter +and Mary would certainly have boasted that they were of royal blood; and +Peter would assuredly have told his neighbours that if every man had his +rights he would be occupying the throne of England. He would have gone +on acquiring knowledge concerning those things which appertain unto +ancient families, and no doubt would have conferred upon himself, +although not upon Mary, a coat-of-arms such as a sheep in one quarter, a +bullock in another, a bag of gold in the third, and in the fourth a +peaceful commoner's head duly decollated, with the motto: "My wealth is +in other men's goods." Peter would have become an intolerable nuisance +had he known of his royal ancestry.</p> + +<p>Mary was quite a foot taller than her brother. Peter was like a gnome. +He was not much more than four feet in height, with a beard like a +furze-bush, a nose like a clothes-peg, and a pair of eyes which had +probably been intended for a boar, but had got into Peter by mistake. +His teeth were much broken and were very irregular; here a tooth like a +tor, there a gap like a cleave. In that respect he resembled his +neighbours. Dartmoor folk have singularly bad teeth, and none of them +submit to dentistry. They appear to think that defective teeth are +necessary and incurable evils. When they are ill they send for the +doctor at once; but when they have toothache they grin and bear it. +Perhaps they know that dentists are mercenary folk, who expect to be +paid for their labours; whereas the doctor who has any claim to +respectability works solely for the love of his profession, and is not +to be insulted by any proposal of payment. A doctor is a sort of +wandering boon-companion, according to the Dartmoor mind. There is +nothing he enjoys so much as being called from his bed on a bitter +winter's night, to drive some miles across the moor that he may have a +pleasant chat with some commoner who feels dull. He will be invited to +sit by a smouldering peat-fire, and the proposal, "Have a drop o' cider? +you'm welcome," will fall gratefully upon his ears. He will be +encouraged to talk about certain ailments, and to suggest remedies for +the same. Then he will be pressed to finish the crock of cider, and be +permitted to depart. After such hospitality he would be a base-minded +man if he made any suggestion of a fee. Peter had often consulted a +doctor, but he could not remember ever parting with cash in return for +advice. The doctor could not remember it either.</p> + +<p>Peter generally wore a big leather apron, which began somewhere about +the region of his neck and finished at his boots. He had taken it, in a +fit of absent-mindedness, out of the blacksmith of Bridestowe's smithy +some years ago. He was a bit of a traveller in those days. Peter often +boasted of his wanderings. That expedition to Bridestowe was one of +them. It would have been six miles across the moor from Tavy Cleave, and +yet Peter had made light of it. He had done much greater things. He had +put to silence one of those objectionable, well-washed, soft-handed, +expensively-dressed creatures who call themselves gentlemen. One of +these had described to Peter his wanderings about the world, mentioning +such fabulous countries as India, China, Mexico, and Peru. Peter +listened in an attitude which expressed nothing if not contempt. He +allowed the traveller to go oh some time before crushing him. "I've +travelled tu," he said at last. Then, with the manner of one dropping a +brick upon a butterfly, he added, "I've been to Plymouth." Peter often +mentioned that the traveller had nothing more to say.</p> + +<p>Peter had been absent-minded when he procured the blacksmith's apron, +somewhat after the manner of his early ancestors who had inhabited Lyd +Gorge or Gubbings Land. He was liable to such fits. They were generally +brought on by beer. One evening Mary had sent him to a farm—or rather +he had permitted her to send him—with a can and a string-bag in order +that he might receive payment of a debt in the form of ducks' eggs and +buttermilk. On the way Peter became absent-minded. The attack was fully +developed by the time he reached the farm. He forced the eggs into the +can and poured the buttermilk into the string-bag.</p> + +<p>Mary also must have been made during a fit of Nature's temporary +insanity. She had been started as a man; almost finished as one; then +something had gone wrong—Nature had poured the buttermilk into the +string-bag, so to speak, and Mary became a female to a certain extent. +She had a man's face and a man's feet. Larger feet had never scrambled +down Tavy Cleave since mastodons had gone out of fashion. The impression +of Mary's bare foot in the snow would have shocked a scientist. She was +stronger than most men. To see Mary forking fern, carrying furze-reek, +or cutting peat was a revelation in female strength. She wore stout +bloomers under a short ragged skirt; not much else, except a brown +jersey. The skirt was discarded sometimes in moments of emergency. She +was flat-chested, and had never worn stays. She was as innocent +concerning ordinary female underwear as Peter; more so, perhaps, for +Peter was not blind to frills. Mary would probably have worn her +brother's trousers sometimes, had it not been for that muddle-headed act +of Nature, which had turned her out a woman at the last moment. Besides, +Peter was a foot shorter than his sister, and his legs were merely a +couple of pegs.</p> + +<p>Somewhere in his head Peter despised Mary. He did not tell her so, or +she might have beaten him with a furze-bush. He was far superior to her. +Peter could read, write, and reckon with a dangerous facility. He was +also an orator, and had been known to speak for five minutes at a +stretch in the bar-room. He had repeated himself certainly, but every +orator does that. Peter was a savage who knew just enough to look +civilised. Mary was a savage who knew nothing and was therefore +humorous. It was education which gave Peter the upper hand, Mary could +not assert her superiority over one who read the newspapers, spoke in a +bar-room, and described characters on a piece of paper which would +convey a meaning to some one far away.</p> + +<p>Ger Cottage, or the twin huts occupied by the Tavys, had been once +hut-circles, belonging to the aboriginal inhabitants of Dartmoor. They +were side by side, semi-detached as it were, and the one was Peter's +freehold, while the other belonged to Mary. They had the same legal +rights to their property as rabbits enjoy in their burrows. Legal rights +are not referred to on Dartmoor, unless a foreigner intervenes with a +view to squatting. "What I have I hold" is every man's motto. The +hut-circles had been restored out of all recognition. They had been +enlarged, the walls had been built up, chimneys made, and roofs covered +with furze and held in place by lumps of granite had been erected. Peter +and Mary were quite independent. Peter was the best housewife, just as +Mary was the best farmer. Peter also called himself a handy man, which +was merely another way of saying that he was no good at anything. He +would undertake all kinds of jobs, ask for a little on account, then +postpone the work for a few years. He never completed anything. Mary was +the money-maker, and he was really her business-manager. Mary was so +ignorant that she never wondered how Peter got his money. It was +perfectly simple. Peter would sell a twelve-pound goose at eightpence a +pound. When he collected the money it naturally amounted to eight +shillings. When he paid it over to Mary it had dwindled to five +shillings. "Twelve times eight be sixty," Peter would explain. "Sixty +pence be five shilluns." Mary knew no better. Then Peter always asked +for a shilling as his commission, and Mary had to give it him. Peter had +studied ordinary business methods with some success; or perhaps it came +to him naturally. He had some ponies also. There is plenty of money in +pony-breeding as Peter practised it. He would go out upon the moor, find +a young pony which had not been branded, drive it home without any +ostentation, and shut it-up in his linhay. After a time he would set his +own brand upon it and let it run loose. When the annual pony-drift came +round he would claim it, subsequently selling it at Lydford market for +five pounds. Sometimes he would remove a brand, and obliterate all +traces of it by searing his own upon the same spot; but he never went to +this extreme unless he was hard pressed for money, because Peter had +certain religious convictions, and he always felt when he removed a +brand that he was performing a dishonest action.</p> + +<p>The only other member of the Tavy family was Grandfather. He was the +reprobate. Peter and Mary had morals of their own, not many, but +sufficient for their needs; but Grandfather had none. He was utterly +bad; a wheezing, worn-out, asthmatic old sinner, who had never been +known to tell the truth. Grandfather was always in Peter's hut. Mary had +often begged for him to keep her company at nights, but Peter +steadfastly refused to let the old rascal leave his quarters. So +Grandfather lived with Peter, and spent his time standing with his back +to the wall, wheezing and chuckling and making all sorts of unpleasant +noises, as if there was some obstruction on his chest which he was +trying always to remove.</p> + +<p>Grandfather's hands were very loose and shaky, and his face was +dreadfully dirty. Peter washed it sometimes, while the old fellow +wheezed and groaned. Sometimes Peter opened his chest and examined +Grandfather's organs, which he declared were in a perfectly healthy +condition. There appeared to be no excuse for Grandfather's mendacious +habits. He had got into the way of lying years back, and could not shake +it off. Grandfather was well over a hundred years old, and he was not +the slightest use except as a companion. Some people would have been +afraid of him, because of his unpleasant noises, but Peter and Mary +loved him like dutiful grandchildren. They recognised in Grandfather the +true Gubbings spirit. He was a weak, sinful creature like themselves.</p> + +<p>Grandfather had commenced life as a clock, but he had soon given up that +kind of work, or something had occurred to turn him from a useful +career; just as Peter had been meant for some sort of quadruped, and +Mary had been a man up to the last possible moment. Some evil spirit +must have entered into Grandfather; a malicious impet from the Tavy +river perhaps; or possibly the wild wind of Dartmoor had passed down the +cleave one day, to enter Grandfather's chest and intoxicate him for +ever. The fact remained that Grandfather was hopelessly bad; he was a +regular misanthrope; his ticks were so many curses, his strikings were +oaths. He did his best to mislead the two grandchildren, although it +didn't matter much, because time is of no account on Dartmoor. "He'm a +proper old brute, Gran'vaither," Peter would say sometimes, but never in +the old clock's hearing.</p> + +<p>Mary's mission in life was to breed geese. She had been sent into the +world for the express purpose of supplying folk with savoury meat +stuffed with sage and onions at Christmas time. She succeeded admirably. +She was the best goosewoman on Dartmoor, and her birds were always in +demand. One year Peter had obtained a shilling a pound for three +unusually fine young birds; but Mary didn't know that. She fattened her +geese, and incidentally Peter also.</p> + +<p>"They'm contrairy birds," observed Farmer Chegwidden, while he smoked +and rested himself upon a boulder, watching Mary's efforts to collect +her flock. "Never goes the way us want 'em to. Like volks," he added, +with philosophic calm. He might have been assisting Mary, only he didn't +believe in violent exercise which would not be suitably rewarded.</p> + +<p>"Volks calls 'en vulish, but they bain't. They'm just vull o' human +vices," said Mary, flopping to and fro and waving her furze-bush.</p> + +<p>"They'm vulish to look at," explained Farmer Chegwidden.</p> + +<p>"'Tis their artful way. Peter looks vulish tu, and he knows plenty. +More'n any of they goosies, I reckon. Coop, coop! Drat the toad! I'll +scat 'en."</p> + +<p>The leader of the feathered choir was off again. Chegwidden could have +headed it off, only he had finished his day's work. He managed to summon +up the energy to remark, "They gets over the ground surprising, wi' +their wings spread."</p> + +<p>"He'm a proper little brute. I wun't waste no more time over 'en," said +Mary, as she wiped her forehead with a bunch of fern. "He'll come home +when he've a mind to, and lay his egg in the linny likely, where +Peter'll tread on 'en in the morning. Peter be cruel clumsy wi' his +boots. Will ye please to step inside, Varmer Chegwidden?"</p> + +<p>"I mun get home. Got the bullocks to feed."</p> + +<p>"Fine bullocks tu. I seed 'em down cleave last night. Cooey, cooey! Come +along home, my purty angels. Wish ye good-night, Varmer Chegwidden."</p> + +<p>"Why du'ye call 'em angels?" asked the farmer, making strange sounds of +laughter behind his hand.</p> + +<p>"Aw now, I'll tell ye. There was a lady down along, a dafty lady what +painted, and her come to Peter, and her ses, 'I wants they goosies to +paint.' Well, us wouldn't have it. Us thought her wanted to paint 'em, +one of 'em red, 'nother green likely, 'nother yellow maybe, and it might +be bad for their bellies. But us found her wanted to put 'em on a +picture. Her had got a mazed notion about the cleave and resurrection, +wi' angels flapping over, and her wanted my goosies for angels. Peter +ses he didn't know goosies were like angels. Knows a lot, Peter du."</p> + +<p>"Angels be like gals," declared Chegwidden. "Like them gals to Tavistock +what pulls the beer, wi' pert faces and vuzzy hair. That's what angels +be like. I've seed the pictures in a Bible."</p> + +<p>"Aw now. Us couldn't make she out," went on Mary. "The lady said 'twas +just the wings her wanted. Her said angels ha' got goosies' wings, and +us couldn't say 'em hasn't, 'cause us ain't seed any. Her knew all about +it. So Peter druve the goosies down cleave, and her painted 'em for +angels sure 'nuff. Us never knew angels has goosies' wings, but the lady +knew. Her was sure on't."</p> + +<p>Mary stalked towards the hut-circles at the head of her row of geese, +grave, waddling, self-important, and blissfully unconscious of anything +in the nature of sage and onions. There was a touch of humour about the +procession. It was not altogether unlike the spectacle to be witnessed +in certain country boroughs of the mayor and corporation walking into +church.</p> + +<p>"Goosies be cruel human," said Mary.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h3> + +<h2>ABOUT BRIGHTLY</h2> + + +<p>Up the road from Brentor to St. Mary Tavy came Brightly, his basket +dragging on his arm. He was very tired, but there was nothing unusual in +that. He was tired to the point of exhaustion every day. He was very +hungry, but he was used to that too. He was thinking of bread and cheese +and cider; new bread and soft cheese, and cider with a rough edge to it. +He licked his lips, and tried to believe he was tasting them. Then he +began to cough. It was a long, heaving cough, something like that of a +Dartmoor pony. He had to put his basket down and lean over it, and tap +at his thin chest with a long raw hand.</p> + +<p>Nobody wanted Brightly, because he was not of the least importance. He +hadn't got a home, or a vote, or any of those things which make the +world desire the presence of people. He was only a nuisance, who worried +desirable folk that he might exist, though the people whom he worried +did not ask him to live. Brightly was a purveyor of rabbit-skins. He +dealt in rubbish, possibly because he was rubbish himself. He tramped +about Dartmoor, between Okehampton and Tavistock, collecting +rabbit-skins. When he was given them for nothing he was grateful, but +his stock of gratitude was not drawn upon to any large extent. It is not +the way of Dartmoor folk to part with even rubbish for nothing. To +obtain his rabbit-skins Brightly had to dip his raw hand beneath the +scrap of oilcloth which covered his basket, and produce a horrible +little red and yellow vase which any decent-minded person would have +destroyed at sight. Brightly bore most things fairly well, but when, on +one occasion while climbing over the rocks, he had dropped the basket +and all the red and yellow vases were smashed to atoms, he had cried. He +had been tired and hungry as usual, and knew he had lost the capital +without which a man cannot do business. The dropping of that basket +meant bankruptcy to Brightly.</p> + +<p>The dealer in rabbit-skins was not alone in the world. He had a dog, +which was rubbish like its master. The animal was of no recognised +breed, although in a dim light it called itself a fox-terrier. She could +not have been an intelligent dog, or she would not have remained +constant to Brightly. Her name was Ju, which was an abbreviation of +Jerusalem. One Sunday evening Brightly had slipped inside a church, and +somewhat to his surprise had been allowed to remain, although a sidesman +was told off to keep an eye upon him and see that he did not break open +the empty poor-box. A hymn was sung about Jerusalem the golden, a piece +of pagan doggerel concerning the future state, where happy souls were +indulging in bacchanalian revels, and over-eating themselves in a sort of +glorified dairy filled with milk and honey. The hymn enraptured +Brightly, who was, of course, tired and famished; and when he had left +the warm church, although without any of the promised milk and honey, he +kept on murmuring the lines and trying to recall the music. He could +think of nothing but Jerusalem for some days. He went into the public +library at Tavistock and looked it up in a map of the world, discovered +it was in a country called Palestine, and wondered how many rabbit-skins +it would cost to take him there. Brightly reckoned in rabbit-skins, not +in shillings and pence, which were matters he was not very familiar +with. He noticed that whenever he mentioned the name of Jerusalem the +dog wagged her tail, as though she too was interested in the dairy +produce; so, as the animal lacked a title, Jerusalem was awarded her. +Brightly thought of the milk and honey whenever he called his poor +half-starved cur.</p> + +<p>Presently he thought he had coughed long enough, so he picked up his +basket and went on climbing the road, his body bent as usual towards the +right. At a distance he looked like the half of a circle. He could not +stand straight. The weight of his basket and habit had crooked him like +an oak branch. He tramped on towards the barren village of St. Mary +Tavy. There was a certain amount of wild scenery to be admired. Away to +the right was Brentor and the church upon its crags. To the left were +piled the "deads" of the abandoned copper-mines. The name of Wheal +Friendship might have had a cheerful sound for Brightly had he known +what friendship meant. He didn't look at the scenery, because he was +half blind. He could see his way about, but that was all. He lived in +the twilight. He wore a big pair of unsightly spectacles with +tortoise-shell rims. His big eyes were always staring widely behind the +glasses, seeing all they could, which was the little bit of road in +front and no more.</p> + +<p>Brightly was known about that particular part of the moor which he +frequented as the Seal. Every one laughed whenever the Seal was +mentioned. Brightly's wardrobe consisted chiefly of an old and very +tightly-fitting suit of black, distinctly clerical in cut. They had been +obtained from a Wesleyan shepherd in exchange for a pair of red and +yellow vases to embellish the mantel of the nonconforming parlour. Rain +is not unknown upon Dartmoor, and in the neighbourhood of St. Mary Tavy +it descends with pitiless violence. Brightly would be quickly saturated, +having no means of protecting himself; and then the tight clerical +garments, sodden and sleek and shining, would certainly bear some +resemblance to the coat of a seal which had just left the sea; a +resemblance which was not lessened by his wizened little face and weary +shuffling gait.</p> + +<p>Brightly did not think much while he tramped the moor. He had no right +to think. It was not in the way of business. Still, he had his dream, +not more than one, because he was not troubled with an active +imagination. He tried to fancy himself going about, not on his tired +rheumatic legs, but in a little ramshackle cart, with fern at the bottom +for Ju to lie on, and a bit of board at the side bearing in white +letters the inscription: "A. Brightly. Purveyor of rabbit-skins"; and a +lamp to be lighted after dark, and a plank for himself to sit on, and a +box behind containing the red and yellow vases. All this splendour to be +drawn by a little shaggy pony. What a great man he would be in those +days! Starting forth in the morning would be a pleasure and not a pain. +Frequently Brightly babbled of his hypothetical cart. He felt sure it +must come some day, and so he had begun to prepare for it. He had +secured the plank upon which he was to sit and guide the pony, and every +autumn he cut some fern to put at the bottom of the cart should it +arrive suddenly. The plank he had picked up, and the fern had been cut +upon the moor. He had clearly no right to them. The plank had probably +slipped out of a granite cart, and the fern belonged to the commoners. +There was plenty of it for every one, but, as the commoners would have +argued, that was not the point. They had a right to cut the fern, and +people like Brightly have no right to anything, except a cheap funeral. +Brightly had no business to wander about the moor, which was never made +for him, or to kick his boots to pieces against good Duchy of Cornwall +granite. All the commoners cheated the Duchy of Cornwall, while they +loyally cheered the name of the Duke. They took his granite and +skilfully evaded payment of the royalty, and prayed each Sunday in their +chapels for grace to continue in honesty; but the fact of their being +commoners, some of them having the privilege of the newtake, and others +not having the privilege but taking it all the same, made all the +difference. They had to assert themselves. When it came to a question of +a few extra shillings in the money-box, or even of a few extra pence, +minor matters, such as petty tyrannical ordinances of law and Church, +could take their seats in a back corner and "bide there." Brightly had +no privileges. He had to obey every one. He was only a worm which any +one was at perfect liberty to slice in half with a spade.</p> + +<p>Brightly had a home. The river saw to that; not the Tavy, but the less +romantic Taw. Brightly belonged to the Torridge and Taw branch of the +family. On the Western side of Cawsand are many gorges in the great +cleave cut by the Taw between Belstone and Sticklepath. There narrow and +deep clefts have been made by the persistent water draining down to the +Taw from the bogs above. In the largest of these clefts Brightly was at +home. The sides were completely hidden by willow-scrub, immense ferns, +and clumps of whortleberries, as well as by overhanging masses of +granite. The water could be heard dripping below like a chime of fairy +bells. In winter the cleft appeared a white cascade of falling water, +but Brightly's cave was fairly dry and quite sheltered. He was never +there by day, and at night nobody could see the smoke of his fire. He +had built up the entrance with shaped stones taken from the +long-abandoned cots beside the old copper-mines below. The cleft was +full of copper, which stained the water a delightful shade of green. +Brightly had furnished his home with those things which others had +thrown away. He had long ago solved the difficulty of cooking with a +perforated frying-pan, and of turning to practical uses a kettle with a +bottom like a sieve.</p> + +<p>Brightly reached the moor gate. On the other side was the long +straggling village of St. Mary Tavy. Beside the gate was a heap of +refuse. Brightly seated himself upon it, because he thought it was the +proper place for him.</p> + +<p>"I be cruel hungry, Ju," explained Brightly.</p> + +<p>"So be I," said the dog's tail.</p> + +<p>"Fair worn to bits tu," went on Brightly.</p> + +<p>"Same here," said the tail.</p> + +<p>"Wait till us has the cart," said Brightly cheerily, placing the +rabbit-skins upon the dirt beside him. "Us won't be worn to bits then. +Us will du dree times the business, and have a cottage and potato-patch, +and us will have bread and cheese two times a day and barrel o' cider in +the linny. Us will have fat bacon on Sundays tu."</p> + +<p>Brightly did not know that ambition is an evil thing. It was ridiculous +for him to aspire to a cottage and potato-patch, and bread and cheese +three times a day. Kindly souls had created stately mansions for such as +he. There was one at Tavistock and another in Okehampton; beautiful +buildings equipped with all modern conveniences where he could live in +comfort, and not worry his head about rabbit-skins, or about Ju, or +about such follies as liberty and independence, or about such +unnecessary aids to existence as the moorland wind, his river Taw, the +golden blossoms of the gorse, the moonlight upon the rocks, and the +sweet scent of heather. Brightly was an unreasonable creature to work +and starve when a large stone mansion was waiting for him.</p> + +<p>"Us ha' come a cruel long way, Ju," said the little man, descending from +his dream. "Only two rabbit-skins. Business be cruel bad. Us mun get on. +This be an awkward village to work. It be all scattery about like."</p> + +<p>Brightly rose with some alacrity. The moor gate rattled. The hand of the +village constable was upon it, and the eyes of that official, who was to +Brightly, at least, a far more considerable person than the Lord Chief +Justice, were regarding the vagabond with a suspicion which was +perfectly natural considering their respective positions.</p> + +<p>"Good-evening, sir," said Brightly with deep humility. The policeman was +not called upon to answer such things as Brightly. He condescended, +however, to observe in the severe tones which his uniform demanded: +"Best be moving on, hadn't ye?"</p> + +<p>Brightly agreed that it was advisable. He was well aware he had no right +to be sitting upon the heap of refuse. He had probably damaged it In +some way. The policeman had his bicycle with him, as he was on his way +to Lydford. Brightly stood in a reverential attitude, held the gate +open, and touched his cap as the great man rolled by. The constable +accepted the service, without thanks, and looked back until the little +wanderer was out of sight. Such creatures could be turned to profitable +uses after all. They could be made to supply industrious village +constables with opportunities for promotion. They could be arrested and +charged with house-breaking, rick-burning, or swaling out of season; if +such charges could not be supported, they could be summoned for keeping +a dog without a licence. The policeman made a note of Brightly, as +business was not very flourishing just then. There was the usual amount +of illegality being practised by the commoners; but the village +constable had nothing to do with that. Commoners are influential folk. A +man could not meddle with them and retain his popularity. The policeman +had to be polite to his social superiors, and salute the elders of +Ebenezer with a bowed head, and wink violently when it was incumbent +upon him so to do.</p> + +<p>Dartmoor has no reason to be proud of St. Mary Tavy, as it is quite the +dreariest-looking village upon the moor. Even the river seems to be +rather ashamed of it, and turns away as if from a poor relation. St. +Peter, over the way, is much more cheerful. They were well-to-do once, +these two. They were not only saints, but wealthy, in the good days when +the wheals were working and the green stain of copper was upon +everything. Now they have come down in the world. The old gentleman lets +lodgings, and the old lady takes in washing. They have put away their +halos, dropped their saintly prefix, and it is exceedingly improbable +that they will ever want them again. They always found it hard work to +live up to their reputations; not that they tried very much; but now +they are both easy and comfortable as plain everyday folk, neither +better nor worse than their neighbours Brentor and Lydford. Peter is a +fine, rugged old gentleman; but Mary is decidedly plain with age. There +is nothing tender or pleasant about her. She is shamelessly naked; +without trees or bushes, and the wheal-scarred moor around is as bald as +an apple. The wind comes across her head with the blast of ten thousand +bagpipes; and when it rains upon St. Mary—it rains!</p> + +<p>Brightly knew all about that rain. He had often played the Seal upon +that wild road, and had felt the water trickling down his back and +making reservoirs of his boots; while people would stand at their +windows and laugh at him. Nobody had ever asked him to come in and take +shelter. Such an idea would never have occurred to them. Ponies and +bullocks were out upon the moor in all weathers, and every winter some +died from exposure. Brightly was nothing like so valuable as a pony or +bullock, and if he were to die of exposure nobody would be out of +pocket.</p> + +<p>Brightly went from cottage to cottage, but there were no rabbit-skins +that day. There seemed to be a rabbit famine just then. Lamps were +lighted in windows here and there. When the doors were opened Brightly +felt the warmth of the room, smelt the glowing peat and the fragrant +teapot, and sometimes saw preparations for a meal. What a wonderful +thing it must be, he thought, to have a room of one's own; a hearth, and +a mantelpiece holding china dogs, cows with purple spots, and +photographs of relations in the Army; a table covered with rare and +precious things, such as waxen fruit beneath a dome of glass, woollen +mats, and shells from foreign lands; a clock in full working order; a +dresser stocked with red and green crockery; and upon the walls +priceless oleographs framed in blue ribbon, designed and printed in +Austria, and depicting their Royal Highnesses the Duke and Duchess of +Cornwall, simpering approvingly at a scarlet Abraham in the act of +despatching a yellow Isaac with a bright-blue scimitar. Brightly sighed +as each door was closed upon him, and each smoky little paradise +disappeared. He was having a run of bad luck. Ju knew all about it. She +put what was left of her tail between her legs and shivered. No doubt +she wished she had been born into the world a genuine dog, and not a +mongrel; just as Brightly sometimes wished he had been born a real human +being, and not a poor thing which dealt in rabbit-skins.</p> + +<p>He reached the top of the village. The road heaved above him, and then +came the bare upland. He could do no more that evening. There was no +food, or fire, or shelter for him. He knew of a barn in which he could +sleep at Brentor, but it was too late to go back there. Darkness was +coming on. Brightly did not require to feel in his pocket to discover +the state of his finances. He knew he had just twopence.</p> + +<p>There was a gate beside him, and on the other side a row of very small +whitewashed cottages one room high, which had been built for miners in +the days when Mary Tavy had been a saint and prosperous; they were then +occupied by assorted families. Brightly stumbled through and knocked at +the door of the first. It was opened by a young woman nursing a baby; +another was hanging to her skirts; a third sprawled under the table; +there was a baby in a cradle, another wrapped upon a chair. It appeared +to be a congress of babies. The place was crawling with them. It was a +regular baby-warren. They had been turned out wholesale. Even Brightly +felt he had come to the wrong place, as he asked the extraordinarily +fertile female if she would give him a cup of tea and piece of bread for +one penny.</p> + +<p>The answer was in the negative. The woman was inclined to be hysterical, +which was not surprising considering her surroundings. She was alone in +the house, if she could be called alone when it was hardly possible to +step across the floor for babies which were lying about like bees under +a lime-tree. Brightly was known as a vagabond. He looked quite the sort +of man who would murder her and all the children. She told him to go +away, and when he did not move, because he had not heard, she began to +scream.</p> + +<p>"I'll send for policeman if ye don't go. You'm a bad man. Us knows ye. +Coming here to scare me, just as I be going to have a baby tu. 'Twill be +cross-eyed, poor dear, wi' yew overlooking me. Get along wi' yew, or +I'll call neighbours."</p> + +<p>Brightly begged her pardon in his soft voice and went. He knew it was no +use trying the other cottages. The woman with the army of children would +only follow from door to door, and describe how he had insulted her. He +made his way to the top of the village and sat upon the hedge. Ju +crouched beside him and licked his boots. It was a fine evening, only +they were too hungry to appreciate it properly.</p> + +<p>"Us mun get food, or us wun't tramp far in the morning," said Brightly. +"This wind du seem to mak' a stomach feel cruel empty."</p> + +<p>"Makes a dog's stomach empty too, father," said the eloquent tail of Ju.</p> + +<p>"Us will go to the shop, and get what us can for a penny. Mun keep one +penny for to-morrow," said Brightly.</p> + +<p>He turned his dim eyes towards the road. A horse was trotting up the +long hill, and presently he saw it; a big ugly grey with a shaggy coat. +Brightly knew who it was approaching him, and had there been time he +would have hidden, because he was afraid of the man who rode. "It be +Varmer Pendoggat," he whispered. "Don't ye growl, Ju."</p> + +<p>Possibly the rider would have passed without a word, but the grey horse +saw the creatures upon the hedge and shied, crushing the rider's leg +against one of the posts opposite. This was unfortunate for Brightly, as +it was clearly his fault. Quaint objects with big spectacles and +rabbit-skins have no business to sit upon a hedge in the twilight. He +had frightened the horse, just as he had frightened the woman with a +family. The horse had hurt his master, and Pendoggat was not the sort of +man to suffer patiently.</p> + +<p>There is a certain language which must not be described. It may be heard +to perfection in the cheap enclosures at race-meetings, in certain +places licensed to sell beer, at rabbit-shoots, and in other places +where men of narrow foreheads come together and seem to revert to a type +of being which puzzles the scientist, because there is nothing else in +the entire animal world quite like it. Pendoggat made use of that +language. He had a low forehead, a scowling face, small eyes, which +looked anywhere except at the object addressed, bushy black moustache, +and high cheek-bones. He never laughed, but when he was angry he +grinned, and spittle ran down his chin. He was a strong man; it was said +he could pick up a sack of flour with one hand. He could have taken +Brightly and broken him up like a rotten stick. Most people were +respectful to Pendoggat. The village constable would have retired on a +pension rather than offend him.</p> + +<p>"I be sorry, sir. I be cruel sorry," muttered poor shivering Brightly. +"I did bide still, sir, and I told the dog to bide still tu. I hopes you +hain't hurt, sir. Don't ye be hard on I, sir. Us have had a bad day, and +us be hungry, sir."</p> + +<p>Pendoggat replied with more of the same language. He tried to destroy Ju +with his thick ground-ash, but the wise cur escaped. Then he sidled the +horse towards the hedge, and crushed Brightly against its stones. He saw +nothing pathetic in the poor thin creature's quivering face and +half-blind eyes; but he obtained some enjoyment out of the piping cry +for mercy. Brightly thought he was going to be killed, and though he +didn't mind that much, he did not want to be tortured.</p> + +<p>"Don't ye, sir. Don't ye hurt I," he cried. "I didn't mean it, sir. I +was biding quiet. You'm hurting I cruel, sir. I'll give ye two vases, +sir, purty vases, if yew lets I go."</p> + +<p>Pendoggat struck his horse, and the animal started back. Brightly +reached his raw hand up the hedge and lifted his basket tenderly. It was +like losing flesh and blood to part with his vases, but freedom from +persecution was worth any ransom. He removed the oil-cloth. What was +left of the light softened the hideous ware and made the crude colouring +endurable.</p> + +<p>"Tak' two, sir," said Brightly piteously. "Them's the best, sir."</p> + +<p>"Give me up the basket," Pendoggat muttered.</p> + +<p>The shivering little man lifted it. Pendoggat snatched at the handle, +pulled out a vase, and flung it against the stone hedge. There was a +sharp sound, and then the road became spotted with red and yellow +fragments.</p> + +<p>This was something which Brightly could hardly understand. It was too +raw and crude. He stood in the road, with his hands swaying like two +pendulums against his thin legs, and wondered why the world had been +made and what was the object of it all. There was another crash, and a +second shower of red and yellow fragments. Pendoggat had selected his +pair of vases, and he was also enjoying himself. He looked up and down, +saw there was no one in sight; Dartmoor is a wild and lawless place, and +nobody could dictate to him. He was a commoner; master of the rivers and +the granite. Brightly said nothing. He lifted a red hand for his basket, +which contained what was left of his capital, but Pendoggat only struck +the clumsy fingers with his ground-ash. It was darker, but a wild gleam +was showing over what had been Gubbings Land. The moon was coming up +that way.</p> + +<p>"I'll learn ye to scare my horse," growled Pendoggat. "I saw you shake +your hand at him. I heard you setting on the dog. If I was to give you +what you deserve, I'd—" He lifted his arm, and there was another crash, +and more flesh and blood were wasted.</p> + +<p>"Don't ye, sir," cried Brightly bitterly. "It be ruin, sir. I tored they +once avore, and 'twas nigh a month 'vore I could start again. I works +hard, sir, and I du try, but I've got this asthma, sir, and rheumatism, +and I can't properly see, master. I've been in hospital to Plymouth, +sir, but they ses I would never properly see. 'Tis hard to start again, +master, and I ain't got friends. Don't ye tear any more, master. I'll +never get right again."</p> + +<p>Pendoggat went on smashing the vases. There were not many of them, not +nearly enough to satisfy him. The last was shattered, and he flung the +basket at Brightly, hitting him on the head, but fortunately not +breaking his spectacles. Brightly wanted to be alone; to crawl into the +bracken with Ju, and think about many things; only Pendoggat would not +let him go.</p> + +<p>"Hand up those rabbit-skins," he shouted. He was growing excited. +Smashing the vases had put passion into him.</p> + +<p>"I've tramped ten miles for they, master. Sourton to Lydford, and +Lydford to Brentor, and Brentor to Mary Tavy. Times be very bad, sir. +Ten miles for two rabbit-skins, master."</p> + +<p>"Hand them up, or I'll break your head."</p> + +<p>Brightly had to obey. Pendoggat flung the skins across the saddle and +grinned. He passed his sleeve across his lips, then put out his arm, +seized Brightly by the scarf round his neck, and dragged him near. "If I +was to give ye one or two across the head, 'twould learn ye not to scare +horses," he said.</p> + +<p>Brightly shivered a little more, and lifted his wizened face.</p> + +<p>"Got any money? Tell me the truth, or I'll pull the rags off ye."</p> + +<p>"Duppence, master. 'Tis all I has now you'm torn the cloam and got my +rabbit-skins. If it warn't for the duppence I don't know what me and Ju +would du."</p> + +<p>"Hand it over," said Pendoggat.</p> + +<p>"I can't, master. I can't," whispered Brightly, gulping like a dying +fish.</p> + +<p>"Hand it over, or I'll strangle ye." Then in a fit of passion he dragged +Brightly right across the saddle and tore his pocket open. The two +copper coins fell into his hand. He dropped Brightly upon the red and +yellow fragments, which cut his raw hands, then hit his horse, and rode +on triumphing. He had punished the miserable little dealer in rubbish; +and he fancied Brightly would not venture to frighten his horse again.</p> + +<p>Pendoggat rode up to the high moor and felt the wind. He was about to +strike his horse into a canter, when a spectre started out of the gloom, +a wizened face reached his knee, an agonised voice cried: "Give I back +my duppence, master. Give I back my duppence."</p> + +<p>Pendoggat shivered. He did not enjoy the sound of that voice, or the +sight of that face. He thought of death when he saw that face. Brightly +was only one of the mean things of the earth, and mean things make a +fuss about trifles. That face and that voice all over the loss of +twopence! Probably the wretched thing was mad. Honest men are often +frightened when they see lunatics.</p> + +<p>"Us be cruel hungry, master. Us have eaten nought all day. Us have lost +our cloam and our rabbit-skins. Give I back my duppence, master. I'll +work for ye to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Pendoggat hit his horse, and the animal cantered away, and the spectre +troubled him no longer. He wiped his chin again and felt satisfied. He +had made a poor creature suffer. There was a certain amount of crude +pleasure in that thought. But why had that face and voice suggested +death, the death of a man who has used his power to deprive a poor +wretch of his vineyard? Pendoggat flung the rabbit-skins into the gaping +pit of a mine-shaft and cantered on. He was a free man; he was a +commoner; the rivers and the rocks were his.</p> + +<p>Brightly stumbled back to the hedge to reclaim his empty basket. He +talked to Ju for a little, and tried to understand things, but couldn't. +He would have to start all over again. He discovered a turnip, which had +probably rolled out of a cart and was therefore any one's property, and +he filled his stomach with that. Ju raked a bone bearing a few sinews +out of a rubbish-heap. So they might have done worse.</p> + +<p>At the top of the village was an old cow-barn. Above was a loft +containing a little dry fern. Brightly and Ju lodged there. It was quite +away from other buildings, standing well out upon the moor, therefore +nobody heard a queer piping voice, singing and feasting on the quaint +doggerel far into the night—</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"Jerusalem the golden,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Wi' milk and honey blest...</span><br /> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h3> + +<h2>ABOUT PASTOR AND MASTER</h2> + + +<p>Unpleasant creatures are so plentiful in the world that they cannot be +overlooked. Were there only a few they might be ignored; but they +throng, they thrust themselves forward, they shout to attract attention, +they push the decent-looking out of the way. The ugliest women make the +most noise; the ugliest men shove to the front in a crowd; the ugliest +insects make their way into bed-chambers. Why Nature made so much +ugliness, side by side with so much that is beautiful, only Nature +knows. Some countries are made detestable to live in by the presence of +hideous creatures. There is the fire-ant of the Amazon valley, which +will put human beings to flight. There is the Mygale spider, covered +with poisonous red hair, its body the size of a duck's egg, the spread +of its legs covering eight inches, which scuttles into a room by +moonlight and casts a horrible shadow upon the bed. There is the +wolf-spider which, if a man passes near its lair, will leap out and +pursue him, and bite him if it can. There are so many of these repulsive +things that they cannot be disregarded. Some things can be kept out of +the way: abattoirs, operating-theatres, vivisection-hells. People ignore +and forget these, because they are not seen; but the man wolf-spider +cannot be forgotten, because he leaps out and pursues those that come +near his lurking-place.</p> + +<p>Nothing in the entire system of creation can be more inexplicable than +the persistent cruelty of Nature. Death there must be, but Nature +resents a painless death. Animals not only kill but torture those which +are inferior to them. Mason-wasps deliberately vivisect spiders, which +are insects extremely tenacious of life. It is the same all the way +along the scale up to and including man. Nature does her work with +bloody hands; birth, life, death, become a miserable dabble of blood and +passion. Some people shut their eyes to it all; others cannot; others +add to it; churches with their tolling bells and black masses revel in +the mystic side of it.</p> + +<p>There is not a person living who has not done an act of cruelty. It is +impossible to refrain from it. However kindly the soul may be Nature +will whisper bloody messages; and some day there is sure to be a +temporary breakdown. In a town the wretched business is not much seen. +It lurks in the dark corners, like the Mygale spider, and comes out +perhaps at moonlight to cast its shadow upon the bed. On the sparsely +inhabited moor it is visible, for it cannot hide away so easily, and it +tries less because it is fiercer. It is like the wolf-spider which +dashes out in a mad fury. Upon a wild upland passions are fiercer, just +as physical strength is greater. Everything seems to suggest the dark +end of the scale; the rain is more furious, the clouds are blacker, the +wind is mightier, the rivers are colder; Nature is at full strength. She +is wild and lawless, and men are often wild and lawless too. Tender +lilies would not live upon the moor, and it is no use looking for them. +They are down in the valleys. Upon the moor there is the granite, the +spiny gorse, the rugged heather. It is no use looking for the qualities +of the lily in those men who are made of the granite, and gorse, and +heather.</p> + +<p>Pendoggat was the sort of man who might have melted into tears at +hearing a violin played, and then have kicked the performer down a wheal +if he asked for a copper. Nature turns out a lot of contradictory work +like that. She never troubles to fit the joints together. Had any one +told Pendoggat he was a cruel man, he would first of all have stunned +the speaker into silence, and then have wondered whatever the man had +been driving at. It is a peculiarity of cruelty that it does not +comprehend cruelty. No argument will persuade a rabbit-trapper that the +wretched animals suffer in the iron jaws of his traps. The man who skins +an eel alive, and curses it because it won't keep still, cannot be +brought to understand that he is doing anything inhuman. Perhaps he will +admit he had never given the subject a thought; more probably he will +regard the apostle of mercy as a madman. The only way to enlighten such +men is to skin them alive, or compel them to tear themselves to death in +an iron trap; and there are, unfortunately, laws to prevent that. The +only just law ever made was the <i>lex talionis</i>, and Nature recognises +that frequently. Pendoggat trapped rabbits in his fields, and if they +were not dead when he found them he left them as a rule. The traps were +supposed to kill them in time, and the longer they were in dying the +longer their flesh would keep. That was the way he looked at it. Quite a +practical way.</p> + +<p>Very likely Pendoggat was of Spanish extraction in spite of his Cornish +name. The average Cornishman has a thoroughly good heart, and is, if he +be of the true stock, invariably fair. The Cornish man or maid who is +dark owes something to foreign blood. There are in Cornwall many men and +women so strikingly dark as to attract attention at once; and if their +ancestry could be traced back a couple of hundred years it might be +found that a Spanish name occurred. While the stout men of Devon were +chasing the Armada up channel and plucking the Admiral's feathers one by +one, and the patriotic Manacles were doing Cornwall's share by giving +the big galleons a hearty welcome, many a shipwrecked sailor found his +way into the cottages of fishermen and wreckers, and with the aid of a +pocketful of gold pieces made themselves at home. Some possibly were +able to return to Spain; others probably seduced their protectors' young +women; others were lawfully wedded; others settled down in their new +land and took a Cornish name. It is a difficult piece of history to +trace, and much must remain pure hypothesis; but it is fairly certain +that had there been no Spanish Armada to invade England, and to send +Queen Elizabeth to her writing-tablets to reel off a lot of badly-rhymed +doggerel in imitation of Master Spenser, there would also have been no +Farmer Pendoggat dwelling at Helmen Barton in the parish of Lydford and +sub-parish of St. Mary Tavy, as a commoner of Dartmoor and a tenant in +name of Elizabeth's descendant the Duke of Cornwall.</p> + +<p>There was nothing of a sinister nature about the Barton. Even its name +meant simply in its original Celtic the place of the high stone; <i>hel</i> +being a corruption of <i>huhel</i>, and <i>men</i> one of the various later forms +of <i>maen</i>; just as huhel twr, the high tor, has now become Hel Tor. +Wherever people have been given a chance of dragging in the devil and +his dwelling-place they have taken it; actuated, perhaps, by the same +motive which impelled the old dame to make a profound reverence whenever +the name of the ghostly enemy was mentioned, as she didn't know what +would be her fate in a future state, so thought it wise to try and +propitiate both sides. The Barton was a long low house of granite, damp +and ugly. No architect could make a house built of granite look +pleasant; no art could prevent the tough stone from sweating. It was +tiled, which made it look colder still. Creepers would not crawl up its +walls on account of the winds. One half of the Barton was crowded with +windows, the other half appeared to be a blank wall. A good many +farm-houses are built upon that plan, the stable and loft being a +continuation of the dwelling-house, and to all outward appearance a part +of it. There was not a tree near the place. The farm was in a fuzzy +hollow; above was a fuzzy down. It ought to have been called Furzeland, +a name which is borne by a tiny hamlet in mid-Devon, which nobody has +ever heard of, where the furze does not grow. The high stone which had +named the place—probably a menhir—had disappeared long ago. Some +former tenant would have broken it up and built it into a wall. The +commoners' creed is a simple one, and runs thus: "Sometimes I believe in +God who made Dartmoor. I cling to my privileges of mining, turbary, and +quarrying. I take whatever I can find on the moor, and give no man pay +or thanks. I reverence my landlord, and straighten his boundary walls +when he, isn't looking. The granite is mine, and the peat, and the +rivers, and the fish in them, and so are the cattle upon the hills, if +no other man can put forward a better claim. No foreign devil shall +share my privileges. If any man offers to scratch my back he must pay +vor't. Amen."</p> + +<p>It was fitting that a man like Pendoggat should live among the furze, +farm in the furze, fight with the furze. He resembled it in its +fierceness, its spitefulness, its tenacity of life; but not in its +beauty and fragrance. He brought forth no golden blossoms. There was no +thorn-protected fragrance in him. He was always struggling with the +furze, without realising that it must defeat him in the end. He burnt +it, but up it came in the spring. He grubbed it up, but portions of the +root escaped and sent forth new growth. He would reclaim a patch, but +directly he turned his back upon it to attack a fresh piece the furze +returned. To eradicate furze upon a moor was not one of the labours +allotted to Hercules. He would have found it worse than cutting off the +heads of the water-snake. Pendoggat had fought for twenty years, and the +enemy was still undefeated; he would die, and the gorse would go on; for +he was only a hardy annual, and the gorse is a perennial, as eternal as +the rivers and the granite. It bristled upon every side of the Barton, +the greater gorse as well as the lesser, and it was in flower all the +year round, as though boasting of its indomitable strength and vitality. +On the west side, where the moorland dipped and made an opening for the +winds from Tavy Cleave, a long narrow brake remained untouched to make a +shelter for the house. The gorse there was high and thick, and its ropy +stems were as big round as a man's wrist. Pendoggat would have +grievously assaulted any man who dared to fire that brake.</p> + +<p>People who talked scandal in the twin villages, namely, the entire +population, wondered whether Mrs. Pendoggat was really as respectable as +she looked. They decided against her, as they were not the sort of +people to give any one the benefit of a doubt. They were right, however, +for Annie Pendoggat had no claim to the latter part of her name. She was +really Annie Crocker, a degraded member of one of those three famous +families—Cruwys and Copplestone being the other two—who reached their +zenith before the Norman invasion. She had come to Pendoggat as +housekeeper, and could not get away from him; neither could he dismiss +her. She was a little woman, with a sharp face and a soft voice; much +too soft, people said. She could insult any one in a manner which +suggested that she loved them. She had been fond of her master in her +snake-like way. She still admired his brute strength, and what she +thought was his courage. He had never lifted up his hand against her; +and when he threatened to, she would remark in her soft way that the +long brake of gorse darkened the kitchen dreadfully, and she thought she +would go and set a match to it. That always brought Pendoggat to his +senses.</p> + +<p>It was a quiet life at the Barton. Pendoggat had no society, except that +of some minister whom he might bring back to dinner on Sundays. On that +day he attended chapel twice. He also went on Wednesday, when he +sometimes preached. His sermons were about a cruel God ruling the world +by cruelty, and preparing a state of cruelty for every one who didn't +attend chapel twice on Sundays and once during the week. He believed in +what he said. He also believed he was himself secure from such a +punishment; just as certain ignorant Catholics sincerely rely on the +power of a priest to forgive their sins. Pendoggat thought that he was +free to act as he pleased, so long as he didn't miss his attendances at +chapel. If he cheated a man, and missed chapel, his soul would be in +danger; but if he attended chapel the sin was automatically forgiven. It +was a strange form of theology, but not an uncommon one. Many excellent +people tend towards it. Pious old ladies will do all they can to induce +young men to attend church. It does not appear to trouble them much if +the young men read comic papers, wink at the girls, or slumber audibly, +while they are there. The great point has been gained. The young men are +in church; therefore they are religious. The young man who goes for a +walk to the top of the highest tor to watch the sunset is a vile +creature who will be damned some day.</p> + +<p>The Barton had its parlour, and Pendoggat practised the entire ritual +connected with that mysterious apartment. No Dartmoor farm-house would +have the slightest pretensions to be regarded as a civilised home +without the parlour. Its rites and ceremonies remain unwritten, and yet +every farmer knows them, and practises them with the precision of a +Catholic priest obeying his rubrics, or with the zeal of an Anglican +parson defying his. It must be the best room in the house, and it must +be kept locked and regarded as holy ground. The windows must not be +opened lest fresh air should enter, and equally dangerous sunlight must +be excluded by blinds and curtains and a high bank of moribund plants. +The furniture is permitted to vary, with the exception of a few +ornaments which must be found in every house as a mark of stability and +respectability. There must be a piano which cannot be used for purposes +of music, and a lamp which is not to be lighted. Whatever books the +house contains must be arranged in a manner pleasing to the householder, +and they must never be opened. There is a central table, and upon it +recline albums containing photographs of the family at different stages +of their careers, together with those of ancestors; and these +photographs have little value if they are not yellow and faded to denote +their antiquity. In the centre of the table must appear a strange +device; a stuffed bird in a glass case, a piece of coral on a mat, or +some recognised family heirloom. The pictures must be strongly coloured +and should have a religious accent. As Germany has achieved surprising +results in the matter of colour, the pictures are usually from that +fatherland. Ruined temples on the Nile are a favourite subject; only the +temples should resemble dilapidated barns, and the Nile bear a distinct +likeness to a duck pond. Upon the mantel must stand a clock which has +not gone within living memory, and some assorted crockery which if +viewed continuously in a strong light will bring on neuralgia. A copy of +a penny novelette, and a sheet of music-hall songs lying about, denote +literary and musical tastes; but these are unusual. There is generally a +family Bible, used to support a large shell, or a framed photograph of +the master in his prime of life; and this is opened from time to time to +record a birth, marriage, or death. The pattern of the wall-paper must +be decided and easily discernible; scarlet flowers on a yellow +background are always satisfactory.</p> + +<p>The ceremony of entering the parlour takes place usually on Sunday. +There is a Greater Entry and a Lesser Entry. The lesser takes place +after tea. The master in his best clothes, his face and hands washed, +although that point is not always insisted upon, carefully shaven, or +with well-groomed beard, as the case may be, his boots removed after the +manner of a Mussulman, enters the holy place, sits stiffly upon a chair +without daring to lean back lest he should disturb the antimacassar, +lights his pipe, and revels in the odour of respectability. He does not +really enjoy himself, but after a time he grows more confident and +ventures to cross his legs. From time to time he rises, goes out, walks +along the passage, and spits out of the front door. The greater entry +takes place after chapel. The entire family assemble by the light of the +kitchen lamp and say wicked things about their neighbours. Sometimes +guests are introduced, and these display independence in various ways, +chiefly by leaning back in their chairs and shuffling their boots on the +carpet. The ceremonies come to a close at an early hour; the members of +the family file out; father, leaving last, locks the door. The parlour +is closed for another week.</p> + +<p>Pendoggat's parlour was orthodox; only more cold and severe than most. +The wall-paper was stained with moisture, and the big open fire-place +always smoked. The master thought himself better than the neighbouring +commoners, and none of them were ever invited to enter his sanctuary. In +a way he was their superior. He could write a good hand, and read +anything, and he spoke better than his neighbours. It is curious that of +two commoners, educated and brought up in exactly the same way, one will +speak broad dialect and the other good English. There was naturally very +little society for Pendoggat. He lived in his own atmosphere as a +philosopher might have done. He encouraged his minister to visit him, +but he had a good reason for that. Weak-minded ministers are valuable +assets and good advertising agents; for, if their congregations do not +exactly trust them, they will at least follow them, which is more than +they will do for any one else.</p> + +<p>The sanctity of the parlour may be violated on weekdays; either upon the +occasion of some chapel festival, or when a visitor of higher rank than +a farmer calls. When Pendoggat reached the Barton he knew at once that +the place was haunted by a visiting body, because the blinds were up. +Annie Crocker met him in the yard, which in local parlance was known as +the court, and said: "The Maggot's waiting for ye in the parlour. Been +there nigh upon an hour. He'm singing Lighten our Darkness by now, I +reckon, vor't be getting whist in there, and he'm alone where I set 'en, +and told 'en to bide till you come along."</p> + +<p>"Given him no tea?" said Pendoggat, appearing to address the stones at +his feet rather than the woman. That was his usual way; nobody ever saw +Pendoggat's eyes. They saw only a black moustache, a scowl, and a moving +jaw.</p> + +<p>"No, nothing," said Annie. "No meat for maggots here. Let 'en go and eat +dirt. Bad enough to have 'en in the house. He'm as slimy as a slug."</p> + +<p>"Shut your noise, woman," said Pendoggat. "Take the horse in, and slip +his bridle off."</p> + +<p>"Tak' 'en in yourself, man," she snapped, turning towards the house.</p> + +<p>Pendoggat repeated his command in a gentler voice; and this time he was +obeyed. Annie led the horse away, and the master went in.</p> + +<p>The Reverend Eli Pezzack was the Maggot, so called because of his +singularly unhealthy complexion. Dartmoor folk have rich red or brown +faces—the hard weather sees to that—but Eli was not a son of the moor. +It was believed that he had originated in London of West-country +parents. He had none of the moorman's native sharpness. He was a tall, +clammy individual, with flabby hands dun and cold like mid-Devon clay; +and he was so clumsy that if he had entered a room containing only a +single article of furniture he would have been certain to fall against +it. He was no humbug, and tried to practise what he taught. He was +lamentably ignorant, but didn't know it, and he never employed a word of +one syllable when he could find anything longer. He admired and +respected Pendoggat, making the common mistake with ignorant men of +believing physical strength to be the same thing as moral strength. He +agreed with those grammarians who have maintained that the eighth letter +of the alphabet is superfluous.</p> + +<p>"Sorry to have kept ye sitting in the dark," said Pendoggat as he +entered the parlour.</p> + +<p>"The darkness has not been superlative, Mr. Pendoggat," said Eli, as he +stumbled over the best chair while trying to shake hands. "The lunar +radiance has trespassed pleasantly into the apartment and beguiled the +time of lingering with pleasant fancies." He had composed that sentence +during "the time of lingering," but knew he would not be able to +maintain that high standard when he was called on to speak extempore.</p> + +<p>"'The darkness is no darkness at all, but the night is as clear as the +day,'" quoted Pendoggat with considerable fervour, as he drew aside the +curtains to admit more moonlight.</p> + +<p>"True, Mr. Pendoggat," said Eli. "We know who uttered that sublime +contemplation."</p> + +<p>This was a rash statement, but was made with conviction, and accepted +apparently in the same spirit.</p> + +<p>"You know why I asked you to come along here. I'm going to build up your +fortune and mine," said Pendoggat. "Let us seek a blessing."</p> + +<p>Eli tumbled zealously over a leg of the table, gathered himself into a +kneeling posture, clasped his clay-like hands, and prayed aloud with +fervour and without aspirates for several minutes. When Pendoggat +considered that the blessing had been obtained he dammed up the flow of +words with a stertorous "Amen." Then they stood upon their feet and got +to business.</p> + +<p>"Seems there's no oil in this lamp," said the master, referring not to +the pastor, but to the lamp of state which was never used.</p> + +<p>"We do not require it, Mr. Pendoggat," came the answer. "We stand in +God's light, the moonlight. That is sufficient for two honest men to see +each other's faces by."</p> + +<p>Pendoggat ought to have winced, but did not, merely because he had so +little knowledge of himself. He didn't know he was a brute, just as +Peter and Mary did not know they were savages. Grandfather the clock +knew nearly as much about his internal organism as they did about +theirs.</p> + +<p>"I want money," said Pendoggat sharply. "The chapel wants money. You +want money. You're thinking of getting married?"</p> + +<p>Eli replied that celibacy was not one of those virtues which he felt +called upon to practise; and admitted that he had discovered a young +woman who was prepared to blend her soul indissolubly with his. The +expression was his own. He did not mention what he imagined would be the +result of that mixture. "More maggots," Annie Crocker would have said. +Annie had been brought up in the atmosphere of the Church, and for that +reason hated all pastors and people known as chapel-volk. Pendoggat was +the one exception with her; but then he was not an ordinary being. He +was a piece of brute strength, to be regarded, not so much as a man, but +as part of the moor, beaten by wind, and producing nothing but gorse, +which could only be burnt and stamped down; and still would live and +rise again with all its former strength and fierceness. Pastor Eli +Pezzack was the poor weed which the gorse smothers out of being.</p> + +<p>"Come outside," said Pendoggat.</p> + +<p>Eli picked up his hat, stumbled, and wondered. He did not venture to +disobey the master, because weak-minded creatures must always dance to +the tune piped by the strong. Pendoggat was already outside, tramping +heavily in the cold hall. Unwillingly Eli left the parlour, with its +half-visible memorials, its photographs, worthless curios, hair-stuffed +furniture and glaring pictures; blundering like a bee against a window +he followed; he heard Pendoggat clearing his throat and coughing in the +court.</p> + +<p>"Got a stick?" muttered the master. "Take this, then." He gave the +minister a long ash-pole. "We're going down Dartmoor. It's not far. Best +follow me, or you'll fall."</p> + +<p>Eli knew he was certain to fall in any case, so he protested mildly. "It +is dangerous among the rocks, Mr. Pendoggat."</p> + +<p>The other made no answer. He went into the stable, and came out with a +lantern, unlighted; then, with a curt "Come on," he began to skirt the +furze-brake, and Eli followed more like a patient sheep than a foolish +shepherd.</p> + +<p>There is nothing more romantic than a wide undulating region of high +moorland lighted by a full moon and beaten by strong wind. The light is +enough to show the hills and rock-piles. The wind creates an atmosphere +of perfect solitude. The two men came out of the dip; and the scene +about them was the high moor covered with moonlight and swept by wind. +Pendoggat's face looked almost black, and that of the Maggot was whiter +than ever by contrast.</p> + +<p>"Where are you taking me?" he asked gently. "Need we proceed at this +present 'igh velocity, Mr. Pendoggat? I am not used to it. I cannot be +certain of my equilibrium."</p> + +<p>The other stopped. Eli was deep in heather, floundering like a man +learning to swim.</p> + +<p>"You're an awkward walker, man. Lift your feet and plant 'em down firm. +You shuffle. Catch hold of my arm if you can't see. We're not going far. +Down the cleave—a matter of half-a-mile, but it's bad walking near the +river."</p> + +<p>Eli did not take the master's arm. He was too nervous. He struggled on, +tumbling about like a drunken man; but Pendoggat was walking slowly now +that they were well away from the Barton.</p> + +<p>"Sorry to bring you out so late," he said. "I meant to be home earlier, +and then we'd have got down the cleave by daylight."</p> + +<p>"But what are we going to inspect?" cried Eli.</p> + +<p>"Something that may make our fortunes. Something better than scratching +the back of the moor for a living. I'll make a big man of you, Pezzack, +if you do as I tell ye."</p> + +<p>"You are a wonderful man, and a generous man, Mr. Pendoggat," said Eli. +Then he plunged heavily into a gorse-bush.</p> + +<p>Pendoggat dragged him out grimly, almost crying with pain, with a +hundred little white bristles in his face and hands. He mentioned this +fact with suitable lamentations.</p> + +<p>"They'll work out. What's a few furze-prickles?" Pendoggat muttered. +"Get your hands hard, and you won't feel 'em. Mind, now! there's bog +here. Best keep close to me."</p> + +<p>Eli obeyed, but for all that he managed to step into the bog, and made +the ends of his clerical trousers objectionable. They reached the edge +of the cleave, and stopped while Pendoggat lighted his lantern. They had +to make their way across a wilderness of clatters. The moonlight was +deceptive and crossed with black shadows. The wind seemed to make the +boulders quiver. Eli looked upon the wild scene, heard the rushing of +the river, saw the rugged range of tors, and felt excited. He too felt +himself an inheritor of the kingdom of Tavy and a son of Dartmoor. He +was going to be wealthy perhaps; marry and rebuild his chapel; do many +things for the glory of God. He was quite in earnest, though he was a +simple soul.</p> + +<p>"I lift up mine eyes to the 'ills, Mr. Pendoggat," he said reverently.</p> + +<p>"Best keep 'em on your feet. If you fall here you'll smash your head."</p> + +<p>"When I contemplate this scene," went on Eli, with religious zeal +undiminished, "so full of wonder and mystery, Mr. Pendoggat, I repeat to +myself the inspired words of Scripture, 'Why 'op ye so, ye 'igh 'ills?'"</p> + +<p>Pendoggat agreed gruffly that the quotation was full of mystery, and it +was not for them to inquire into its meaning.</p> + +<p>Somehow they reached the bottom of the cleave, Eli shambling and sliding +down the rocks, tumbling continually. Pendoggat observed his inartistic +scramblings with as much amusement as he was capable of feeling, +muttering to himself, "He'd trip over a blade o' grass."</p> + +<p>They came to an old wall overgrown with fern and brambles; just below it +was the mossy ruin of a cot, the fire-place still showing, the remains +of the wall a yard in width. They were among works concerning which +history is hazy. They were in a place where the old miners wrought the +tin, and among the ruins of their industry. Perhaps a rich mine was +there once. Possibly it was the secret of that place which was guarded +so well by the Carthaginian captain, who sacrificed his tin-laden galley +to avoid capture by Roman coastguards. The history of the search for +"white metal" upon Dartmoor has yet to be learnt. They went cautiously +round the ruin, and upon the other side Eli dived across the bleached +skeleton of a pony and became mixed up in dry bones.</p> + +<p>A deep cleft appeared overhung with gorse and willows. Eli would have +dived again had not Pendoggat been holding him. They clambered across, +then made their way along a shelf of rock between the cliff and the +river. Beyond, Pendoggat parted the bushes, and directed the light of +his lantern towards what appeared to be a narrow gully, black and +unpleasant, and musical with dripping water.</p> + +<p>"Go on," he said curtly.</p> + +<p>The minister held back. He was not a brave man, and that black hole in +the side of the moor conjured up horrors.</p> + +<p>"Take my hand, and let yourself down. There's water, but not more than a +foot," said Pendoggat.</p> + +<p>He pushed Eli forward, then caught his collar, and lowered him like a +sack. The minister shuddered when he felt the icy water round his legs +and the clammy ferns closing about his head. Pendoggat followed. They +were in a narrow channel leading towards a low cave. Frogs splashed in +front of them. Small streams trickled down a hundred tiny clefts.</p> + +<p>"This is a very disagreeable situation, Mr. Pendoggat," said Eli meekly.</p> + +<p>"Come on," said the other gruffly. "I'll show you something to open your +eyes. Step low."</p> + +<p>They splashed on, bent under the arch of the cave, and entered the womb +of the moor. Hundreds of feet of solid granite roofed them in. They were +out of the wind and moonlight. Pendoggat guided the minister in front of +him, keeping him close to the wall of rock to avoid the deep water in +the centre. About twenty paces from the entry was a shaft cut at right +angles. They went along it until they had to stoop again.</p> + +<p>"Be'old, Mr. Pendoggat!" cried Eli, with amazed admiration. "Be'old the +colours! I have never seen anything so beautiful in my life. What is it? +Jewels, Mr. Pendoggat? You don't say they are jewels?"</p> + +<p>"Pretty, ain't they? More than pretty too. Now you know what I've +brought you for," said Pendoggat, as he turned up the light to increase +the splendour of the wall.</p> + +<p>It was a pretty sight for a child, or any other simple creature. The +side wall at the end of the shaft was streaked and veined with a +brilliant purple and green pattern. These colours were caused by the +iron in the rocks acting upon the slate, which was there abundant. +Pendoggat knew that well enough. He knew also that the sight would +impress the minister. He lifted the lantern, pointed to a streak of pale +blue which ran down the rock from the roof to the water, and said +gruffly: "You can see for yourself. That's the stuff."</p> + +<p>"What is it?" whispered the excited pastor.</p> + +<p>"Nickel. The rock's full of it."</p> + +<p>"But don't they know? Does anybody know of it?"</p> + +<p>"Only you and me," said Pendoggat.</p> + +<p>"Why have you told me? You are a very generous man, but why do you let +me into the secret?"</p> + +<p>"Come outside," said Pendoggat.</p> + +<p>They went out. Not a word was spoken until they reached the side of the +cleave. Then Pendoggat turned upon the minister, holding his arm and +shaking it violently as he said: "I've chosen you as my partner. I can +trust you. Will you stand in with me, share the risks, and share the +profits? Answer now, and let's have done with it."</p> + +<p>"I must go home and pray over it, Mr. Pendoggat," cried the excited and +shivering Eli. "I must seek for guidance. I do not know if it is right +for me to seek after wealth. But for the chapel's sake, for my future +wife's sake, for the sake of my unborn infants—"</p> + +<p>"Yes or no," broke in Pendoggat. "We'll finish it before we move."</p> + +<p>"What can I do?" said Eli, clasping his clay-like hands. "I know nothing +of these things. I don't know anything about nickel, except that I have +some spoons and forks—"</p> + +<p>"Don't you see we must get money to work it? You can manage that. You +have several congregations. You can persuade them to invest. My name +must be kept out of it. The commoners don't like me. I'll do everything +else. You can leave the business in my hands. Your part will be to get +the money—and you take half profits."</p> + +<p>"I will think over it, Mr. Pendoggat. I will think and pray."</p> + +<p>"Make up your mind now, or I get another partner."</p> + +<p>Pendoggat lifted the glass of the lantern and blew out the light.</p> + +<p>"Have we the right to work a mine upon the moor?"</p> + +<p>"Leave all that to me. You get the money. Tell 'em we will guarantee ten +per cent. Likely it will be more. It's as safe a thing as was ever +known, and it is the chance of your lifetime. Here's my hand."</p> + +<p>Eli took the hand, and had the gorse-prickles forced well into his.</p> + +<p>"I'll do my best, Mr. Pendoggat. I know you are an honest and a generous +man," he said.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h3> + +<h2>ABOUT BEETLES</h2> + + +<p>There was a whitewashed cottage called Lewside beside the moorland road, +and at a window which commanded a view of that road sat a girl with what +appeared to be a glory round her face—it was nothing but soft red +hair—a girl of seventeen, called Boodles, or anything else sufficiently +idiotic; and this girl was learning doggerel and singing—</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"'The West wind always brings wet weather,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">The East wind wet and cold together;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">The South wind surely brings us rain,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">The North wind blows it back again.'</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>"And that means it's always raining, which is a lie. And as I'm saying +it I'm a liar," laughed Boodles.</p> + +<p>It was raining then. Only a Dartmoor shower; the sort of downright rain +which makes holes in granite and plays Wagner-like music upon roofs of +corrugated iron.</p> + +<p>"There's a bunny. Let me see. That's two buns, one man and a boy, a cart +and two horses, three wild ponies, and two jolly little sheep with horns +and black faces—all been along the road this afternoon," said Boodles. +"Now the next verse—</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">'If the sun in red should set.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">The next day surely will be wet;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">If the sun should set in grey.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">The next will be a rainy day.'</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>"That's all. We can't go on lying for ever. I wish," said Boodles, "I +wish I hadn't got so many freckles on my nose, and I wish my hair wasn't +red, and thirdly and lastly, I wish—I wish my teeth weren't going to +ache next week. I know they will, because I've been eating jam pudding, +and they always ache after jam pudding; three days after, always three +days—the beasts! Now what shall I sing about? Why can't people invent +something for small girls to do upon a rainy day? I wish a battle was +being fought on the moor. It would be fun. I could sit here and watch +all day; and I would cut off bits of my hair and throw them to the +victorious generals. What a sell for me if they wouldn't pick them up! I +expect they would, though, for father says I'm a boodle girl, and that +means beautiful, though it's not true, and I wish it was. Another lie +and another wish! And when I'm dressed nicely I am boodle-oodle, and +that means more beautiful. And when the sun is shining on my hair I am +boodle-oodliest, and that means very beautiful. I suppose it's rather +nonsense, but it's the way we live here. We may be silly so long as we +are good. The next song shall be patriotic. We will bang a drum and wave +a flag; and sing with a good courage—</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">'It was the way of good Queen Bess,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Who ruled as well as mortal can,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">When she was stugged, and the country in a mess,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">She would send for a Devon man.'</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>"Well now, that's the truth. Miss Boodles. The principal county in +England is Devonshire, and the principal town is Tavistock, and the +principal river is the Tavy, and the principal rain is upon Dartmoor, +and the principal girl has red hair and freckles on her nose, and she's +only seventeen. And the dearest old man in Devon is just coming along +the passage, and now he's at the door, and here he is. Father," she +laughed, "why do people ask idiotic questions, like I'm doing now?"</p> + +<p>"Because they are the easiest," said Abel Cain Weevil, in his gentle +manner and bleat-like voice.</p> + +<p>"I was sitting here one day, and Mary Tavy came along," went on Boodles. +"She said: 'Aw, my dear, be ye sot by the window?' And I said: 'No, +Mary, I'm standing on my head.' She looked so frightened. The poor thing +thought I was mad."</p> + +<p>"Boodles, you're a wicked maid," said Weevil fondly. "You make fun of +everything. Some day you will get your ears pulled."</p> + + +<p>The two were not related, except by affection, although they passed as +father and daughter. Boodles had come from the pixies. She had been left +one night in the porch of Lewside Cottage, wrapped up in a wisp of fern, +without clothing of any kind, and round her neck was a label inscribed: +"Take me in, or I shall be drowned to-morrow." Weevil had taken her in, +and when the baby smiled at him his eccentric old soul laughed back. He +entered into partnership at once with the baby-girl, and she had been a +blessing to him. He knew that she had been left in his porch as a last +resource; if he had not taken her in she would have been drowned the +next day. It was all very pretty to imagine that Boodles had come from +the pixies. The truth was nobody wanted her; the unmarried mother could +not keep the child, Weevil was believed to be a tender-hearted old fool, +so the baby was wrapped in fern and left in his porch; and the tenant of +Lewside Cottage lived up to his reputation. Boodles knew her history. +She sat at the cottage window every day, watching every one who passed; +and sometimes she would murmur: "I wonder if my mother went by to-day." +She had once or twice inserted an unpleasant adjective, but then she had +no cause to love her unknown parents. Much of her love was given to Abel +Cain Weevil; and all of it went out to some one else.</p> + +<p>The old man was one of those mysteries who crop up in desolate places. +Nobody knew where he came from, what he had been, or what he was doing +in the region watered by the Tavy. He was poor and harmless. He kept out +of every one's way. "Quite mad," said St. Peter. "An honest madman," +answered St. Mary. "He had at least the decency to recognise that child, +for of course she is his daughter." St. Peter had his doubts. He did not +like to think too highly of old Weevil. That was against his principles. +He suggested that Weevil intended to make some base use of the girl, and +St. Mary agreed. They could generally agree upon such matters.</p> + +<p>Weevil was quite right to keep out of the world. He was handicapped in +every way. There was his name to begin with. He had no objection to +Abel, but he saw no necessity in the redundant Cain. It had been given +him, however, and he could not escape from it. Every one called him Abel +Cain Weevil. The children shouted it after him. As for the name Weevil, +it was objectionable, but no worse than many another. It was not +improper like some surnames.</p> + +<p>"An insect, my dear," he explained to Boodles. "A dirty little beetle +which lives upon grain."</p> + +<p>"I'm a weevil too," said she. "So I'm a dirty little beetle."</p> + +<p>The old man wouldn't allow that. Boodles belonged to the angels, and he +told her so with foolish expressions; but she shook her glorious red +head at him and declared that beetles and angels had nothing in common. +She admitted, however, that she belonged to a delightful order of +beetles, and that on the whole she preferred chocolates to grain. The +silly old man reminded her that she belonged to the boodle-oodle order +of beetles, and so far she was the only specimen of that choice family +which had been discovered.</p> + +<p>A man is eccentric in this world if he does anything which his +neighbours cannot understand. He may go out in the garden and cut a +cabbage-leaf. That is a sane action. But if he spreads jam on the +cabbage-leaf, and eats the same publicly, he is called a madman. Nothing +is easier than to be thought eccentric. You have only to behave unlike +other people. Stand in the middle of a crowded street and gaze vacantly +into the air. Every one will call you eccentric at once, just because +you are gazing in the air and they are not. Weevil was mad because he +was unlike his neighbours. The adoption of Boodles was not a sane +action; even if she were his daughter it was equally insane to +acknowledge her with such shameless publicity. A sane person would have +allowed Boodles to share the fate of many illegitimate children.</p> + +<p>They were happy these two, papa Weevil and his Boodles. They had no +servant. The girl kept house and cooked. The old man washed up and +scrubbed. Boodles knew how to make, not only a shilling, but even the +necessary penny go all the way. She was a treasure, good enough for any +man; there were no dark spots upon her heart. If she had been made away +with one of the best little souls created would have gone back into +limbo.</p> + +<p>No storm disturbed Lewside Cottage, except Dartmoor gales, and as for +religion they were sun-worshippers; like most people who come out in +fine raiment and glory in the sun, and when it is wet hide indoors, talk +of the sun, think of the sun, long for the sun, until he appears and +they can hurry out to worship. The savage calls the sun his god in so +many words; and the human nature which is in the savage is in the +primitive folk of open and desolate places also; it is present in the +most civilised of beings, but only those who live on a high moor through +the winter know what a day of sunshine means. The sun has places +dedicated to him upon Dartmoor. There is Bel Tor and there is Belstone. +A tradition of the Phoenician occupation still exists, handed down from +the remote time when the sun was directly worshipped. The commoners +still believe that good luck will attend the man who shall see the +rising sun reflected on the rock-basin of Bellivor. An altar to the sun +stood once upon that lonely tor. Weevil worshipped the sun quietly. +Boodles offered incense with enthusiasm. She deserved her name when the +sun shone upon her radiant head and made a glory round it. When the +greater gorse was in flower, and Boodles walked through it hatless, +wearing her green frock, she might have been the spirit of the prickly +shrub; and like it her head was in bloom all the year round.</p> + +<p>"Have we got anything for supper, Boodle-oodle?" asked the silly old +male beetle.</p> + +<p>"Ees, lots," said the small golden one.</p> + +<p>It was not unpleasant to hear Boodles say "ees." She split the word up +and made a kind of anthem out of it. The first sound was very soft, a +mere whisper, and spoken with closed lips. The rest she sang, getting +higher as the final syllable was reached—there were more syllables in +the word than letters—then descending at the drawn-out sibilant, and +finishing in a whisper with closed lips.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I forgot," she cried. "No eggs!"</p> + +<p>They looked at each other with serious faces. In that simple household +small things were tragedies. There were no eggs. It was a matter for +serious reflection.</p> + +<p>"Butter?" queried the old man nervously. "Milk? Cheese? Bread?"</p> + +<p>"Heaps, piles, gallons. The kitchen is full of cheese, and you can't +move for bread, and the milk is running over and dripping upon +everything like a milky day," said penitent Boodles. "I have been saying +to myself: 'Eggs, eggs! Yolks, shells, whites—eggs!' I made puns that I +shouldn't forget. I egged myself on. I walked delicately, and said: 'I'm +treading on eggs.' I kept on scolding myself, and saying: 'Teach your +grandmother to suck eggs.' I reminded myself I mustn't put all my eggs +in one basket. Then I went and sat in the window, forgot all about them, +and now I'm a bad egg."</p> + +<p>"Boodles, what shall we do?" said the chief beetle.</p> + +<p>"I think you ought to torture me in some way," suggested the forgetful +one. "Drag me through the furze. Beat me with nettles. Torture would do +me a lot of good, I expect, only not too much, because I'm only a baby."</p> + +<p>That was her usual defence. Whatever happened she was only a baby. She +was never likely to grow up.</p> + +<p>"Don't jest. It is too serious. If I don't have two eggs for my supper I +shall have no sleep. I shall be ill to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"I'll give you two poached kisses," promised Boodles.</p> + +<p>"I cannot exist on spiritual food alone. I must have my eggs. Custom has +made it necessary."</p> + +<p>"I'll make you all sorts of nice things," she declared.</p> + +<p>But the eccentric old beetle could not be pacified. He had eggs upon the +mind. The produce of the domestic fowl had become an obsession. He +explained that if the house had been well stocked with eggs he might +have gone without. He would have known they were there to fall back upon +if desire should seize him during the silent watches of the night. But +the knowledge that the larder was destitute of eggs increased his +desire. He would have no peace until the deficiency was made good.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Boodles resignedly, "it's my fault, so I'll suffer for it. +I don't want to hear you screaming for eggs all night. I'll go and get +wet for your salvation. I expect Mary can let me have some."</p> + +<p>Weevil was himself again. He trotted off for the child's boots. He +always put her boots on, and took them off when she came in. Boodles was +a little sun-goddess, and as such she accepted adoration. It was part of +the tribute due to the sun-like head. When the boots were on—each ankle +having previously been worshipped as a part of the tribute—she assumed +a jacket, packed her hair under a fluffy green hat, stabbed it on four +times with long pins, picked up her walking-stick; and was off, Weevil +gazing after her adoringly until she passed out of sight. "There goes +the pride o' Devon," murmured the silly old man as the green hat +vanished.</p> + +<p>The sight of Boodles took the weather's breath away. It forgot to go on +raining; and the sun was so anxious to shine upon her hair that he +pushed the clouds off him, as a late slumberer tosses away his blankets, +and came out to work a little before evening. It became quite pleasant +as Boodles went beside Tavy Cleave.</p> + +<p>Peter was not visible, but Mary was. She was plodding about in her huge +boots with an eye upon her geese, especially upon the chief of the +flock. Old Sal, who, as usual, was anxious to seek pastures new. When +Boodles came up Mary smiled. She was very fond of the child. Boodles +seemed to have been made out of such entirely different materials from +the odds and ends which had gone towards her own construction. The +little girl's soft flesh was as unlike Mary's tough leather as the white +bark of the birch is unlike the rugged bark of the oak.</p> + +<p>"Well, Mary, how are you?" said Boodles.</p> + +<p>"I be purty fine, my dear, purty middling fine. Peter be purty fine tu. +And how be yew, my dear, and how be the old gentleman? Purty fine yew +be, I reckon."</p> + +<p>"We are splendid," said Boodles. "How is the old goose, Mary?"</p> + +<p>"Du'ye mean Old Sal, my dear? There he be trampesing 'bout Dartmoor as +though 'twas his'n. Aw, he be purty fine, sure 'nuff."</p> + +<p>"She must be very old," said Boodles.</p> + +<p>"Aw ees, he be old. He be a cruel old artful toad, my dear," said Mary.</p> + +<p>"How old is she?"</p> + +<p>"Well, my dear, he be older than yew. He be twenty-two come next +Michaelmas, I'm thinking."</p> + +<p>"You will never kill her?" said Boodles. "You couldn't, after having her +for so long. You won't kill her, will you, Mary?"</p> + +<p>"Goosies was made to kill. Us keeps 'en whiles they be useful, and then +us kills 'en," said Mary.</p> + +<p>"But twenty-two years old!" cried Boodles. "She would be much too tough +to eat."</p> + +<p>"Aw, my dear life," chuckled Mary. "He wouldn't be tough. I would kill +'en, and draw 'en, and rub a little salt in his belly, and hang 'en up +for a fortnight, and he would et butiful, my dear."</p> + +<p>Boodles laughed delightfully, and said she thought no amount of salt or +hanging, to say nothing of sage and onions, could ever make the +venerable Sal palatable.</p> + +<p>"Peter wun't let 'en be killed. Peter loves Old Sal," Mary went on. "He +laid sixteen eggs last year, and he'm the best mother on Dartmoor. Aw +ees, my dear. He be a cruel fine mother, and Peter ses he shan't die +till he've a mind to."</p> + +<p>Then Boodles got to business and asked Mary for eggs, not those of Old +Sal, but the produce of the hen-house. Mary said she would go and +search. As it was dirty in that region Boodles declined to go with her. +"Please to go inside. There be only Gran'vaither. Go and have a look at +'en, my dear," said Mary, who always referred to Grandfather as if he +had been a living soul. "Hit 'en in the belly, and make 'en strike at +ye."</p> + +<p>Boodles went into Hut Circle Number One, which was Peter's residence, +and stood in the presence of Grandfather. Obeying Mary's instructions, +she hit him "in the belly." The old sinner made weird noises when thus +disturbed. He appeared to resent the treatment, as most old gentlemen +would have done. He refused to strike, but he rattled himself, and +wheezed, and made sounds suggestive of expectoration. Grandfather was a +savage like Peter. He was a rough uneducated sort of clock, and he had +no passion for Boodles. Pendoggat would have been the man for him. +Grandfather would have shaken hands with Pendoggat had it been possible. +His own quivering hands were stretched across his lying face, announcing +quarter-past nine when it was really five o'clock. Grandfather was a +true man of Devon. He had no sense of time.</p> + +<p>Boodles had nothing but contertipt for the old fellow. Having assaulted +him she opened his case. Evidently Grandfather had been drinking. His +interior smelt strongly of cider. There were splashes of it everywhere; +rank cider distilled from the lees; in one spot moisture was pronounced, +suggesting that Grandfather had recently been indulging. Apparently he +liked his liquor strong. Grandfather was a picker-up of unconsidered +trifles also. He was full of pins; all kinds of pins, bent and straight. +Item, Grandfather had a little money of his own; several battered +coppers, some green coins which had no doubt been dug up outside, or +discovered upon the "deads" beside one of the neighbouring wheals, and +there was a real fourpenny-bit with a hole through it. Fastened to the +back of the case behind the pendulum was a scrap of sheepskin as hard as +wood, and upon it some hand had painfully drawn what appeared to be an +elementary exercise in geometry. Boodles frowned and wondered what it +all meant.</p> + +<p>"Here be the eggs, my dear. Twenty for a shillun to yew, and ten to a +foreigner," said Mary, standing in the door, making an apron out of her +ragged skirt, and blissfully unconscious that she was exposing the +sack-like bloomers which were her only underwear.</p> + +<p>"Twenty-one, Mary. There's always one thrown in for luck and me," +pleaded Boodles.</p> + +<p>"Aw ees. One for yew, my dear," Mary assented.</p> + +<p>That was the way Boodles got full value for her money.</p> + +<p>"My dear life! What have yew been a-doing of?" cried Mary with alarm, +when she noticed Grandfather's open case. "Aw, my dear, yew didn't ought +to meddle wi' he. Grandfather gets cruel tedious if he be meddled with."</p> + +<p>"I was only looking at his insides," said Boodles. "He's a regular old +rag-bag. What are all these things for—pins, coins, coppers? And he's +splashed all over with cider. No wonder he won't keep time."</p> + +<p>"Shet 'en up, my dear. Shet 'en up," said superstitious Mary. "Aw, my +dear, don't ye ever meddle wi' religion. If Peter was to see ye he'd be +took wi' shivers. Let Gran'vaither bide, du'ye. Ain't ye got a pin to +give 'en? My dear life, I'll fetch ye one. Gran'vaither got tedious wi' +volks wance, Peter ses, and killed mun; ees, my dear, killed mun dead as +door nails; ees, fie 'a did, killed mun stark."</p> + +<p>Boodles only laughed, like the wicked maid that she was. She couldn't be +bothered with the niceties of religion.</p> + +<p>Peter and Mary were only savages. According to their creed pixies dwelt +in Grandfather's bosom; and it was necessary to retain the good-will of +the little people, and render the sting of their possible malevolence +harmless, by presenting votive offerings and inscribing spells. The rank +cider had been provided for midnight orgies, and, lest the pixies should +become troublesome when under the influence of liquor, the charm upon +the sheepskin had been introduced, like a stringent police-notice, +compelling them to keep the peace.</p> + +<p>"It's all nonsense, you know," said Boodles, as she took the eggs, with +the sun flaming across her hair. "The pixies are all dead. I went to the +funeral of the last one."</p> + +<p>Mary shook her head. She did not jest on serious matters. The friendship +of the pixies was as much to her as the lack of eggs had been to Weevil.</p> + +<p>"Anyhow," went on wicked Boodles, "I should put rat-poison in there if +they worried me."</p> + +<p>"Us have been bit and scratched by 'em in bed," Mary declared. "Peter +and me have been bit cruel. Us could see the marks of their teeth."</p> + +<p>"Did you ever catch one?" asked Boodles tragically.</p> + +<p>"Catch mun! Aw, my dear life! Us can't catch mun."</p> + +<p>"You could, if you were quick—before they hopped," laughed Boodles.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h3> + +<h2>ABOUT THOMASINE</h2> + + +<p>Thomasine sat in the kitchen of Town Rising, sewing. It was a dreary +place, and she was alone and surrounded with stone. The kitchen walls +were stone; so was the floor. The window looked out upon the court, and +that was paved with stone. Beyond was the barn wall, made of blocks of +cold granite. Above peeped the top of a tor, and that was granite too. +Damp stone everywhere. It was the Stone Age back again. And Thomasine, +buried among it all, was making herself a frivolous petticoat for +Tavistock Goose Fair.</p> + +<p>Among undistinguished young persons Thomasine was pre-eminent. She was +only Farmer Chegwidden's "help"; that is to say, general servant. +Undistinguished young persons will do anything that is menial under the +title of "help," which as a servant they would shrink from. To the lower +classes there is much in a name. Thomasine knew nothing. She was just a +work-a-day girl, eating her meals, sleeping; knowing there was something +called a character which for some inexplicable reason it was necessary +to keep; dreaming of a home of her own some day, but not having the +sense to realise that it would mean a probably drunken husband on a few +shillings a week, and a new gift from the gods to feed each year; +comprehending the delights of fairs, general holidays, and evenings out; +perceiving that it was pleasant to have her waist squeezed and her mouth +kissed; understanding also the charm in being courted in a ditch with +the temperature below freezing-point. That was nearly all Thomasine +knew. Plenty of animals know more. Her conversation consisted chiefly in +"ees" and "no."</p> + +<p>It is not pleasant to see a pretty face, glorious complexion, well-made +body, without mind, intellect, or soul worth mentioning; but it is a +common sight. It is not pleasant to speak to that face, and watch its +vacancy increase. A dog would understand at once; but that human face +remains dull. A good many strange thoughts suggest themselves on +fair-days and holidays in and about the Stannary Towns. There are plenty +of pretty faces, glorious complexions, and well-made bodies surrounded +with clothing which the old Puritans would have denounced as immoral; +but not a mind, not an intellect above potato-peeling, in the lot. They +come into the towns like so many birds of passage; at nightfall they go +out, shrieking, many of them, for lack of intelligent speech, and return +to potato-peeling. The warmth of the next holiday brings them out again, +in the same clothes, knowing just as much as they did before—how to +shriek—then the pots and potatoes claim them again. All those girls +have undeveloped minds. They don't know it, not having been told, so +their minds remain unformed all their lives. The flower-like faces fade +quickly, because there is nothing to keep the bloom on. The mind does +not get beyond the budding stage. It is never attended to, so it rots +off without ever opening. Sometimes one of these girls discovers she has +something besides her body and her complexion; or somebody superior to +herself impresses the fact upon her; and she uses her knowledge, +cultivates her mind, and with luck rises out of the rut. She discovers +that her horizon is not limited by pots and potato-peel. Beyond it all, +for her, there is something called intelligence. Such girls are few. +Most of them have their eyes opened, not their minds, and then they +discover they are naked, and want to go away and hide themselves.</p> + +<p>Thomasine's soul was about the size and weight of a grain of mustard +seed. She was a good maid, and her parents had no cause to be sorry she +had been born. She had come into the world by way of lawful wedlock, +which was something to be proud of in her part of the country, and was +living a decent life in respectable employment. She sat in the stone +kitchen, and built up her flimsy petticoat, with as much expression on +her face as one might reasonably expect to find upon the face of a cow. +She could not think. She knew that she was warm and comfortable; but +knowledge is not thought. She knew all about her last evening's +courting; but she could not have constructed any little romance which +differed from that courting. In a manner she had something to think +about; namely, what had actually happened. She could not think about +what had not happened, or what under different circumstances might have +happened. That would have meant using her mind; and she didn't know she +had one. Yet Thomasine came of a fairly clever family. Her grandfather +had used his mind largely, and had succeeded in building up, not a +large, but a very comfortable, business. He had emigrated, however; and +it is well known that there is nothing like a change of scene for +teaching a man to know himself. He had gone to Birmingham and started an +idol-factory. It was a quaint sort of business, but a profitable one. He +made idols for the Burmese market. He had stocked a large number of +Buddhist temples, and the business was an increasing one. Orders for +idols reached him from many remote places, and his goods always gave +satisfaction. The placid features of many a squatting Gautama in dim +Eastern temples had been moulded from the vacant faces of Devonshire +farm-maids. He was a most religious man, attending chapel twice each +Sunday, besides teaching in the Sunday-school. He didn't believe in +allowing religion to interfere with business, which was no doubt quite +discreet of him. He always said that a man should keep his business +perfectly distinct from everything else. He had long ago dropped his +Devonshire relations. Respectable idol-makers cannot mingle with common +country-folk. Thomasine's parents possessed a framed photograph of one +of the earlier idols, which they exhibited in their living-room as a +family heirloom, although their minister had asked them as a personal +favour to destroy it, because it seemed to him to savour of +superstition. The minister thought it was intended for the Virgin Mary, +but the good people denied it with some warmth, explaining that they +were good Christians, and would never disgrace their cottage in that +Popish fashion.</p> + +<p>Innocent of idols, Thomasine went on sewing in her stone kitchen amid +the granite. She had finished putting a frill along the hem of her +petticoat; now she put one higher up in regions which would be invisible +however much the wind might blow, though she did not know why, because +she could not think. It was a waste of material; nobody would see it; +but she felt that a fair petticoat ought to be adorned as lavishly as +possible. She did not often glance up. There was nothing to be seen in +the court except the usual fowls. It was rarely an incident occurred +worth remembering. Sometimes one stag attacked another, and Thomasine +would be attracted to the window to watch the contest. That made a +little excitement in her life, but the fight would soon be over. It was +all show and bluster; very much like the sparring of two farm hands. +"You'm a liar." "So be yew." "Aw well, so be <i>yew</i>." And so on, with +ever-increasing accent upon the "yew." Not many people crossed the +court. There was no right of way there, but Farmer Chegwidden had no +objection to neighbours passing through.</p> + +<p>Whether Thomasine was pretty could hardly be stated definitely. It must +remain a matter of opinion whether any face can be beautiful which is +entirely lacking in expression, has no mind behind the tongue, and no +speaking brain at the back of the eyes. Many, no doubt, would have +thought her perfection. She was plump and full of blood; it seemed ready +to burst through her skin. She was somewhat grossly built; too wide at +the thighs, big-handed, and large-footed, with not much waist, and a +clumsy stoop from the shoulders. She waddled in her walk like most +Devonshire farm-maids. Her complexion was perfect; so was her health. +She had a lust-provoking face; big sleepy eyes; cheeks absolutely +scarlet; pouting lips swollen with blood, almost the colour of an +over-ripe peach. It was more like paint than natural colouring. It was +too strong. She had too much blood. She was part of the exaggeration of +Dartmoor, which exaggerates everything; adding fierceness to fierceness, +colour to colour, strength to strength; just as its rain is fiercer than +that of the valleys, and its wind mightier. Thomasine was of the Tavy +family, but not of the romantic branch. Not of the folklore side like +Boodles, but of the Ger Tor family, the strong mountain branch which +knows nothing and cannot think for itself, and only feels the river +wearing it away, and the frost rotting it, and the wind beating it. The +pity was that Thomasine did not know she had a mind, which was already +fading for want of use. She knew only how to peel potatoes and make +herself wanton underwear. Although twenty-two years of age she was still +a maid.</p> + +<p>There were steps upon the stones, and Thomasine looked up. She saw +nobody, but sounds came through the open window, a shuffling against the +wall of the house, and the stumbling of clumsy boots. Then there was a +knock.</p> + +<p>There was nothing outside, except miserable objects such as Brightly +with an empty and battered basket and starving Ju with her empty and +battered stomach and her tongue hanging out. They were still trying to +do business, instead of going away to some lonely part of the moor and +dying decently. It was extraordinary how Brightly and Ju clung to life, +which wasn't of much use to them, and how steadfastly they applied +themselves to a sordid business which was very far less remunerative +than sound and honest occupations such as idol-making. Brightly looked +smaller than ever. He had forgotten all about his last meal. His face +was pinched; it was about the size of a two-year-old baby's. He looked +like an eel in man's clothing.</p> + +<p>"Any rabbit-skins, miss?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"No," said Thomasine.</p> + +<p>Brightly crept a little nearer. "Will ye give us a bite o' bread? Us be +cruel hungry, and times be hard. Tramped all day yesterday, and got my +cloam tored, and lost my rabbit-skins and duppence. Give me and little +dog a bite, miss. Du'ye, miss."</p> + +<p>"If master was to know I'd catch it," said Thomasine.</p> + +<p>"Varmer Chegwidden would give I a bite. I knows he would," said +Brightly.</p> + +<p>Chegwidden would certainly have given him a bite had he been present, or +rather his sheep-dog would. Chegwidden was a member of the Board of +Guardians in his sober moments, and it was his duty to suppress such +creatures as Brightly.</p> + + +<p>"I mun go on," said the weary little wretch, when he saw that Thomasine +was about to shut the door. "I mun tramp on. I wish yew could ha' given +us a bite, miss, for us be going to Tavistock, and I don't know if us +can. Me and little dog be cruel mazed."</p> + +<p>"Bide there a bit," said Thomasine.</p> + +<p>There was nobody in the house, except Mrs. Chegwidden, who was among her +pickle jars and had never to be taken into consideration. Chegwidden had +gone to Lydford. The girl had a good heart, and she didn't like to see +things starving. Even the fowls had to be fed when they were hungry, and +probably Brightly was nearly as good as the fowls. She returned to the +door with bread and meat, and a lump of cheese wrapped in a piece of +newspaper. She flung Ju a bone as big as herself and with more meat upon +it, and before the fit of charity had exhausted itself she brought out a +jug of cider, which Brightly consumed on the premises and increased in +girth perceptibly.</p> + +<p>"Get off," said Thomasine. "If I'm caught they'll give me the door."</p> + +<p>Brightly was not well skilled in expressing gratitude because he had so +little practice. He was generally apologising for his existence. He +tried to be effusive, but was only grotesque. Thomasine almost thought +he was trying to make love to her, and she drew back with her strained +sensual smile.</p> + +<p>"I wun't forget. Not if I lives to be two hundred and one, I wun't," +cried Brightly. "Ju ses her wun't forget neither. Us will get to +Tavistock now, and us can start in business again to-morrow. Ye've been +cruel kind to me, miss. God love ye and bless ye vor't, is what I ses. +God send ye a good husband vor't, is what I ses tu."</p> + +<p>"You'm welcome," said Thomasine.</p> + +<p>Brightly beamed in a fantastic manner through his spectacles. Ju wagged +what Nature had intended to be a tail, and staggered out of the court +with her load of savoury meat. Then the door was closed, and Thomasine +went back to her petticoat.</p> + +<p>The girl could not exactly think about Brightly, but she was able to +remember what had happened. A starving creature supposed to be a man, +accompanied by a famished beast that tried to be a dog—both shocking +examples of bad work, for Nature jerry-builds worse than the most +dishonest of men—had presented themselves at the door of her kitchen, +and she had fed them. She had obeyed the primitive instinct which +compels the one who has food to give to those who have none. There was +nothing splendid about it, because she did not want the food. Yet her +master would not have fed Brightly. He would have flung the food into +the pig-sty rather than have given it to the Seal. So it was possible +after all that she had performed a generous action which was worthy of +reward.</p> + +<p>It must not be supposed that Thomasine thought all that out for herself. +She knew nothing about generous actions. She had listened to plenty of +sermons in the chapel, but without understanding anything except that it +would be her duty some time to enter hell, which, according to the +preacher's account, was a place rather like the top of Dartmoor, only +hotter, and there was never any frost or snow. Will Pugsley, with whom +she was walking out just then, had summed up the whole matter in one +phrase of gloomy philosophy: "Us has a cruel hard time on't here, and +then us goes down under." That seemed to be the answer to the riddle of +the soul's existence: "having a cruel hard time, and then going down +under."</p> + +<p>Thomasine had never read a book in her life. They did not come her way. +Town Rising had none, except the big Bible—which for half-a-century had +performed its duty of supporting a china shepherdess wreathing with +earthenware daisies the neck of a red and white cow—a manual upon +manure, and a ready reckoner. No penny novelette, dealing with such +matters of everyday occurrence as the wooing of servant-girls by earls, +had ever found its way into her hands, and such fictions would not have +interested her, simply because they would have conveyed no meaning. A +pretty petticoat and a fair-day; these were matters she could +appreciate, because they touched her sympathies and she could understand +them. They were some of the things which made up the joy of life. There +was so much that was "cruel hard"; but there were pleasures, such as +fine raiment and fair-days, to be enjoyed before she went "down under."</p> + +<p>Thomasine was able to form mental pictures of scenes that were familiar. +She could see the tor above the barn. It was easy to see also the long +village on the side of the moor. She knew it all so well. She could see +Ebenezer, the chapel where she heard sermons about hell. Pendoggat was +sometimes the preacher, and he always insisted strongly upon the +extremely high temperature of "down under." Thomasine very nearly +thought. She almost associated the preacher with the place which was the +subject of his discourse. That would have been a very considerable +mental flight had she succeeded. It came to nothing, however. She went +on remembering, not thinking. Pendoggat had tried to look at her in +chapel. He could not look at any one with his eyes, but he had set his +face towards her as though he believed she was in greater need than +others of his warnings. He had walked close beside her out of chapel, +and had remarked that it was a fine evening. Thomasine remembered she +had been pleased, because he had drawn her attention towards a fact +which she had not previously observed, namely, that it was a fine +evening. Pendoggat was a man, not a creeping thing like Brightly, not a +lump of animated whisky-moistened clay like Farmer Chegwidden. No one +could make people uncomfortable like him. Eli Pezzack was a poor +creature in comparison, although Thomasine didn't make the comparison +because she couldn't. Pezzack could not make people feel they were +already in torment. The minister frequently referred to another place +which was called "up over." He reminded his listeners that they might +attain to a place of milk and honey where the temperature was normal; +and that was the reason why he was not much of a success as a minister. +He seemed indeed to desire to deprive his congregations of their +legitimate place of torment. What was the use of talking about "up +over," which could not concern his listeners, when they might so easily +be stimulated with details concerning the inevitable "down under"? +Pezzack was a weak man. He refused to face his destiny, and he tried to +prevent his congregations from facing theirs.</p> + +<p>Thomasine looked at the clock. It was time to lift the peat from the +hearth and put on the coal. Chegwidden would soon be back from Lydford +and want his supper. She admired the petticoat, rolled it up, and put it +away in her work-basket.</p> + +<p>"Dear life!" she murmured. "Here be master, and nothing done."</p> + +<p>A horseman was in the court, and crossing it. The window was open. The +rider was not Chegwidden. It was the master of Helmen Barton, his head +down as usual, his eyes apparently fixed between his horse's ears; his +head was inclined a little towards the house. Thomasine stood back and +watched.</p> + +<p>A piece of gorse in full bloom came through the window, fell upon the +stone floor, and bounded like a small beast. It jumped about on the +smooth cement, and glided on its spines until it reached the dresser, +and there remained motionless, with its stem, which had been bared of +prickles, directed upwards towards the girl like a pointing finger. +Pendoggat had gone on. His horse had not stopped, nor had the rider +appeared to glance into the kitchen. Obviously there was some connection +between Pendoggat, that piece of gorse, and herself, only Thomasine +could not work it out. She picked it up. She could not have such a thing +littering her tidy kitchen. The sprig was a smother of blossom, and she +could see its tiny spears among the blooms, their points so keen that +they were as invisible as the edge of a razor. She brought the blooms +suddenly to her nose, and immediately one of the tiny spears pierced the +skin and her strong blood burst through.</p> + +<p>"Scat the vuzz," said Thomasine.</p> + +<p>Iron-shod hoofs rattled again upon the stones, and the light of the +window became darkened. Pendoggat had changed his mind and was back +again. He tumbled from the saddle and stood there wagging his head as if +deep in thought. Supposing she was wanted for something, the girl came +forward. Pendoggat was close to the window, which was a low one. She did +not know what he was looking at; not at her certainly; but he seemed to +be searching for her, desiring her, sniffing at her like an animal.</p> + +<p>"Du'ye want master, sir? He'm to Lydford," said Thomasine.</p> + +<p>A drop of blood fell from her nose and splashed on the stone floor +between them. She searched for a handkerchief and found she had not got +one. There was nothing for it but to use the back of her hand, smearing +the blood across her lips and chin. Pendoggat saw it all. He noticed +everything, although he had his eyes on the window-sill.</p> + +<p>"You're a fine maid," he said.</p> + +<p>"Be I, sir?" said Thomasine, beginning to tremble. Pendoggat was her +superior. He was the tenant of Helmen Barton, a commoner, the owner of +sheep and bullocks, and married, or at least she supposed he was. She +felt somehow it was not right he should say such a thing to her.</p> + +<p>"Going to chapel Sunday night?" he went on, with his head on one side, +and his face as immobile as a mask.</p> + +<p>"Ees," murmured Thomasine, forgetting the "sir" somehow. The question +was such a familiar one that she did not remember for the moment the +standing of the speaker. This was the man who had drenched her with +hell-fire from the pulpit.</p> + +<p>"How do ye come home? By the road or moor?"</p> + +<p>"The moor, if 'tis fine, sir. I walks with Willum."</p> + +<p>"Young Pugsley?"</p> + +<p>"Ees, sir."</p> + +<p>"You're too good for him. You're too fine a maid for that hind. You +won't walk with him Sunday night. I'll see you home."</p> + +<p>"Ees, sir," was all Thomasine could say. She was only a farm-maid. She +had to do as she was told.</p> + +<p>"Going to the fair?" he asked.</p> + +<p>The answer was as usual.</p> + +<p>"I'll meet you there. Take you for rides, and into the shows. Got your +clothes ready?"</p> + +<p>The same soft word, which Thomasine made a dissyllable, and Boodles sang +as an anthem, followed. Goose Fair was the greatest day in the girl's +year, and to be treated there by a man with money was to glide along one +of the four rivers of Paradise, only that was not the expression which +occurred to Thomasine.</p> + + +<p>Pendoggat reached in and took her hand. It was large with labour, and +red with blood, but quite clean. He pulled her towards him. There was +nobody in the court; only the unobservant chickens, pecking diligently. +A cloud had settled upon the top of the tor, which was just visible +above the barn, an angry cloud purple like a wound, as if the granite +had pierced and wounded it. Thomasine wondered if it would be fine for +Goose Fair.</p> + +<p>Her sleeve was loose. Pendoggat pressed his fingers under it, and +paddled the soft flesh like a cat up to her elbow.</p> + +<p>"Don't ye, sir," pleaded Thomasine, feeling somehow this was not right.</p> + +<p>"You're a fine, lusty maid," he muttered.</p> + +<p>"'Tis time master was back from Lydford, I reckon," she murmured.</p> + +<p>"You're bloody."</p> + +<p>"'Twas that bit o' vuzz."</p> + +<p>He drew her closer, threw his arm clumsily round her neck, dragged her +half through the window, kissing her savagely on the neck, lips, and +chin, until his own lips were smeared with her blood, and he could taste +it. She began to struggle. Then she cried out, and he let her go.</p> + +<p>"Good blood," he muttered, passing his tongue over his lips. "The +strongest and best blood on Dartmoor."</p> + +<p>Then, he flung himself across his horse, as if he had been drunk, and +rode out of the court.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h3> + +<h2>ABOUT VOCAL AND INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC</h2> + + +<p>There was a concert in Brentor village in aid of that hungry creature +the Church, which resembles so many tin- and copper-mines, inasmuch as +much more money goes into it than ever comes out. Brentor is overdone +with churches. There is one in the village, and the little one on the +tor outside. Maids like to be married on the tor. They think it gives +them a good start in life, but that idea is owing to tradition, which +connects Brentor with the worship of Baal. The transition from Paganism +to Christianity was gradual, and in many cases the old gods were merely +painted up and made to look like new. The statue of Jove was bereft of +its thunderbolt, given a bunch of keys, and called Peter; the goddess of +love became a madonna; the sun-temple was turned into a church. Where +the original idea was lost sight of a legend was invented; such as that +of the merchant who, overtaken by a storm when beating for shore, vowed +to build a church upon the first point of land which should appear in +sight. There is no getting away from sun-worship upon Dartmoor, and no +easy way of escape from tradition either. That is why maids like to be +sacrificed upon Brentor, even when the wind is threatening to sweep them +down its cliffs.</p> + +<p>Local talent was not represented at the concert. People from Tavistock +came to perform; all sorts and conditions of amateurs in evening dress +and muddy boots. The room was crowded, as it was a fine evening, and +therefore there was nothing to prevent the inhabitants of the two holy +Tavys from walking across the moor, and a jabbering cartload had come +from Lydford also. There was no chattering in the room. The entire +audience became appalled by respectability as represented by gentlemen +with bulging shirt-fronts and ladies with visible bosoms. They stared, +they muttered hoarsely, they turned to and fro like mechanical figures; +but they did not chatter. They felt as if they were taking part in a +religious ceremony.</p> + +<p>The young lady who opened proceedings, after the inevitable duet on the +piano—which, to increase the sense of mystery, was called on the +practically illegible programme a pianoforte—with a sentimental song, +made an error. She merely increased the atmosphere of despondency. When +she had finished some of the audience became restless. They were +wondering whether the time had come for them to kneel.</p> + +<p>"Bain't him a cruel noisy thing?" exclaimed Mary, with a certain amount +of enthusiasm. "What du'ye call 'en?" she asked a small, dried-up +ancient man who sat beside her, while indicating the instrument of music +with an outstretched arm.</p> + +<p>The old man tried to explain, which was a thing he was famous for doing. +He was a superannuated school-master of the nearly extinct type, the +kind that knew nothing and taught as much, but a brave learned man +according to some of the old folk.</p> + +<p>Peter sat by his sister, trying to look at his ease; and he too listened +intently for what school-master had to say. Peter and Mary were +blossoming out, and becoming social and gregarious beings.</p> + +<p>This was the first grand entertainment they had ever attended. Tickets +had been given them, or they would certainly not have been there. As +Peter had failed in his efforts to sell the tickets they had decided to +use them, although dressing for the event was something of an ordeal. +Mary had a black hat and a silk dress, both of early Victorian +construction, and beneath, her huge nailed boots innocent of blacking. +Peter wore a tie under his chin, and a wondrous collar some three inches +lower down. The rest of his costume was also early nineteenth century in +make, but effectual. He was very much excited by the music, but +dreadfully afraid of showing it.</p> + +<p>"That there box," said Master, with an air of diving deep in the well of +wisdom "he'm full o' wires and hammers."</p> + +<p>"My dear life!" gasped Mary. "Full o' wires and hammers! Du'ye hear, +Peter?"</p> + +<p>Her brother replied in the affirmative, although in a manner which +suggested that the information was superfluous.</p> + +<p>"Volks hit them bones, and the bones dra' on the hammers, and the +hammers hit the wires," proceeded Master.</p> + +<p>"Bain't that artful now?" cried Mary.</p> + +<p>"Sure 'nuff," agreed Peter, unable to restrain his admiration.</p> + +<p>"Couldn't ye mak' one o' they? You'm main cruel larned wi' your hands," +Mary went on.</p> + +<p>Peter admitted that was so. Given the material, he had no doubt of his +ability to turn out a piano capable of producing that music which his +sister described as cruel noisy.</p> + +<p>"It taketh a scholard to understand how to mak' they things," said +Master, with some severity. "See all that carved wood on the front of +him? You couldn't du that, and the piano wouldn't mak' no music if +'twasn't for the carved wood. 'Twould mak' a noise, you see, Peter, but +not music. 'Tis the noise coming out through the carving what makes the +music. Taketh a scholard to du that."</p> + +<p>"Look at she!" cried Mary violently, as another lady rose to warble. +This songster had a good bust, and desired to convince her audience of +the fact. "Her ha' grown out of her clothes sure 'nuff. Her can't hardly +cover her paps."</p> + +<p>"Shet thee noise, woman," muttered Peter.</p> + +<p>"Her be in full evening dress," explained Master.</p> + +<p>Mary subsided in deep reflection. She knew perfectly well what "full" +meant. There were plenty of full days upon Tavy Cleave. It meant a heavy +wet mist which filled everything so that nothing was visible. For Mary +every word had only one meaning. She could not understand how the word +"full" could bear two exactly opposite meanings.</p> + +<p>The back seats were overflowing. Only threepence was charged there, but +seats were not guaranteed. The majority stood, partly to show their +independence, chiefly to look as if they had just dropped in, not with +any idea of being entertained, but that they might satisfy themselves +there was nothing objectionable in the programme. Several men stood +huddled together as near the door as possible, showing their disapproval +of such frivolity in the usual manner, by standing in antagonistic +attitudes and frowning at the performers. Chegwidden was there, +containing sufficient liquor to make him grateful for the support of the +wall. He had tried to get in for nothing, by explaining that he was a +member of the Board of Guardians, and had been from his youth a +steadfast opponent of the Church as by law established. These excuses +having failed, he had paid the threepence under protest, explaining at +the same time that if he heard anything to shock his innocent mind he +should demand his money back, visit his solicitor when next in Tavistock +with a view to taking action against those who had dared to pervert the +public mind, and indite letters to all the local papers. The +entertainment committee had a troublesome threepennyworth in Farmer +Chegwidden. He had already spent a couple of shillings in liquor, and +would spend another couple when the concert was over. That was money +spent upon a laudable object. But the threepence demanded for admission +was, as he loudly proclaimed, money given to the devil.</p> + +<p>Near him stood Pendoggat, his head down as usual, and breathing heavily +as if he had gone to sleep. He looked as much at home there as a bat +flitting in the sunlight among butterflies. Every one was surprised to +see Pendoggat. Members of his own sect decided he was there to collect +material for a scathing denunciation of such methods from the pulpit of +Ebenezer. Chegwidden pushed closer, and asked hoarsely, "What do 'ye +think of it, varmer?"</p> + +<p>"Taking money in God's name to square the devil," answered Pendoggat.</p> + +<p>"Just what I says," muttered Chegwidden, greatly envying the other's +powers of expression. "Immortality! That's what it be, varmer. 'Tis a +hard word, but there ain't no other. Dirty immortality!" He meant +immorality, but was confused by righteous indignation, the music, and +other things.</p> + +<p>"Can't us do nought?" Chegwidden went on. "Us lets their religion bide. +They'm mocking us, varmer. That there last song was blasphemy, and +immortality, and a-mocking us all through."</p> + +<p>Pendoggat muttered something about a demonstration outside later on, to +mark their disapproval of such infamous attempts to seduce young people +from the paths of rectitude. Then he relapsed into taciturnity, while +Chegwidden went on babbling of people's sins.</p> + +<p>Most of the ill-feeling was due to the fact that the room had been used +several years back as a meeting-house, where the pure Gospel had flowed +regularly. Chegwidden's father had carried his Bible into a front seat +there. Souls had been saved in that room; anniversary teas had been held +there; services of song had been given; young couples, whose +Nonconformity was unimpeachable, had conducted their amours there; and +upon the outside of the door had been scrawled shockingly crude +statements concerning such love-affairs, accompanied by anatomical +caricatures of the parties in question. It was holy ground, and +representatives of a hostile sect were defiling it.</p> + +<p>Greater evils followed. An eccentric gentleman rose and recited a story +about a lady trying to mount an overcrowded street-car, and being +dragged along the entire length of a street, chatting to the conductor +the while; quite a harmless story, but it made Brentor to grin. +Church-people laughed noisily, and even Methodists tittered. +Nonconformist maids of established reputations giggled, and their young +men cackled like geese. It was in short a laughing audience. The +threepenny-bits shivered. Fire from heaven was already overdue. Complete +destruction might be looked for at any moment. One nervous old woman +crept out. She had heard the doctrine of eternal punishment expounded in +that place, and she explained she could remain there no longer and +listen to profanity. The performer again obliged; this time with a comic +song which set the seal of blasphemy upon the whole performance. +Chegwidden turned his face to the wall, moaned, and demanded of a +neighbour what he thought of it all.</p> + +<p>"Brave fine singing," came the unscrupulous answer, which seemed to +denote that the speaker had also been carried away by enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>This was the last straw. Even the lights of Ebenezer were flickering and +going out. Chegwidden and Pendoggat appeared to be the only godly men +left. The farmer turned upon the irreligious speaker, and crushed him +with weighty words.</p> + +<p>"'Twas here father prayed," he said, in a voice unsteady with grief and +alcohol. "Twice every Sunday, and me with 'en, and he've a-shook me in +this chapel, and punched my ear many a time when I was cracking nuts in +sermon time. Father led in prayer here, and he've a-told me how he once +prayed twenty minutes by the clock. Some said 'twas nineteen, but father +knew 'twas twenty, 'cause he had his watch in his hand, and never took +his eyes off 'en. Never thought he'd do the last minute, but he did. +They was religious volks in them days. Father prayed here, I tells ye, +and I learnt Sunday-school here, and 'twas here us all learnt the +blessed truths of immorality."—again he blundered in his meaning—"and +now it be a place for dancing, and singing, and play-acting, and us will +be judged for it, and weighed in the balances and found wanting."</p> + +<p>"Us can repent," suggested the neighbour.</p> + +<p>Chegwidden would not admit this. "Them what have laughed here to-night +won't die natural, not in their beds," he declared. "They'll die sudden. +They'll be cut off. They've committed blasphemy, which is the sin what +ain't forgiven."</p> + +<p>Then Chegwidden turned upon the doorkeeper and demanded his money back. +He was not going to remain among the wicked. He was going to spend the +rest of the evening respectably at the inn.</p> + +<p>After that the programme continued for a little without interruption. +Then a young lady, who had been especially imported for the occasion, +obliged with a violin solo. She played well, but made the common mistake +of amateurs before a rural audience; preferring to exhibit her command +over the instrument by rendering classical music, instead of playing +something which the young men could whistle to. It was a very soft +piece. The performer bent to obtain the least possible amount of sound +from a string; and at that critical moment a loud weary voice startled +the religious silence of the room—</p> + +<p>"Aw, my dear life! Bain't it a shocking waste o' time?"</p> + +<p>It was Mary, who was feeling bored. The novelty of the performance had +worn off. She was prepared to sit there and hear a good noise. She liked +the piano when it was giving forth plenty of crashing chords; but that +whining scraping sound was intolerable. It was worse than any old cat.</p> + +<p>There was some commotion in the front seats, and shocked faces were +turned upon Mary, while the performer almost broke down. She made +another effort, but it was no use, for Mary continued at the top of her +voice—</p> + +<p>"Ole Will Chanter had a fiddle like thikky one. Du'ye mind, Peter?"</p> + +<p>Indignant voices called for silence, but Mary only looked about in some +amazement. She couldn't think what the people were driving at. As she +was not being entertained there was nothing to prevent her from talking, +and it was only natural that she should speak to Peter; and if the folks +in front did not approve of her remarks they need not listen. The +violinist had dropped her arms in despair; but when she perceived +silence was restored she tried again.</p> + +<p>"Used to play 'en in Peter Tavy church," continued Mary, with much +relish. "Used to sot up in the loft and fiddle cruel. Didn't 'en, +Master? Don't ye mind ole Will Chanter what had a fiddle like thikky +one? His brother Abe sot up wi' 'en, and blowed into a long pipe. Made a +cruel fine noise, them two."</p> + +<p>Mary was becoming anecdotal, and threatening to address the audience at +some length, so the violinist had to give up and make way for a vocalist +with sufficient voice to drown these reminiscences of a former +generation.</p> + +<p>After the concert there were disturbances outside. One faction cheered +the performers; another hooted them. Then a light of Ebenezer kindled +into religious fire and hit an Anglican postman in the eye. The response +of the Church Militant loosened two Nonconformist teeth. Chegwidden +reappeared on horseback, swaying from side to side, holding on by the +reins, and raising the cry of down with everything except Ebenezer and +liquor-shops.</p> + +<p>Pendoggat stood aloof, looking on, hoping there would be a fight. He did +not mix in such things himself. It was his custom to stand in the +background and work the machinery from outside. He liked to see men +attacking one another, to watch pain inflicted, and to see the blood +flow. Turning to the man whose mouth had been damaged he muttered: "Go +at him again."</p> + +<p>"I'm satisfied," came the answer.</p> + +<p>"He called you a dirty monkey," lied Pendoggat.</p> + +<p>The insult was sufficient. The Anglican postman was walking away, having +fought a good fight for the faith that was in him, by virtue of two +shillings a week for various duties, and his Opponent seizing the +opportunity attacked him vigorously from the rear. Peter and Mary +watched the conflict, and their savage souls rejoiced. This was better +than all the pianos and fiddles in the world. They felt at last they +were getting value for their free tickets.</p> + +<p>Sport was terminated by the sudden appearance of the Maggot. He had been +drafting a prospectus of the "Tavy Nickel Mining Company, Limited," and +had issued forth to look for the managing director. He stopped the fight +and lectured the combatants in spiritual language. He comprehended how +the ex-chapel had been desecrated that night by godless people, and he +appreciated the zeal which had prompted a member of his congregation to +defend its sanctity; but he explained that it was not lawful for +Christians to brawl upon the streets. To take out a summons for assault +was far holier. The man with the loosened teeth explained that he should +do so. It was true he had incited the postman to fight by striking him +first; but then he had struck him with Christian charity in the eye, +which entailed only a slight temporary discomfort and no permanent loss; +whereas the postman had struck him with brutal ferocity on the mouth, +depriving him of the services of two teeth; and had moreover added +obscene language, as could be proved by impartial witnesses. Pezzack +assured him that the teeth Bad fallen in a good cause; men and women had +been tortured and burnt at the stake for their religion; and he quoted +the acts of Bloody Mary, that bigoted lady who has become the hardy +perennial of Nonconformist sermons, with a strong emphasis upon the +qualifying, adjective. The champion went away delighted. He had won his +martyr's crown, and his teeth were not so very loose after all. A little +beer would soon tighten them.</p> + +<p>The crowd was dwindling away with its grievances. The folks would +chatter furiously for a few days; then the affair would drop and be +forgotten, and a fresh scandal would fill the vacancy. They would never +bite so long as they had liberty to bark. Chegwidden had galloped off +across the moor in his usual wild way. Every week he would visit some +inn, upon what might have been called his home circuit, and at closing +time would commit his senseless body to his horse with the certain hope +of being carried home. To gallop wildly over Dartmoor at night might be +ranked as an almost heroic action. The horse had brains fortunately. +Chegwidden was only the clinging monkey upon its back. The farmer had +fallen on several occasions, but had escaped with bruises. One night he +would break his neck, or crack his head upon a boulder, and die as he +had lived—drunk. Drunkenness is not a vice upon Dartmoor; nor a fault +even. It is a custom.</p> + +<p>The Maggot found Pendoggat. They greeted one another in a fraternal way, +then began to walk down from the village. The night was clear ahead of +them, but above Brentor, with its church, which looked rather like an +exaggerated locomotive in that light, the sky, or "widdicote," as Mary +might have called it, was red and lowering.</p> + +<p>"Well, what about business?" said Pendoggat.</p> + +<p>"I am not finding it easy, Mr. Pendoggat," said the minister. "Folks are +nervous, and, as you know, there is not much money about. But they trust +me, Mr. Pendoggat. They trust me," he repeated fervently.</p> + +<p>"Got any promises?"</p> + +<p>"A few half-promises. I could do better if I was able to show them the +mine. If you would come forward, with your wisdom and experience, I +think we should do well. I mentioned that you were interested."</p> + +<p>"I told you to keep my name out of it," said Pendoggat.</p> + +<p>"But that is impossible. I cannot tell a lie, Mr. Pendoggat," said Eli, +with the utmost deference.</p> + +<p>"You're suspicious," said the other sharply. "You don't trust me. Say it +out, Pezzack."</p> + +<p>"I do trust you, Mr. Pendoggat. I have given you this 'and," said Eli, +extending a clay-like slab. "I have seen with my own eyes the sides of +that cave gleaming with precious metal like the walls of the New +Jerusalem. I can take your 'and now, and look you in the heye, and say +'ow I trust you. We 'ave prayed side by side, and you 'ave always prayed +fair. Now that we are working side by side I know you'll work fair. But +I 'ave thought, Mr. Pendoggat, 'ow you seem to be putting too much upon +me."</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you how it is. I'm pushed," Pendoggat muttered. "Nobody knows +it, but I'm deep in debt. Do you think I'd be such a fool as to give +this find of mine away for nothing, as you might say, unless I'd got +to?" he went on sullenly. "I've known of it for years. I've spent days +planting willows and fern about the entrance to that old shaft, to close +it up and make folk forget it's there. I meant to bide my time till I +could get mining folk in London to take it up and make a big thing out +of it. I'm a disappointed man, Pezzack. I'm in debt, and I've got to +suffer for it."</p> + +<p>He paused, scowling sullenly at his companion.</p> + +<p>"My 'eart bleeds for you, Mr. Pendoggat," said simple Eli. He thought +that was a good and sympathetic phrase, although he somewhat exaggerated +the actual state of his feelings.</p> + +<p>"I've kept 'em quiet so far," said Pendoggat. "I've paid what I can, and +they know they can't get more. But if 'twas known about this mine, and +known I was running it, they'd be down on me like flies on a carcase, +and would ruin the thing at once. The only chance for me was to look out +for a straight man who could float the scheme in his name while I did +the work. I knew only one man I could really trust, and that man is +you."</p> + +<p>"It is very generous of you, Mr. Pendoggat," said the buttered Eli.</p> + +<p>They had reached the railway bridge, and there stopped, being upon the +edge of the moor. Beneath them was Brentor station gone to sleep; +beyond, in its cutting, that of Mary Tavy. The lines of two rival +companies ran needlessly side by side, silently proclaiming to the still +Dartmoor night the fact that railway companies are quite human and hate +each other like individuals. Pendoggat was looking down as usual, +therefore his eyes were fixed upon the rival lines. Possibly he found +something there to interest him.</p> + +<p>"I'll get you some samples. You can take them about with you," he went +on. "We'll have a meeting too."</p> + +<p>"At the Barton?" suggested Eli.</p> + +<p>"The chapel," said Pendoggat.</p> + +<p>"Commencing with a prayer-meeting," said Eli. "That is a noble thought, +Mr. Pendoggat. We will seek a blessing on the work."</p> + +<p>"The chapel must be rebuilt," said Pendoggat.</p> + +<p>"The Lord's work first. Yes, that is right. That is like you, Mr. +Pendoggat. I will communicate with some friends in London. I 'ave an +uncle who is a retired grocer. He lives at Bromley, Mr. Pendoggat. He +will invest part of his savings, I am convinced. He has confidence in +me. He had me educated for the ministry. He will persuade others to +invest, perhaps."</p> + +<p>Pendoggat moved forward, and set his face towards the moor. "I must get +on," he said. "I'll see you on Sunday. Have something to tell me by +then."</p> + +<p>"Let us seek a blessing before we part," said Pezzack.</p> + +<p>Pendoggat turned back. He was always ready to obtain absolution. They +stood upon the bridge, removed their hats, while Eli prayed with vigour +and sincerity. He did not stop until the rumble of the night mail +sounded along the lines and the metals began to hum excitedly. The +"widdicote" above St. Michael's was still red and lowering. The church +might have been a furnace, emitting a strong glow from fires within its +tower.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h3> + +<h2>ABOUT FAIRYLAND</h2> + + +<p>By the time Boodles was sixteen she was shaped and polished. Weevil had +done what he could; not much, for the poor old thing was neither learned +nor rich; and she had gone to Tavistock, where various arts had been +crammed into her brain, all mixed up together like the ingredients of a +patent pill. Boodles knew a good deal for seventeen; but Nature and +Dartmoor had taught her more than the school-mistress. She was a fresh +and fragrant child, with no unhealthy fancies; loving everything that +was clean and pretty; loathing spiders, and creeping things, and filth +in general; and longing ardently already to win for herself a name and a +soul a little higher than the beetles. They were presumptuous longings +for a child of passion, who did not know her parents, or anything about +her origin beyond the fact that she had been thrown out in a bundle of +fern, and taken in and cared for by Abel Cain Weevil.</p> + +<p>At the tender age of fourteen Boodles received her love-wound. It was +down by the Tavy, where the water swirls round pebbles and rattles them +against its rocks below Sandypark. Her love-affair was idyllic, and +therefore dangerous, because the idyllic state bears the same +resemblance to rough and brutal life as the fairy-tale bears to the true +story of that life. The tales begin with "once upon a time," and end +with "they lived happily ever after." The idyllic state begins in the +same way, but ends, either with "they parted with tears and kisses and +never saw each other again," or "they married and were miserable ever +afterwards." Only children can blow idyll-bubbles which will float for a +time. Elderly people try, but they only make themselves ridiculous, and +the bubbles will not form. People of thirty or over cannot play at +fairy-tales. When they try they become as fantastic a sight as an old +gentleman wearing a paper hat and blowing a penny trumpet. Shakespeare, +who knew everything about human nature that men can know, made his Romeo +and Juliet children, and ended their idyll as such things must end. +Customs have changed since; even children are beginning to understand +that life cannot be made a fairy-tale; and Romeo prefers the football +field to sighing beneath a school-girl's balcony; and Juliet twists up +her hair precociously and runs amok with a hockey-stick.</p> + +<p>Still fairy-tales lift their mystic blooms to the moon beside the Tavy, +and Boodles had seen those flowers, and wandered among them very +delicately. The boy was Aubrey Bellamie, destined for the Navy, and his +home was in Tavistock. He had come into the world, amid an odour of +respectability, two years before Boodles had crept shamefully up the +terrestrial back stairs. All he knew about Boodles was the fact that she +was a girl; that one all-sufficient fact that makes youths mad. He knew, +also, that her head was glorious, and that her lips were better than +wine. He was a clean, pretty boy; like most of the youths in the Navy, +who are the good fresh salt of Devon and England everywhere. Boodles +came into Tavistock twice a week to be educated, and he would wait at +the door of the school until she came out, because he wanted to educate +her too; and then they would wander beside the Tavy, and kiss new +knowledge into each other's young souls. The fairy-tale was real enough, +because real life had not begun. They were still in "once upon a time" +stage, and they believed in the happy ending. It was the age of +delusion; glorious folklore days. There was enough fire in them both to +make the story sufficiently life-like to be mistaken for the real thing. +Aubrey's parents did not know of the love-affair then; neither did +Weevil. In fairy-tales relations are usually wicked creatures who have +to be avoided. So for months they wandered beside the river of +fairyland, and plucked the flowers of that pleasant country which were +gleaming with idyllic dew.</p> + +<p>"I can't think why you love my head so," Boodles had protested, when a +thunderstorm of affection had partially subsided. "It's like a big +tangle of red seaweed. The girls at the school call me Carrots."</p> + +<p>"I should like to hear them," said Aubrey fiercely; "Darling, it's the +loveliest head in the world."</p> + +<p>And then he went on to talk a lot of shocking nonsense about flowers and +sunsets, and all other wondrous flaming things, which had derived their +colour and splendour from the light of his sweetheart's head, and from +none other source or inspiration whatsoever.</p> + +<p>"If I was a boy I shouldn't love a girl with red hair. There are such a +lot of girls you might love. Girls with silky flaxen hair, and girls +with lovely brown hair—"</p> + +<p>"They are only girls," said Aubrey disdainfully. "Not angels."</p> + +<p>"Do angels have red hair?" asked Boodles.</p> + +<p>"Only a very few," said the boy. "Boodles—and one or two others whose +names I can't remember just now. It's not red hair, sweetheart. It's +golden, and your beautiful skin is golden too, and there is a lot of +gold-dust scattered all over your nose."</p> + +<p>"Freckles," laughed Boodles. "Aubrey, you silly! Calling my ugly +freckles gold-dust! Why, I hate them. When I look in the glass I say to +myself: 'Boodles, you're a nasty little spotted toad.'"</p> + +<p>"They are just lovely," declared the boy. "They are little bits of +sunshine that have dropped on you and stuck there."</p> + +<p>"I'm not sticky."</p> + +<p>"You are. Sticky with sweetness."</p> + +<p>"What a dear stupid thing!" sighed Boodles. "Let me kiss your lovely +pink and white girl's face—there—and there—and there."</p> + +<p>"Boodles, dear, I haven't got a girl's face," protested Aubrey.</p> + +<p>"Oh, but you have, my boy. It's just like a girl's—only prettier. If I +was you, and you was me—that sounds rather shocking grammar, but it +don't matter—every one would say: 'Look at that ugly boy with that +boodle-oodle, lovely, <i>bu</i>tiful girl.' There! I've squeezed every bit of +breath out of him," cried Boodles.</p> + +<p>There was a certain amount left, as she soon discovered; enough to +smother her.</p> + +<p>"If you hadn't got golden hair, and freckles, I should never have fallen +in love with you," declared the boy. "If you were to lose your freckles, +if you lost only one, the tiniest of them all, I shouldn't love you any +more."</p> + +<p>"And if you lose that dear girl's face I won't love you," promised +Boodles. "If you had a horrid moustache to tickle me and make me sneeze, +I wouldn't give you the smallest, teeniest, wee bit of a kiss. Well, you +can't anyhow, because you've got to be an admiral. How nice it will be +when you are grown up and have a lot of ships of your own."</p> + +<p>"We shall be married long before then. Boodles, darling," cried the +eager boy. "Directly I am twenty-one we will be married. Only five more +years."</p> + +<p>"Such a lot happens in a year," sighed Boodles. "You may meet five more +girls far more sunshiny than me, with redder hair and more freckles, +since you are so fond of them—"</p> + +<p>"I shan't. You are the only girl who ever was or shall be."</p> + +<p>That is how boys talk when they are sixteen, and when they are +twenty-six, and sometimes when they are very old boys of sixty; and +girls generally believe them.</p> + +<p>"I wonder if it is right of you to love me," said Boodles doubtfully.</p> + +<p>The answer was what might have been looked for, and ended with the usual +question: "Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Because I'm only a baby."</p> + +<p>"You are fourteen, darling. You will be nineteen by the time we are +married."</p> + +<p>Although they were only at the beginning of the story they were already +slapping over the pages, anxious to reach the "lived happily ever after" +conclusion. Young people are always wanting to hurry on; middle-aged to +marktime; old to look back. The freshness of life is contained in the +first chapter. Youth is a time of unnatural strength, of insanity, a +dancing-round-the-may-pole sort of time. Common-sense begins to come +when one has grandchildren. Boodles and Aubrey wandered a thousand times +in love's fairyland on the romantic banks of the rattling Tavy, and knew +as much during their last walk as upon the first; knew they were in love +cleanly and honestly; knew that the joy of life was no myth; but knowing +nothing, either of them, concerning Giant Despair, who has his mantle +trimmed with lovers' hearts, or the history of the fair maid of Astolat, +or the existence of Castle Dolorous. Love is largely a pleasure of the +imagination, thus a fairy-tale, and sound practical knowledge sweeps the +romance of it all away.</p> + +<p>The whole of that folly—if the only real ecstatic bliss of life which +is called first love be folly—seemed gone for ever. Aubrey was packed +off to do his part in upholding the honour of Boodlesland, as his +country named itself in his thoughts; and the years that intervened +discovered him probably kissing girls of all complexions, girls with +every shade of hair conceivable, girls with freckles and without; and +being kissed by them. Boys must have their natural food, and if the best +quality be not obtainable they must take what offers. In the interval +Boodles remained entirely unkissed, and received no letters. She wasn't +surprised. His love had been too fierce. It had blazed up, burnt her, +and gone out. Aubrey had forgotten her; forgotten those wonderful walks +in Tavyland; forgotten her radiant head and golden freckles. It was all +over, that romance of two babies. It was Boodles who did not forget; +Boodles who had the wet pillow sometimes; Boodles who was constant like +the gorse, which is in flower all the year round.</p> + +<p>No one would call the ordinary Dartmoor postman an angel—his appearance +is too much against him—but he does an angel's work. Perhaps there is +nothing which quickens the heart of any lonely dweller on the moor so +perceptibly as the heavy tread of that red-faced and beer-tainted +companion of the goddess of dawn. He leaves curses as well as blessings. +He pushes love-letters and bills into the box together. Sometimes he is +an hour late, and the miserable watcher frets about the house. Sometimes +the wind holds him back. He can be seen struggling against it, and the +watcher longs to yoke him to wild horses. There are six precious +post-times each week, and the lonely inhabitant of the wilds would not +yield one of them to save his soul alive.</p> + +<p>There was an angel's visit to Lewside Cottage, and a letter for Boodles +fell from heaven. The child pounced upon it, rushed up to her room like +a dog with a piece of meat, locked the door lest any one should enter +with the idea of stealing her prize, gloated upon it, almost rolled upon +it. She did not open it for some time. She turned it over, smelt it, +pinched it, loved it. Tavistock was blurred across the stamp. There was +no doubt about that letter. It was a tangible thing. It did not fade +away like morning dew. She opened it at last, but did not dare to read +it through. She took bites at it, tasting it here and there; and had +every sentence by heart before she settled down to read it properly. So +she was still dearest Boodles, and he was the same devoted Aubrey. The +child jumped upon her bed, and bit the pillow in sheer animal joy.</p> + +<p>He had just come home, and was writing to her at once. She wouldn't +recognise him because he had become a tough brown sailor, and the girl's +face was his no longer. He was coming to see her at once; and they would +walk again by the Tavy and be just the same as ever; and swear the same +vows; and kiss the same kisses; and be each other's sun and moon, and +all the rest of the idyllic patter, which was as sweet and fresh as ever +to poor Boodles. For he had been all the world over and discovered there +was only one girl in it; and that was the girl with the radiant head, +and the golden skin, and the gold-dust upon her nose. He was as true as +he always had been, and as he always would be for ever and evermore.</p> + +<p>Boodles saw nothing mad or presumptuous in that closing sentence. It was +just what she would have said. There is no hereafter for young people in +their teens; there is an ever and evermore for them. They are like a +kitten playing with its own tail, without ever realising that it is its +tail.</p> + +<p>Boodles became at once very light and airy. She seemed to have escaped +from the body somehow. She felt as if she had been transformed into a +bit of sunshine. She floated down-stairs, lighted up the living-room, +wrapped herself round Abel Cain, floated into the kitchen to finish +preparations for breakfast, discovered the material nature of her hands +by breaking a milk-jug, and then humanity asserted itself and she began +to shriek.</p> + +<p>"Boodle-oodle!" cried old Weevil; "you have been sleeping in the +moonshine."</p> + +<p>"I've broken the milk-jug," screamed Boodles.</p> + +<p>Weevil came shuffling along the passage. Small things were greatly +accounted of in Lewside Cottage. There were most of the ingredients of +tragedy in a broken milk-jug.</p> + +<p>"How did you do it?" he wailed.</p> + +<p>"It was all because the butter is so round," laughed Boodles.</p> + +<p>Weevil was frightened. He thought the child's mind had broken too; and +that was even more serious than the milk-jug. He stood and stared, and +made disjointed remarks about bright Dartmoor moons, and girls who would +sleep with their blinds up, and insanity which was sure to follow such +rashness. But Boodles only laughed the more.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you," she said. "The butter is very round, and I had it on a +plate. I must have tilted the plate, and it was roll, butter, roll. +First on the table, where it knocked the milk-jug off its legs. Then it +rolled on the floor, and out of the door. It's still rolling. I expect +it is nearly at Mary Tavy station by now, and it ought to reach +Tavistock about ten o'clock at the rate it was going. It's sure to roll +on to Plymouth, right through the Three Towns, and then across the Hoe, +and about the time we go to bed there will be a little splash in the +sea, and that will be the end of the butter, which rolled off the plate, +and broke the milk-jug, and started from the top of Dartmoor at +half-past eight by the clock in Lewside Cottage, which is ten minutes +fast—and that's all I can think of now," gasped Boodles.</p> + +<p>"My poor little girl," quavered Weevil. "The butter is on the plate in +front of you."</p> + +<p>"Well, it must have rolled back again. It wanted to see its dear old +home once more."</p> + +<p>Weevil began to pick up the fragments of the milk-jug. "There is +something wrong with you, Boodle-oodle," he said tenderly. "I don't want +you to have any secrets, my dear. You are too young. There was a letter +for you just now?"</p> + +<p>At that the whole story came out with a rush. Boodles could hold nothing +back that morning. She told Weevil about the fairy-tale, from the "once +upon a time" up to the contents of that letter; and she begged him to +play the part of good genie, and with his enchantments cause +blissfulness to happen.</p> + +<p>Weevil was very troubled. He had feared that the radiant head would do +mischief, but he had not expected trouble to come so soon. The thing was +impossible, of course. Even radiant growths must have a name of some +sort. Aubrey's parents could not permit weeds to grow in their garden. +There were plenty of girls "true to name," like the well-bred roses of a +florist's catalogue, wanting smart young husbands. There was practically +no limit to the supply of these sturdy young plants. Boodles might be a +Gloire de Devon, but she was most distinctly not in the catalogue. She +was only a way-side growth; a beautiful fragrant weed certainly, like +the sweet honeysuckle which trails about all the lanes, and is in itself +a lovely thing, but is not wanted in the garden because it is too +common; or like the gorse, which as a flowering shrub is the glory of +the moor, but not of the garden, because it is a rank wild growth. Were +it a rare shrub it would be grown upon the lawns of the wealthy; but +because it is common it must stay outside.</p> + +<p>"Boodles, darling, I am so sorry," the old man murmured.</p> + +<p>"But you mustn't be," she laughed. "Sorry because I'm so happy! You must +be a <i>bu</i>tiful old daddy-man, and say you are glad. I can't help being +in love. It's like the measles. We have to catch it, and it is so much +better to go through it when you're young. Now say something nice and +let me go. I want to run to the top of Ger Tor, and scream, and run back +again."</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear heaven!" muttered Weevil, playing with the bits of milk-jug. +"I can't tell the poor baby, I can't tell it."</p> + +<p>"Don't be weepy, daddy-dear-heart," murmured Boodles, coming and loving +him. "I know I'm only a baby, but then I'm growing fast. I'll soon be +eighteen. Such a grown-up woman then, old man! I'll never leave +him—that's the trouble, I know. I'll always boil him's eggs, and break +him's milk-jugs. Only he must be pretty to Boodles when she's happy, and +say he's glad she's got a lovely boy with the beautifullest girl's face +that ever was."</p> + +<p>Weevil unmeshed himself and shuffled away, pelting imaginary foes with +bits of milk-jug, blinking his eyes like a cat in the sunshine. He could +not destroy the child's happiness. As well expect the painter who has +expended the best years of his life on a picture to cut and slash the +canvas. Boodles was his own. He had made and fashioned her. He could not +extinguish his own little sun. He must let her linger in fairyland, and +allow destiny, or human nature, or something else equally brutal, to +finish the story. Elementary forces of nature, like Pendoggat, might be +cruel, but Weevil was not a force, neither was he cruel. He was only an +eccentric old man, and he wanted it to be well with the child. She would +have her eyes opened soon enough. She would discover that innocents +thrust out on the moor to perish cannot by the great law of propriety +take that place in life which beauty and goodness deserve. They must go +back; like Undine, coming out with brave love to seek a soul, succeeding +at first, but failing in the end, and going back at last to the state +that was hers. Poor little bastard Boodles! How mad she was that +morning! Weevil hardly noticed that his eggs were hard-boiled.</p> + +<p>"Darling," he said tenderly, anxious to divert her mind—as if it could +be diverted!—"go and see Peter, and tell him we must have that clock. +You had better bring it back with you."</p> + +<p>That clock was a favourite subject of conversation. If had amused +Boodles for two years, and it amused her then. It was only a common +little clock, or Peter would never have been entrusted with it. Peter, +who knew nothing, was among other things a mechanician. He professed his +ability to mend and clean clocks. Possibly Grandfather had taught him +something. He had studied the old gentleman's internal arrangements all +his life, and had, he considered, mastered the entire principle of a +clock's construction and well-being. Therefore when Boodles met him one +day, and informed him that a little clock in Lewside Cottage was choked +with dust and refused to perform its duty, Peter promised he would +attend at his earliest convenience, to lay his hand upon it, and restore +it to activity. "When will you come?" asked Boodles.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow," answered Peter.</p> + +<p>The day came, but not Peter. He was hardly expected, because promises +are meaningless phrases in the mouths of Dartmoor folk. In the matter of +an eternal "to-morrow" they are like the Spanish peasantry. They always +promise upon their honour, but, as they haven't got any, the oath might +as well be omitted. When reminded of their solemn undertaking they have +a ready explanation. Their conscience would not permit them to come. It +is the same when they agree to charge an unsuspecting person so much for +duties performed, and then send in a bill for twice the amount. +Conscience would not allow them to charge less. The Dartmoor conscience +is a beautiful thing. It urges a man to act precisely as he wants to.</p> + +<p>A month or so passed—the exact period is of no account in such a +place—and Boodles saw Peter approaching her. When within sight of her +he put out his arm and began to cry aloud. She hurried towards him, +afraid that something was wrong; the arm was still extended, and the cry +continued. Peter was like an owl crying in the wilderness. Drawing near, +he became at last intelligible. "I be coming," he cried. "I be coming to +mend the clock."</p> + +<p>"Now?" asked Boodles.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow," said Peter.</p> + +<p>This sort of thing happened constantly. Whenever they came within sight +of each other, and Peter called often at the village to purchase pints +of beer, the little man would hurry towards Boodles, with his +outstretched arm and monotonous cry: "To-morrow." He was always on his +way to Lewside Cottage, but something always hindered him from getting +there. He did not despair, however. He felt confident that the day would +arrive when he would attend in person and restore the clock. It was +merely a matter of time. Thus a year went by and the pledge remained +unfulfilled.</p> + +<p>One Sunday evening Boodles went to church, and it so happened that Peter +was there also. Peter had just then reasons of his own for wishing to +ingratiate himself with the church authorities, and he considered that +the appearance of his vile body in a devotional attitude somewhere in +the neighbourhood of the pulpit would be of material assistance to his +ambition. Peter entered with a huge lantern, the time being winter, and +the evening dark—the night rather, for the Dartmoor day in winter is +well over by five o'clock—flapped up the aisle with goose-like steps, +tumbled into a seat breathing heavily, and making as much noise with his +boots as a horse upon cobblestones, banged the lantern down, and gazed +about the building with an air of proprietorship. The next thing was to +blow out the candle in his lantern. He opened it, and made windy noises +which were not attended with success. "Scat 'en," cried Peter +boisterously. "When her's wanted to go out her never will, and when her +bain't wanted to go out her always du."</p> + +<p>At that moment Boodles entered. Peter was delighted to see her friendly +face. The lantern clattered to the floor, and its master stretched out +his arm, and exclaimed in a whisper which would have carried from one +side of Tavy Cleave to the other: "I was a-coming yesterday, but I never +got as far. Had the tweezers in my trousers, and here they be." He +brought out the implement and brandished it in the faces of the +congregation. "I'm a-coming to-morrow sure 'nuff." Then he went to work +again at the lantern. Peter had not developed the spirit of reverence; +and the service was unable to commence until he had finished blowing.</p> + +<p>When the proceedings were over he followed Boodles out of church and +along the road, all the time asserting that the tweezers and his +trousers had been inseparable for the last six months, that he had +started for Lewside Cottage every day, and something had always cropped +up to prevent him from reaching his destination, but that the next day +would bring him, wet or fine, upon his word of honour it would. He had +been remiss in the past, he owned, but if he failed to attend on Monday +morning at half-past eleven punctual, with the tweezers in his trousers, +he hoped the young lady and the old gentleman would never trust him +again.</p> + +<p>A few more weeks went by, and then Boodles put the clock into a basket, +and came out to the hut-circles.</p> + +<p>Peter was grievously dismayed. "Why didn't ye tell me?" he said. "I'd +ha' come for 'en. I wouldn't ha' troubled yew to ha' brought 'en. If yew +had told I there was a clock to mend, I'd ha' come for him all to wance, +and fetched him home, and mended him same day."</p> + +<p>It would have been useless to remind Peter of his promises and his +eternal procrastination. He would only have pleaded that he had +forgotten all about it. People such as Peter cannot be argued with.</p> + +<p>Boodles left the clock, and Peter promised it should be cleaned at once, +and brought back in a day or two.</p> + +<p>During the next few months the couple at Lewside Cottage made merry over +that clock. Left to himself Peter would have said no more about it, but +would simply have added it to his stock of earthly possessions. However, +Boodles gave him no peace. Peter could hardly enter the village for the +necessity of his existence without being accosted upon the subject; and +at last the slumbering fires of mechanism within him kindled into flame. +He declared he had never seen such a clock; it was made all wrong; it +was not in the least like Grandfather. He explained that it would be +necessary to take it entirely to pieces, alter the works considerably, +and reconstruct it in accordance with the recognised model, adding such +things as weights and pendulum; and that would be a matter of a year's +skilled labour. He pointed out, moreover, that the clock was painted +green, and that in itself would be sufficient to clog the works, as it +was well known that clocks would not keep proper time unless they were +painted brown. That was a trade secret. Boodles replied that there was +nothing whatever wrong with the works of the clock. It only required +cleaning, and she believed she could do it herself. Peter wagged his +head in amazement. The folly and ignorance of young maids eclipsed his +understanding.</p> + + +<p>The second year came to an end, and the clock was in precisely the same +condition as at first. Peter was glad to have it because it made a nice +ornament for his section of Ger Cottage. He had only touched it once, +and then Mary, who happened to be present, exclaimed: "Dear life, Peter, +put 'en down, or you'll be tearing 'en."</p> + +<p>The tenants of Lewside Cottage had become tired of the endless comedy. +So, on that morning when Boodles had her letter, it was the most natural +thing in the world for Weevil to suggest that she should go and reclaim +their property; and as the girl was longing for the open moor and the +sight of Tavy Cleave, which was on the way to fairyland, she went, +running part of the way for sheer joy, singing and laughing all the +time.</p> + +<p>The hut-circles were deserted. Mary was out on the "farm," which was a +ridiculous scrap of reclaimed moor about the same size as an Italian +mountaineer's vineyard; and Peter had gone to the village inn on +business. Boodles looked inside. There was Grandfather, ticking in his +usual misanthropic way; and there was the uncleaned clock in the centre +of the long shelf which ran above the big fire-place. Boodles took it, +and ran off, laughing to think of Peter's dismay when he returned and +discovered that his mantelshelf lacked its principal ornament. He would +think some one had stolen it, and the fright would be a punishment for +him. Boodles raced home, put the clock on the kitchen table, opened it, +and placing the nozzle of the bellows among the works cleaned them +vigorously. When old Weevil came shuffling in the clock was going +merrily.</p> + +<p>"I've done in two minutes what Peter couldn't do in two years," laughed +the happy child.</p> + +<p>Weevil shuffled out. He was in a restless mood. He knew he ought to tell +Boodles that she mustn't be happy, only he could not. Somebody or +something would have to use her as she had used the clock; blow wildly +into her poor little soul, and do for her in two minutes what Weevil +would never have done in two years.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h3> + +<h2>ABOUT ATMOSPHERE</h2> + + +<p>There are secret places among the rocks of Tavy Cleave. The river has +many moods; one time in the barren lands, another time in bogland, and +then in hanging gardens and woodland. No other river displays such +startling Protean changes. The artist always fails to catch the Tavy. He +paints it winding between low banks of peat, with blossoms of pink +heather dripping into the water; but that is not the Tavy. He presents +it as a broiling milk-white torrent, thundering over rocks, with Ger Tor +wrapped in cloud, and bronzed bracken springing out of the clefts; but +that is not the Tavy. He represents it shaded with rowan and ferns, its +banks a fairy carpet of wind-flowers, and suggests a gentle river by +removing the lace-like pattern of foam and the big boulders, and +painting the water a wonderful green, with here and there a streak of +purple; but still he has not caught the Tavy. He goes down from the moor +and shows a stately stream, descending slowly a lew valley between +hills, partly wooded, partly cultivated; shows the smoke of scattered +Bartons mixing lazily with the clouds and going with them sea-ward; shows +cattle feeding and bluebells nodding; a general atmosphere that of +Amaryllis and her piping shepherd, though the lad is only a dull clod +and his pipe is of clay, and Amaryllis has dirty finger-nails; but again +the elusive Tavy has escaped somehow. Once more he tries. There is the +Tavy, like an ocean flood, coming across mud-flats, mingled with brother +Tamar of the border; a dull unromantic Tavy then. The magic mist of +bluebells has given way to the blue steel of the railroad, and wooden +battleships, their task over, float upon its waters instead of +fern-fronds. Not a fairy-tale is to be told, nor any pretty fancy to be +weaved there. The pictures go into galleries, and win fame, perhaps; but +the river of Tavy chuckles over his rocks, and knows he is not there.</p> + +<p>It is a river of atmosphere. Only a dream can produce the Tavy; not the +written word, nor the painted picture. Unpleasant dreams some of them, +like nightmares, but human thought produces them; and human thought is +the dirtiest, as well as the noblest, thing created.</p> + +<p>In one of the secret places among the rocks Pendoggat waited, and +Thomasine came to meet him there. She came because she had been told to, +and about the only thing that her mind was capable of realising was that +she must be obedient. Country girls have to do as they are told. They +are nearly as defenceless as the rabbits, and any commoner may trap them +as one of his rights. So Thomasine came down among the rocks. She had +not been out with Will Pugsley lately, because it was not allowed. She +wanted to, but Pendoggat had refused permission. He had indeed gone +further, and had threatened to murder her if she went with any other +man. Thomasine accepted the inevitable, and told her Will she could not +go out with him any more. Pugsley, having saved a little money, desired +to spend it upon matrimony, and as he could not have Thomasine he was +going about looking for another maid. One would serve his purpose as +well as another, so long as she had plenty of blood in her.</p> + +<p>Such a thing as love without lust was unknown to Pendoggat. His only +idea of the great passion was to catch hold of a woman, maul her, enjoy +her flesh, and her warmth, and the texture of her clothes; the coarse, +crude passion which makes a man ruin himself, and destroy the life of +another, for the pleasure of a moment's madness; that same anarchy of +mind which has dethroned princes, lost kingdoms, and converted houses of +religion into houses of ill-fame. Pendoggat would not have gone mad over +Thomasine had she been merely pretty. It was that face of hers, the +blood in her, something in the shape of her figure, which had kindled +his fire. All men burn, more or less, and must submit; and when they do +not it is because Nature is not striving very hard in them. Much is +heard of the morality of Joseph; nothing concerning the age or ugliness +of Potiphar's wife. These conventional old tales are wiped out by one +touch of desire, and nothing remains except the overmastering thing. The +trees cannot help budding in spring. Nature compels it, as she compels +the desire of the human body also.</p> + +<p>They were out of the wind. The heavy fragrance of gorse was in the hot +air. It was a well-hidden spot, and somewhat weird, a haunted kind of +place. The ruins of a miner's cot were close by, and what had been its +floor was then a mass of bracken. The stones were covered with flowering +saxifrage. There was a scrubby brake here and there, composed of a few +dwarf trees, rowan and oaks, only a few feet high, ancient enough but +small, because their roots obtained little nutriment from the +rock-bedded peat. Their branches twisted in a fantastic manner, reaching +across the sky like human limbs contorted with strange agony. They were +the sort of trees which force themselves into dreams. Some of them were +half dead, green on one side and black upon the other; while the dwarfed +trunks were covered with ivy and masses of polypodies; overgrown so +thickly with these parasites that the bark was nowhere visible. Such a +thickness of moss coated some of the boulders that the hardness of the +granite was not perceptible. Beneath the river tumbled; a rough and wild +Tavy; the river of rocks, the open, sun-parched region of the high moor; +the water clear and cold from Cranmere; and there was a long way to go +yet before it reached cover, the hanging trees, and the mossy bogs pink +with red-rattles, and the woods white with wind-flowers, and the stretch +of bluebell-land, the ferns, bracken, asphodel, and the pleasant winding +pathways where fairy-tales and decent love abide, and the little folk +laugh at moonlight.</p> + +<p>"It be a whist old place," Thomasine said; the words, but not the +thought, frightened out of her by Pendoggat's rude embrace. Like most +girls of her class she was no talker, because she did not know how to +put words together. She could laugh without ceasing when the occasion +justified it, laughter being with her what tail-wagging is to a dog, the +natural expression of pleasure or good-will; but there was not much to +laugh at just then.</p> + +<p>"You haven't told any one about our meetings? They don't know at Town +Rising?" said Pendoggat.</p> + +<p>"No, sir," answered Thomasine.</p> + +<p>"It wouldn't do for them to know. They'd talk themselves sick. You don't +wear much, my maid. Nothing under your blouse. If it wasn't for your fat +you'd take cold." He had thrust his hand into the front of her dress, +and clutched a handful of yielding flesh.</p> + +<p>"Don't ye, sir. It ain't proper," entreated Thomasine.</p> + +<p>She hardly dared to struggle because she was afraid. Instinct told her +certain behaviour was not proper, although it had not prevented her from +coming to that "whist old place." It was fear which had brought her +there.</p> + +<p>"How would you like to come to the Barton, and be my married wife? I +want a fine maid to look after me, and you're a fine lusty sweetheart if +ever there was one. 'Tis a job that would suit you, Thomasine. Better +than working for those Chegwiddens. I'd find you something better to do +than sitting in a cold kitchen, keeping the fire warm. There's a good +home and a sober master waiting for you. Better than young Pugsley and +twelve shillings a week. Say the word, and I'll have you there, and Nell +Crocker can go to the devil."</p> + +<p>Thomasine did not say the word. She had no conversation at all. She did +not know that Pendoggat was giving her the usual fair speech, making her +the usual offer, which meant nothing although it sounded so much. She +had heard Nell Crocker referred to as Mrs. Pendoggat, never before by +her actual name. She had come to meet him, supposing him to be a married +man, not because she wanted his company, but because she had to accept +it. She could only conclude that he really did love her. Thomasine's +ideas of love were simple enough; just to meet a man, and walk with him +in quiet places, and sit about with him, and be mauled by him. That was +the beginning and end of love according to Thomasine, for after marriage +it was all hard work. If a man made a girl meet him in secret places +among the rocks, it could only be because he loved her. There could be +no other reason. And if a man loved a girl he naturally suggested +marriage. The matter was entirely simple. Even she could understand it, +because it was elementary knowledge; the sort of knowledge which causes +many a quiet moorland nook, and many an innocent-looking back garden, to +become some smothered infant's grave.</p> + +<p>"You'd like to come to the Barton, wouldn't you, my maid?" said +Pendoggat in a wheedling tone.</p> + +<p>"Iss," murmured Thomasine at last. She didn't dare say anything else. +She was afraid he would strike her if she struggled. She was staring +without much expression at the little dwarfed oaks, and the blood was +working vigorously up and down her exposed neck and bosom as though a +pump was forcing it. She had a thought just then; or, if not quite a +thought, a wish. She wished she had taken a situation which had been +offered her at Sourton, and had never come to Town Rising. She felt +somehow it might have been better for her if she had gone to Sourton. +She might have escaped something, though she hardly knew what. She could +not have got into a town, as she was too ignorant and dull for anything +better than a moorland Barton.</p> + +<p>"You've done with young Pugsley?" Pendoggat muttered.</p> + +<p>He pulled her hair down roughly, hurting her. Thomasine had good brown +hair in abundance. He wanted to see it lying on her skin. Anything to +add fuel to the fire!</p> + +<p>"Iss, sir."</p> + +<p>"That's well. If you and he are seen together there'll be hell," he +cried savagely. "You're mine, blood and flesh, and all that's in you, +and I'll have you or die for it, and I'd kill the man who tried to get +you away from me, as I'd kill you if you played me false and ran off to +any one else. You young devil, you—you're as full of blood as a whort +is full of juice."</p> + +<p>While speaking he was half dragging her towards the ruined miner's cot, +and there flung her savagely on the fern.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Much lower down, where the Tavy fretted less, being freer from rocks; +where there were trees, and a shelter from the wind, and flowers also in +their season, honeysuckles and rose-bays, with fern in great +abundance—there could be no fairyland without ferns—and green water +oozing from the banks, and a fragrant kind of mist over it all; there, +where the river slanted perceptibly towards the lowland, "more down +under like," as Peter would have expressed it, two little people were +trying to strangle one another with pure affection. They were not +pixy-folk. They were only Boodles and her boy going on with the story. +They would have been out of place upon the high Tavy, on the rock-strewn +side of the cleave, among the ruins of the mines. There was nothing hard +or fierce about them. They were children, to be treated with tenderness; +kept out of the strong wind; put among the flowers where they could roll +and tumble without hurting themselves; wrapped in the clinging mist full +of that odour of sweet water and fresh foliage which cannot quickly be +forgotten when it has been enjoyed.</p> + +<p>"I thought I was not going to see you any more," said Boodles with a +fine indifference.</p> + +<p>"Should you have cared very much, sweetheart?"</p> + +<p>"Not a bit, really. A girl mustn't expect too much from a sailor boy. +They are fickle, and keep a sweetheart at every place they stop at. +Girls at every port. Red, white, and yellow girls. A whole heap of +them!"</p> + +<p>"But only one all the time," said Aubrey. "One best beautiful girl who +makes all the others seem nothing, and that's always the girl he leaves +at home and comes back to. You were always in my thoughts, darling."</p> + +<p>"But you never wrote," murmured she.</p> + +<p>"I promised mother I wouldn't," he said, with a little hesitation.</p> + +<p>"Then she does know," cried Boodles quickly. "Well, I think she ought +to, because we can't go on being so chummy—"</p> + +<p>"Lovers," he amended.</p> + +<p>"No, we can't," she said decidedly. "Your people must know all about it, +and like me, and tell me I'm nice enough, if we are going on in the same +old way. You see, boy, I had got used to the idea of doing without you, +and I don't want to start again, and then your people to say I'm not +nice enough. We are growing up now. I'm in long frocks, and—and at our +age things begin to get serious," went on the seventeen-year-old girl of +the radiant head somewhat dolefully, as if she was rather afraid she was +past her prime.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to take you to see mother. I promised her I would," said +Aubrey. "Before going away I told her I was awfully in love with you, +and she made me promise not to write, but to see what my feelings were +when I came back. And now I've come back, and I love you more than ever, +because I love you in a different way. I was only a boy then, and now I +am a man, and it is as a man that I love you, and that sweet golden head +and your lovely golden face; and if my people behave properly, I shall +get a ring, and put it on this little finger—"</p> + +<p>"You silly boy. That's my right hand," she laughed.</p> + +<p>"Then there will be only two more years to wait."</p> + +<p>"I shall be only a baby," sighed Boodles.</p> + +<p>"Darling, you will be as old as I am now; and I'm nineteen," said +Aubrey, with all the dignity and assurance of such longevity.</p> + +<p>"Fancy such a child with an engagement-ring! It would be absurd!" said +Boodles.</p> + +<p>"I shan't be well off, darling," he said, making the confession with a +boy's usual awkwardness.</p> + +<p>"Then I won't have you," she declared. "I must have a boy with heaps of +money, who will give me all the luxuries I have been used to. You know +we live very expensively at Lewside. We have a joint of meat every week, +and father has two eggs for breakfast, and I have two new frocks every +year—I get the stuff and make them myself. If I had a hungry boy to +keep, I should want a lot of housekeeping money, though I can make a +penny do the work of three halfpence."</p> + +<p>"Dear Boodles!"</p> + +<p>"Does that 'dear' mean expensive? Well, I am. Some of the stuff for my +frocks costs I don't know how much a yard, and it's no use trying to be +pretty to a draper, for you can't smile them down a single penny."</p> + +<p>"You are very silly, darling. As if I should let you make your own +frocks!"</p> + +<p>"You are much sillier. So silly that you are hardly fit to live. Telling +me you won't be well off! I think if it was all over between us now I +shouldn't care a bit."</p> + +<p>They came out upon an open space beside the river. It was clear of +trees, and the sun was able to shine upon the girl's head, so Aubrey +stopped and took off her hat with reverent hands. She looked up with a +pretty smile. He drew her close and they kissed fondly. It was a clean +healthy kiss, with less folly in it than most, as sweet as the water, +and fresh as the mist; the sort of kiss that makes the soul bud and +bring forth blossoms. They had changed a good deal since those days when +they had first entered fairyland. There was womanhood in Boodles, and a +good deal of the man in Aubrey. They felt the change. It added +responsibility, as well as pleasure, to that kiss. In much the same way +their appearance had altered. Boodles was rather thinner; she had not +quite the same soft, dumpling-like, school-girl cheeks. Aubrey had still +the girl's face, but it had become a little hardened and had lost its +down. Training and discipline had added self-reliance and determination +to his character. They were a pretty pair, little housewife Boodles and +her healthy boy. It was a pity they were transgressing the great +unwritten law of respectability by loving one another.</p> + +<p>"The hair hasn't altered much," murmured the radiant child.</p> + +<p>"Only to become more lovely. It is a deeper gold now, sweetheart—real +gold; and before it was trying to be gold but couldn't quite manage it."</p> + +<p>"This face is just the same to me, except for the nutmeg-graters on the +chin and lips. You have been shaving in a hurry, Aubrey."</p> + +<p>"You know why. I had to come and meet some one."</p> + +<p>"I think you are such a nice boy, Aubrey," faltered Boodles.</p> + +<p>Her eyes were so soft just then that he could not say anything. He took +the glowing head and placed it on his shoulder, and warmed his lips and +his heart with the radiant hair. What a life it would have been if they +could have gone on "happy ever after," just as they were then. The first +stage of love is so much the best, just as the bud is often more +beautiful than the flower.</p> + +<p>They walked on between the sun and the fragrant mist, having by this +time got quite away from the dull, old place called earth. Boodles +carried her hat, swinging it by the strings, and placed her other hand +naturally on his arm. Aubrey had quite made up his mind by that time +about many important matters. He would marry Boodles whatever happened. +He was fond of his parents, but he could not permit them to come between +him and his happiness. As there was only one girl in the singularly +sparsely-populated world a big price must be paid for her. Even nineteen +can be determined upon matters of the heart.</p> + +<p>"You know Mr. Weevil is not my father," she said timidly, hardly knowing +why she thought it necessary to make the admission; and then, rather +hurriedly, "I am only his adopted daughter."</p> + +<p>She had to say that. She did not want him to have unpleasant thoughts +concerning her origin. She wanted to be perfectly honest, and yet at the +same time she dreaded his learning the truth about herself. She did not +realise how ill-suited they were from the ordinary social and +respectable point of view, although she wanted to justify her existence +and to convince him how unwilling she was to deceive.</p> + +<p>"I am coming to see him soon," said Aubrey at once. He did not give the +matter a serious thought either. He was much too young to bother his +head about such things, and besides, he supposed that his sweetheart was +the daughter of some relation or connection of Weevil's, and that she +had been left an orphan in her childhood, and had been adopted as a +duty, not as an act of charity, by the eccentric old man. He had very +kindly thoughts of Weevil, because he knew that Boodles had been well +taken care of, and always worshipped in a devout and proper manner by +the tenant of Lewside Cottage.</p> + +<p>"I have told him all about you," the girl went on. "I am sure he thinks +you quite a suitable person to take perpetual charge of his little maid, +only he is funny when I talk to him about you. It must be because he +doesn't like the idea of getting rid of me."</p> + +<p>Aubrey supposed that was reasonable enough. He judged Weevil by his own +feelings. The idea of losing Boodles would have made him feel "funny" +too.</p> + +<p>"It does seem selfish and ungrateful," the child went on. "To be brought +up and petted, and given everything by a dear old man, and then one day +to run off with a nice young boy. It's very fickle. I must try and feel +ashamed of myself. Still I'm not so wicked as you. If you would leave me +alone I should abide with him always—but then you won't! You come and +put selfish thoughts into my head. I think you are rather a bad boy, +Aubrey."</p> + +<p>The young sailor would not admit that. He declared he was quite a +natural creature; and he reminded Boodles that if she hadn't been so +delightful he would not have fallen in love with her. So it was her own +fault after all. She said she was very sorry, but she couldn't help it. +She too had only behaved naturally. She was not responsible for so much +glowing hair and golden skin. Others had done that for her. And that +brought her back to the starting-point, and she felt vaguely there was +something she ought to say about those unknown persons, only she didn't +know what. So she said nothing at all, and they went on wandering beside +the river where it was wooded and pleasant, and thought only of the +present, and themselves, and how very nice it was to be together; until +a jarring note was struck by that disagreeable thing called Nature, who +never changes her mood, but works seven long days of spitefulness every +week.</p> + +<p>Aubrey had brought his dog with him, and the little beast had put aside +his social instincts in that glorious hunting-ground, and had gone to +seek his own pleasures, leaving his master to the enjoyment of his. Just +then he returned, somewhat sheepishly, as if afraid he ought to expect a +beating, and slunk along at Aubrey's heels. Boodles at once set up a +lamentable cry: "Oh, Aubrey! he's got a bun, a poor little halfpenny +bun!"</p> + +<p>The dog had caught a young rabbit about the size of a rat. He dropped it +with wicked delight, touched it up with his nose, made the poor little +wretch run, then scampered after it, caught and rolled upon it with much +satisfaction, shook it, tossed it in the air, made it run again, and +captured it as before. He was as happy as a child with a clockwork toy.</p> + +<p>"Take it away," pleaded Boodles. "It's so horrid. Look at the poor +little thing's eyes! It's panting so! If he would kill it at once I +wouldn't mind, but I hate to see him torture it."</p> + +<p>The boy called his dog, who refused to obey, thinking it all a part of +the glorious game. He would let Aubrey come near, then make the victim +run, and scamper after it. The clockwork was getting out of order. The +rabbit was nearly run down. Aubrey caught the dog, took the little +creature away, struck it smartly upon the back of its neck, and the +rabbit gave a little shriek, some small shivers, and died. Boodles +turned away, and felt miserable.</p> + +<p>"Shall I beat him?" said Aubrey, who was very fond of his dog.</p> + +<p>"No—please! I don't care now the poor bun is dead. That tiny scream! +Oh, you nasty little dog! You are not a bit like your master. Go away. I +hate you."</p> + +<p>"He can't help doing what his nature tells him, dear."</p> + +<p>"Is it his nature?" wondered Boodles. "I suppose it is, but it seems so +funny. He's so gentle and affectionate to us, and so very cruel to +another animal. If it is his nature to be gentle and affectionate, why +should he be cruel too?"</p> + +<p>That was too deep for Aubrey, although in his confident boy's fashion he +tried to explain it. He said that every animal respects those stronger +than itself, and is cruel to those that are weaker. Boodles was not +satisfied. She said that was the same thing as saying that affection is +due to fear, and that a dog only loves his master because he is afraid +of him. She was sure that wasn't true.</p> + +<p>They did not pursue the subject, however, for at that moment Nature +again intervened in her maliceful way. The dog was trotting on ahead, +his stump of tail erect, quite happy with himself. Suddenly he yelped, +and rushed off into the wood.</p> + +<p>"Now he's been and trodden on an ants' nest," said Aubrey, with some +satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"Or perhaps he saw a pixy under the bracken," said Boodles.</p> + +<p>As she spoke Aubrey caught her, swung her back to a sound of furious +hissing, and Boodles saw a viper upon a patch of bleached grass, head +erect, swaying to and fro, and exceedingly angry at being disturbed. It +was a beautiful, as well as a malevolent, creature. Its black zig-zag +markings were vivid in the sunlight, and its open mouth was as red as a +poppy-leaf.</p> + +<p>"You were just going to tread upon it," cried the boy.</p> + +<p>"The poor dog!" lamented Boodles, all her sympathies naturally with the +suffering animal.</p> + +<p>Then she had to be sorry for the reptile, for Aubrey declared it must +die, not so much because it had bitten the dog, as because it might have +bitten her ankle, and he went and destroyed it with his stick.</p> + +<p>By that time Boodles was wretched. She felt that most of the pleasure +had gone out of their walk. They had been so happy, in a serene +atmosphere, and then the weather had changed, as it were, and the +cruelty and malevolence of Nature had come along to remind them they had +no business to be so happy, and that the place was not an ideal +fairyland after all. There was an atmosphere of suffering all around, +though they could not always see it, and cruelty in every living thing. +Even the sun was cruel, for it was beginning to make the radiant head +ache.</p> + +<p>They went after the dog, and found him much distressed, because he had +been bitten in the neck, and swelling had commenced. Living upon +Dartmoor, Boodles knew all about viper-bites, and she ordered Aubrey to +take the dog back and attend to the wound at once. Then she had to gulp +down a lump in her throat and rub her eyes. The weather had changed +badly, and things had gone quite wrong. When they had walked in the wood +as little children nothing unpleasant had ever happened, or at least +they had never noticed anything disagreeable. Now they were grown up, as +she thought, all sorts of troubles came to spoil their ramble. The dog +had tortured the rabbit; the viper had bitten the dog; Aubrey had killed +the viper. The tale of suffering seemed to be running up the scale +towards herself. Was there any creature, stronger than themselves, who +could be so brutal as to take pleasure in biting or torturing such +harmless beings as Aubrey and herself?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h3> + +<h3>ABOUT A KNAVE AND A FOOL</h3> + + +<p>Clever men are either philosophers or knaves; and as the world is +crawling with fools the clever men who are philosophers spend their time +making laws which will protect the fools from the clever men who are +knaves. Sharp practice can only be punished, not stopped, so long as +simpletons are willing to give a florin for a purse which they think +contains two half-crowns, which is the sort of folly which gives rise to +wonder how many men are really rational beings. The fool will believe +anything if the knave talks long enough. No sort of folly is too +hopeless when there is a clever man at the head of it. Shouting will +establish a patent pill, found a new religion, produce a revolution; do +any marvel, except make people decent.</p> + +<p>Pendoggat was a clever man in his own way; and Pezzack would have been a +fool anywhere. The minister had piped to others, a little jig of mines +and speculations, and some of them had danced in a half-hearted way. In +his quaint but sincere fashion he had preached of gold and precious +jewels; of bdellium and the onyx stone. It was the doctrine of "get +rich" that he proclaimed, and his listeners opened their ears to that as +they would scarcely have opened them to any more orthodox message of +redemption. "Do good to your body, and your soul will do good to +itself," was in effect what Pezzack was teaching, although he didn't +know it, and would have been grieved had any one suggested it. He +desired to place his listeners in comfortable circumstances, from the +retired grocer of Bromley to the Dartmoor widow who had five pounds' +worth of pence saved up in a teapot; to take unto himself a helpmeet; +last and least—although again he did not put it in that way—to rebuild +Ebenezer. So he preached of treasures hidden in the earth, and promised +his hearers that every sovereign sown therein would germinate without a +doubt, and bring forth in due season a healthy crop of some ten per +cents, and some twenty per cents.</p> + +<p>People did not tumble over one another in any haste to respond. They +might not be clever, but they could be suspicious, and they asked at +once for particulars, desired to see the good thing for themselves, and +some of them wanted the twenty per cent, paid in advance by way of +guarantee against loss. There were plenty of wild stories concerning the +treasures of the moor. Were there not, upon every side, evidences of the +existence of precious minerals in the shape of abandoned mines? There +were tales of rich lodes which had been lost, but were sure to be picked +up again some day. The mining tradition was strong; but it was notorious +that copper and tin could hardly be worked at a profit. Pezzack answered +that he had discovered nickel, which was something far better, and his +announcement certainly did cause some of the flutter which Pendoggat had +looked for. The retired grocer took advantage of an excursion train to +Plymouth, ascended upon the moor, and having been sworn to secrecy was +conducted by Pendoggat, acting as Pezzack's manager, to the treasure +cave, and shown the ripe nickel running down its sides. Pendoggat also +knocked off a piece of the wall and appeared to give it to the retired +grocer as a sample. What he actually gave him was a fragment of +dirty-grey metal, which had not come from that cave or anywhere near it, +but had been procured by Pendoggat at some expense, seeing that it +really was a sample of nickel. The retired grocer had come down in +doubt, but returned converted to Bromley, submitted the sample to an +analyst, and subsequently acted foolishly. He was meddling with what he +did not understand, which is one of the most attractive things in life. +Adulterated groceries he could comprehend, because he had won retirement +out of them; but the mining industry was something quite outside his +experience. Apparently he thought that nickel could be taken off the +sides of a cave in much the same way as blackberries are picked off a +hedge. He confided the matter to a few friends, making them swear to say +nothing about it; and when they had told all their acquaintances +applications for shares in the good thing began to reach the retired +grocer, who unfortunately had nothing to occupy his time. He was soon +feeling himself a man of some importance, and this naturally assisted +him to entertain a very avuncular regard for nephew Pezzack, and a +friendly feeling for the "simple countryman Pendoggat" and the precious +metal called nickel. He thought of himself as a financial magnate, and +subscribed to the <i>Mining Journal</i>. He talked no more of prime Dorset, +nor did he discuss concerning the most suitable sand to mingle with +sugar; but he rehearsed the slang of the money-market instead, remarked +that he had struck a gilt-edged security, looked in the paper every +morning and observed to his wife that copper was recovering, or that +diamonds continued to droop. The head-quarters of the Tavy Cleave Nickel +Mining Company were really not upon Dartmoor at all, but at Bromley in a +straight little jerry-built street; which was exactly what the "simple +countryman Pendoggat" wanted.</p> + +<p>A meeting of prospective shareholders was held in the chapel, but it +turned out a wet stormy evening and very few attended. Brother Pendoggat +led in prayer, which took a pessimistic view of things generally; +Pezzack delivered an impressive address on the need of more stability in +human affairs; and when the party had been worked into a suitable state +of enthusiasm, and were prepared to listen to anything, they got to +business.</p> + +<p>The minister was destined to be astounded that evening by his brother in +religion and partner in business. Eli told the party what it was there +for, which it knew already, and then unfolded his prospectus, as it +were, before their eyes, telling them he had discovered a rich vein of +nickel, and contemplated forming a small company to work the same. It +was to be quite a private affair, and operations would be conducted as +unobtrusively as possible. The capital suggested was £500, divided into +five-shilling shares. While Eli talked Pendoggat sat motionless, his +arms folded, and his eyes upon his boots.</p> + +<p>"Where's the mine?" asked a voice.</p> + +<p>Pezzack replied he was not at liberty to say at that stage of the +proceedings; but he had brought a sample to show them, which was +produced and handed round solemnly, no one examining it with more +interest than Pendoggat, who had provided it. Every one declared that it +was nickel sure enough, although they had never seen the metal before, +and had scarcely an idea between them as to its value or the uses to +which it could be put.</p> + +<p>"Us had best talk about it," suggested one of the party, and every one +agreed that was a sound idea, but nobody offered to say anything, until +an old farmer arose and stated heavily—</p> + +<p>"Us knows there be rich trade under Dartmoor. My uncle, he worked on +Wheal Betsey, and he worked on Wheal Virtuous Lady tu, and he told I +often there was a plenty of rich trade down under, but cruel hard to get +at. He told I that many a time. Wouldn't hardly pay to work, 'twas so +hard to get at, he said. Such a main cruel lot o' watter, he said. Fast +as they gotten it out back it comed again. That's what he said, but he +be dead now."</p> + +<p>The old fellow sat down with the air of a man who had cleared away +difficulties, and the others dragged their boots upon the boards with a +melancholy sound. Then some one else rose and asked if water was likely +to interfere with the mining of the nickel. Eli replied that there +certainly was water, and that announcement brought the old farmer up to +say: "It wun't pay to work." He added reasons also, in the same strain +as before.</p> + +<p>An interval of silence followed. A deadlock had been reached. Those +present were inclined to nibble, but they all wanted the nickel for +themselves. They did not like the idea of taking shares and sharing +profits. They wanted to be told the precise locality of the mine, so +that they could go and help themselves. Pezzack had nothing more to say. +The old farmer had only his former statements about his uncle to repeat; +and he did so several times, using the same words.</p> + +<p>At last Pendoggat got up, began to mumble, and every one leaned forward +to listen. Most of them did not like Pendoggat because they were afraid +of him; but they believed him to be a man of superior knowledge to +themselves, and they were inclined on the whole to follow his +leadership.</p> + +<p>"We all trust the minister," Pendoggat was saying. "He's found nickel, +and he thinks there is money to be got out of it. He's right enough. +There is nickel. I've found it myself. That sample he had handed round +is as good a bit of nickel as ever I saw. But there's not enough of it. +We couldn't work it so as to pay expenses. It's on the common too, and +we would have to get permission from the Duchy, and pay them a royalty."</p> + +<p>"Us could get out of that," a voice interrupted. "Them who cracks +granite be supposed to pay the Duchy royalties, but none of 'em du."</p> + +<p>"Mining's different," replied Pendoggat. "The Duchy don't worry to +collect their granite royalties. 'Twould cost 'em more trouble than the +stuff is worth. There's more money in minerals than in granite. They +don't let a mine be started without knowing all about it. Minister has +told us what he knows, and we believe him. He won't deceive us. He +wouldn't tell a lie to save his life. We are proud of our minister, for +he's a good one."</p> + +<p>"He be," muttered a chorus of approving voices.</p> + +<p>"Looks like a bishop, sitting up there," exclaimed one of the admirers.</p> + +<p>"So he du. So he be," cried they all.</p> + +<p>The meeting was waking up. Eli sat limply, gazing at Pendoggat, very +unhappy and white, and looking much more like a large maggot than a +bishop.</p> + +<p>"There's the trouble about the water," Pendoggat went on. "The whole +capital would go in keeping that pumped out, and it would beat us in the +end. All the money in the world wouldn't keep Tavy Cleave pumped dry. +I'm against the scheme, and I've got up to say I won't have anything to +do with it. I'm not going to put a penny of my money into any Dartmoor +mine, and if I did I should expect to lose it. That's all I've got to +say. The minister's not a commoner, and he don't know Dartmoor. He don't +know anything about mining either, except what he's picked up from +folks. He's a good man, and he wants to help us. But I tell him, and I +tell you, there's not enough nickel on the whole of Dartmoor to pay the +expense of working it."</p> + +<p>Pendoggat shambled back into his chair, while his listeners looked at +one another and admitted he had spoken wisely, and Eli writhed +worm-like, wondering if there could be anything wrong with his ears. He +had been prepared to hear a certain amount of destructive criticism; but +that the whole scheme should be swept aside by Pendoggat as hopeless was +inexplicable. The old farmer seized the opportunity to stand upright and +repeat his former observations concerning his uncle, and the wheals, and +the "cruel lot o' watter" in them. Then the meeting collapsed +altogether. Pendoggat had killed it. The only thing left was the +mournful conclusion of a suitable prayer; and then to face the rain and +a wild ride homewards. There was to be no local support for the Nickel +Mining Company, Limited. Pendoggat's opposition had done for it.</p> + +<p>The tenant of Helmen Barton had risen several points in the estimation +of those present, with the obvious exception of the staggered Pezzack. +He had proved himself a bold man and fearless speaker. He had not shrunk +from performing the unpleasant duty of opposing his pastor. Eli always +looked like a maggot. Now he felt like one. Pendoggat had set his foot +upon him and squashed him utterly. He would not be a wealthy man, there +was no immediate prospect of matrimony, nor would there be any new +Ebenezer, the presence of which would attract a special blessing upon +them, and the architecture of which would be a perpetual reproach to +that portion of the moor. It was an exceedingly troubled maggot that +wriggled up to Pendoggat, when the others had departed, and the door had +been fastened against the wind.</p> + +<p>"This is an appalling catostrophe, Mr. Pendoggat." Eli often blundered +over long words, never having learnt derivations. "The most excruciating +catostrophe I can remember. I am feeling like chaff scattered by the +wind."</p> + +<p>He was trying to rebuke Pendoggat. He was too much in awe of him to +speak more bitterly. Besides, he was a good Christian, and Eli never +lost sight of that fact, knowing that as a minister it was his duty not +to revile his fellow-creatures more than was necessary.</p> + +<p>Pendoggat stood under a cold lamp, which cast a cold light upon his +black head, and his eyes were upon his boots. Eli stumbled against a +chair, and in trying to regain his balance fell against his companion, +causing him to lose control over himself for an instant. He struck out +his arm and sent Pezzack sprawling among the chairs like an ash-faggot, +a prospect of long black coat and big flat boots. Eli did not mind +tumbling, because he was used to it, not having been endowed with much +sense of gravity. He went about on a bicycle, and was constantly falling +off, and cutting fantastic figures in the air, between Brentor and +Bridestowe. But just then he had an idea that brute force had been used +against him. Pendoggat had struck him, not like the righteous who smite +in friendly reproof, but like the heathen who rage together furiously. +"Why did you strike me, Mr. Pendoggat?" he muttered, dragging himself to +a sitting posture upon a chair and looking whiter than ever. "You cast +me aside like a potter's vessel. Your precious palm might have broke my +'ead."</p> + +<p>"Why can't you stand up, man?" said Pendoggat amicably. "You fell +against my arm where I pinched it this morning in the linny door. I +couldn't help pushing you away, and maybe I pushed harder than I meant, +for you hurt me. You tumbled over your own feet. Not hurt, are ye?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mr. Pendoggat," whispered Eli. It was so silent in that dreary +chapel that the least sound was audible. "Not 'ere, not in my body, but +in my 'eart; not by the push you gave me, but by the words you 'ave +spoken. I stood up to-night, and I spoke like a fool, and I felt like a +fool. I was doing the work that you gave me to do, Mr. Pendoggat, and +you spoke against me."</p> + +<p>Eli was growing bold. He had scraped some skin from his leg, and the +smart gave him courage. He was feeling bitter also, and life seemed to +be a failure just then. There was nothing for it but to grub along and +preach the Gospel in poverty, a very laudable existence, but equally +unsatisfying. He was waking from a golden dream to discover himself in +the cold, just as Brightly dreamed of mythical Jerusalem and remained +upon the dungheap. A little more of such treatment and Eli might have +developed a tendency towards chronic misanthropy.</p> + +<p>Pendoggat was amused. He realised that the minister was really +suffering, both in body and mind. Eli was like some wretched rabbit in +the iron jaws of a trap; and Pendoggat was the one who had set the trap, +and was standing over it, able to let the creature out, and intending to +do so, but not until a fair amount of suffering had been exacted. +Pezzack was as much in his power as the rabbit in the hands of the +trapper. He was weak and Pendoggat was strong. Eli was a poor stunted +thing grown in a London back yard; Pendoggat was a tough moorland +growth.</p> + +<p>"I reckon you did speak like a fool," he said, while Eli wondered what +he was looking at: himself, the floor, or the granite wall with its +little beads of moisture glistening in the lamplight. "You put it to +them all wrong. If I hadn't stood up they might have got it into their +heads you were trying to trick 'em. You spoke all the time as if you +didn't know what you were talking about. You're a good preacher, +Pezzack, though not outspoken enough, but you're no good at business. +You wouldn't make a living outside the pulpit."</p> + +<p>Eli was crushed again. His anger had departed, and he was nursing his +leg and his sorrows patiently. He believed that Pendoggat, with all his +roughness, was a man in whom he could trust. The commoner did not come +with a smooth smile, canting to his face, then departing to play him +false. He behaved like the honest rugged man he was; giving him a rough +grasp of the hand, pushing him off harshly when he hurt him, telling him +plainly of his faults, chiding him for his folly, speaking that which +was in his mind. Eli thought he knew something about human nature, and +that knowledge convinced him that if he should refuse to follow +Pendoggat he would lose his best friend. Pendoggat might behave like a +bear; but there was nothing of the bear about him except the skin.</p> + +<p>"I was doing my best. I said all I could, but I know my words must 'ave +sounded poor and foolish," he said mournfully. "Now it's all over, and I +must write to Jeconiah, and tell her we can't be married just yet. It is +a cruel blow, but the things of this world, Mr. Pendoggat, are but as +dross. The moth corrupteth, and the worm nibbleth, and we are shadows +which pass away and come not again." Eli shivered and subsided. He was +mournful, and the interior of Ebenezer was as cold as an ice-house.</p> + +<p>Pendoggat came forward and fastened his hands upon Eli's bony shoulders. +He thought it was time to take him out of the trap. The creature was +becoming torpid and indifferent to suffering, and there was no more +pleasure to be obtained from watching it. Besides, he was hungry, and +wanted to get home that his own needs might be satisfied.</p> + +<p>"We'll do it yet," he said in his low mumbling voice. "We can get along +quite well without these folks. They haven't got much money, and if any +of 'em had invested a few pounds they would have been after us all the +time and given us no rest. We'll rely on your uncle and his friends. I +reckon they can invest enough among them to start the affair. I'll pull +you through, Pezzack. I'll make a rich man of you yet."</p> + +<p>Pendoggat was proving his title to be ranked among the clever men who +are knaves. He had served himself well that evening; by making the +neighbourhood think better of him; by exposing himself to Pezzack as a +man of rough honesty; by rejecting local support, which would always +have been dangerous, and was after all worth little; and by fastening +his hopes upon the grocer of Bromley and his friends, who were a day's +journey distant, were worthy ignorant souls, and could not drop in +casually to ascertain how affairs were progressing. He had also seen the +maggot wriggling in his trap.</p> + +<p>"Don't write to the maid," Pendoggat went on. "Have her down and marry +her. It's safe enough. There will be plenty of money coming your way +presently."</p> + +<p>Eli looked up. He could not see the speaker because Pendoggat was +standing behind the chair. The minister could see nothing except the +chilly damps of Ebenezer. But his soul was rejoicing. Pendoggat was +making the rough places smooth. "I knew you wouldn't deceive me," he +said. "You gave me your 'and that night in Tavy Cleave, and told me I +could trust you. When you spoke to-night I did not understand, Mr. +Pendoggat. I almost thought you were going to leave me destitute. I will +write to Jeconiah. I shall tell her you are a generous man."</p> + +<p>"Why not marry?" muttered Pendoggat. "It will be safe enough. The money +will come. I'll guarantee it."</p> + +<p>"There is no immediate necessity, Mr. Pendoggat," said Eli with +ludicrous earnestness. "There has been nothing wrong between us. We are +able to wait. But we desire to enter the 'oly estate. We are always +talking when we meet of the 'appiness that must be found in that +condition. You 'ave always been as good as your word, Mr. Pendoggat. If +you can promise me the money will come, I think—I do really think, my +dear brother, Jeconiah and me might reasonably be welded together in the +bonds of matrimony at a very early date. I might even suggest next +month, Mr. Pendoggat."</p> + +<p>Eli was becoming somewhat incoherent and extravagant in speech.</p> + +<p>"I'll promise you the money. I'll see you through," said Pendoggat.</p> + +<p>The minister could hardly put out the lamps, his hands were shaking so. +He stumbled out of Ebenezer, shivering with delight, and slobbering with +gratitude and benevolence.</p> + +<p>Pendoggat went on his way alone. He was walking, and the road took him +beside Lewside Cottage. Rain was still falling, but he did not feel it +because it was being blown against his back. As he came near the cottage +he heard a sound of singing. The blinds had not been drawn down, and the +lamplight passed across the road to melt into the darkness of the moor. +Boodles was singing merrily. She was happy like Eli, and for much the +same reason, only she expressed her happiness in a delightful fashion, +just because she was a nice little girl, and he was only a poor weak +thing of a man. Pendoggat looked in at the window. The child was +standing under the lamp, sewing and singing industriously. The light was +full upon the radiant head. Opposite the window were some great +gorse-bushes, and the yellow blooms with which they were covered came +also within the lamplight. The girl's head and the gorse-flowers were +somewhat similar in colour.</p> + +<p>Pendoggat suddenly lifted his stout stick at one of the gorse-bushes, +and struck a quantity of the golden blossoms off it.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h3> + +<h2>ABOUT THE VIGIL OF ST. GOOSE</h2> + + +<p>Mary's greatest possession was her umbrella, which was no ordinary +article, and would have been of little service to the orthodox woman, +because she would have lacked strength to raise it aloft in a breeze. +When unfurled it covered about as much ground as a military tent, and +cast a shade like an oak-tree. Not that Mary often unfurled it. The +umbrella was far too precious to be used. She carried it about on those +rare occasions when she went abroad, as a sort of symbol of the state of +civilisation to which she had attained. It was with her very much what +the pastoral staff is to a bishop; a thing unused, but exhibited. +Umbrellas are useless things upon Dartmoor, because the wind makes +wreckage of them at once. The Marian gamp was a monstrous creation, very +old and patched, possibly had been used once as a carriage umbrella, and +it was more baggy than its mistress's bloomers. Its stock was made of +holly, not from a branch, but a good-sized stem, and a yard of twine was +fastened about it to keep the ribs from flapping. Mary carried it +usually beneath her arm, and found it always terribly in the way.</p> + +<p>Grandfather was tacitly admitted to be Peter's property. He had no +proprietary interest in the umbrella. Mary never ventured to touch +Grandfather, and Peter had not been known to place his hands upon the +umbrella. Primitive people like to take their possessions about with +them, that they may show others how well off they are. A little servant +girl goes out to the revel smothered with all her wearing apparel, +winter things on top of summer things, regardless of season, and with +all the cut glass in rolled-gold settings stuck about her that she can +lay her hands on. Two sisters are able to present a fine show by going +out in turn. Annie ventures forth clad with all the property in common, +while Bessie stays at home, not much better draped than a Greek statue. +Mary took her umbrella about, not because she wanted it, but to convince +strangers that she owned something to be proud of. Nobody was jealous. +She could have left the umbrella anywhere, and not a soul would have +touched it. Peter would have taken Grandfather about with him had it +been possible; but as the clock was twice Peter's size, and could not be +attached to a brass chain and slung in his waistcoat pocket, it had to +remain in Number One, Hut-Circles, and wheeze away the hours in +solitude.</p> + +<p>There was suppressed excitement in New Gubbings Land. Peter was more +absent-minded than ever, and Mary was quite foolish. She served up +before her brother the barley-meal which her geese did eat, after +scattering their own dinner to the birds. It was all because they were +going on a long journey. Peter had remained quiescent for years; and, +like most men who have travelled much, he felt at last the call of the +outer world and the desire to be again in motion. Mary had the same +feeling, which was the more strange as she had never travelled. It was +the fault of the concert. Since that festival Mary had become unsettled. +It had taught her there were experiences which she had not enjoyed. Mary +thought she had done a good deal, but as a matter of fact she had never +been in a train, nor had she slept a night out of the parish. When Peter +said he meant to travel again, Mary declared she was coming too. Peter +tried to discourage her, explaining that travelling was expensive, and +dangerous also. A hardened wanderer like himself was able to face the +risks, but she would not be equal to the strain. It was a terrifying +experience to be carried swiftly along the railway, and had frightened +him badly the first time. He advised Mary to walk, and let him have the +money she would otherwise have squandered. Arguments were useless. Comic +songs had ruined Mary's contentment. She was sorry she had not travelled +before, and declared she was going to take her umbrella and begin. So +they decided to venture to Tavistock to keep the festival of St. Goose.</p> + +<p>Mary had been to Goose Fair before, walking there and back; and for +Peter the experience was nothing. Peter had trodden the streets of +Plymouth, and had been long ago to Winkleigh Revel, although he could +recall little of that expedition—the morning after the event he +remembered nothing—but the certainty that he had made the great journey +into the wilds of mid-Devon remained, and there was proof in the +presence of a large mug with a tin handle upon the mantelshelf, bearing +the touching inscription, "Tak' a drop o' gin, old dear," in quaint +lettering, which mug, Peter declared, had come with him from Winkleigh +Revel, although any one curious enough to have turned it upside down +might have discovered "Manor Hotel, Lydford," stamped underneath.</p> + +<p>Peter had always felt superior to his sister, apart from the sublime +fact of his manhood. He was not only highly educated, but he had +travelled, and he feared that if Mary travelled too her eyes would be +opened, and she might consider herself his equal. Therefore he had a +distinct motive in begging her to bide at home, although his eloquence +was in vain, for Mary was going to travel. She stated her intention of +walking across the moor to Lydford and catching the train there, which +was needless expense, as she might have gone down to St. Mary Tavy +station; but she desired to make a great journey, something to boast of +in days to come.</p> + +<p>A vigil suggests sleeplessness, a watching through the night which +precedes the day of the feast; and Mary observed the vigil more +thoroughly than any nun. Plenty of girls were equally devout at the same +time; keeping awake, not because they wanted to, but because excitement +rendered sleep impossible. Thomasine observed the vigil, and even +Boodles watched and wished the dark gone. It was a long night all over +Dartmoor. Even Siberian Princetown was aroused; and those who were being +punished for their sins had the additional mortification of knowing that +they would be behind prison bars on the day when the greatest saint in +the calendar according to the use of Dartmoor, the blatant and waddling +St. Goose, was to be honoured by a special service of excursion trains +and various instruments of music.</p> + +<p>Dawn impelled every maid to glance at the chair beside her bed, to be +sure that the pixies had not run away with her fair-clothes. Thomasine +looked for her completed petticoat, Boodles for her boy's photograph, +Mary for her umbrella. There had been no pixy-pranks, and the day came +in with a promise of sunshine. There were no lie-a-beds that morning. +Even Peter had been restless, and Grandfather possibly noticed that the +little man had not snored so regularly as usual.</p> + +<p>To the dweller in the wilds there is no getting away from fair-day, the +great country holiday of the year. Those who would wish to abolish such +festivals should remember that country-folk have few pleasures, and the +fair is about the last, and is certainly one of the greatest, +inducements to keep them on the land. To a large number it is the single +outing of the year; a thing to talk about for months before and +afterwards; the day of family reunion, when a girl expects to see her +parents, the young man meets his brother, and the old folk keep +associations going. The fair is to country-folk very much what Christmas +is to the better classes. And as for the pleasures they are nothing like +so lurid as have been represented. Individuals are vicious; a +pleasure-seeking crowd is not. There is a vast deal of drunkenness, and +this is by far the worst feature, and one which cannot be eliminated +except by compulsory closing of all houses of refreshment, which would +be only possible under a Saturnian régime. As evening approaches there +is also much of that unpleasantness which is associated with +drunkenness, and is described in police-reports as obscene language. The +fair-ground is not the best place for highly respectable people. It is +the dancing-place of the lower classes; and as such the fair is a +success and practically harmless. The girls are out for fun, and when +they see a good-looking young man are not above making advances; and the +stranger who steps up and introduces himself is sure of a welcome on his +face value. It is all free and natural. Nearly every one is the better, +and very few are the worse, for the holiday. Liquor is the principal +cause of what evils there are. Tavistock Goose Fair after dark is far +more respectable than Hyde Park at midnight.</p> + +<p>Peter and Mary set forth on their walk across the moor to Lydford +station, both of them attired in the festive garments which had been +last assumed for the concert, Mary's large right hand clutching the +umbrella by its ribs, Peter smoking industriously. They made a bee-line +for their destination, heedless of mossy bogs, which were fairly firm at +that time of the year. There were no rocks to hinder them. It is a bald +stretch of moor between St. Mary Tavy and Lydford. Mary was breathing +furiously from sheer excitement and nervousness, being dreadfully afraid +they would miss the train. There was the station "down under," not more +than half-a-mile away, and the train was not due for an hour, but Mary +continued on the double. She did not understand mathematics and +timetables. Peter trudged behind in a state of phlegmatic calm, natural +to an old traveller, who had been to Plymouth by the sea and to +Winkleigh on the hill.</p> + +<p>For some time they had the platform to themselves. Then the moor began +to give forth its living: young men and maidens, old men and wives, all +going a-fairing, some treating the matter irreverently with unmusical +laughter, others regarding the occasion as meet for an austere +countenance. Peter was among those who cackled, while Mary was on the +side of the anxious. She had to remind herself continually that she was +enjoying life, although she would much rather have been at home chasing +Old Sal among the furze-bushes. When the signals fell, and the bell +rang, and the station began to rumble as the train approached, she +clutched Peter and suggested they should return home. "Don't ye get +mazed," said Peter crossly. "Come along wi' I."</p> + +<p>Mary endeavoured to do so, but lost her head entirely when the train +drew up, and went on to behave very much like a dog at a fair. She lost +sight of her brother, scurried up and down the platform looking for him, +and became still more confused when the cry, "Take your seats, please," +sounded in her ears. The guard, who was used to queer passengers, took +her by the arm with the idea of putting her into a carriage, but Mary +defended herself against his designs with her umbrella, and breaking +loose endeavoured to join the engine-driver. Meeting with no +encouragement there she turned back, and was seized by Peter, who told +her plainly she was acting foolishly, and again commanded her to come +along with him. Mary obeyed, and everything was going favourably, and +they were just about to enter a compartment when the umbrella slipped +oat of her nervous hand, bumped upon the edge of the platform, and slid +beneath the train.</p> + +<p>Mary resumed her normal condition at once, caring no longer for train, +crowd, or fair, while the fear of travelling ceased to trouble when she +perceived that the umbrella had departed from her. She stood upon the +platform, and declared with an oath that the system of the railway +should work no more until the umbrella had been restored to her hands. +Time was of no account to Mary. She refused to enter the train without +her umbrella; neither should the train proceed, for she would hold on to +it. Peter upheld his sister. The umbrella was a family heirloom. The +station-master and guard urged and blasphemed in vain. The homely +epithets of the porter were received with contempt and the response, "Us +bain't a-going. Us be going to bide."</p> + +<p>Passengers in the adjoining compartment were perturbed, because it was +rumoured among them that the poor woman had dropped a baby beneath the +train, and they believed that the officials were contending that there +was nothing in the regulations about ordinary humanity, and it was +therefore their duty to let the child remain there. The guard and +station-master became unpopular. The passengers were in no great hurry +to proceed, as they were out for a day's enjoyment; and as for Mary, +great was her lamentation for the lost umbrella.</p> + +<p>"'Tis a little gal, name of Ella," explained a stout commoner with his +head out of the window, for the benefit of others in the carriage.</p> + +<p>"Sounded to me like Bella," replied his wife, differing from him merely +as a matter of principle.</p> + +<p>"There's no telling. They give 'em such fancy names now-a-days," said +another excursionist.</p> + +<p>"Her be screaming cruel," said the stout commoner.</p> + +<p>"I don't hear 'en," declared his wife. They got along very well +together, those two, and made conversation easily, one by offering a +statement, the other by differing.</p> + +<p>"I du," said a young woman in a white frock, which was already showing +about the waist some finger-impressions of her young man, who sat beside +her. "She'm right underneath the carriage. Don't ye hear she, Ben?"</p> + +<p>Ben gave a nervous smile, gulped, arranged his tie, which would keep +slipping up to his chin, moistened his lips, then parted them to utter +the monosyllable which was required. He heard the child screaming +distinctly. Having stated as much, he proceeded to record his +fingerprints accurately upon the young woman's waist.</p> + +<p>A farmer from Inwardleigh, who had entered the train at Okehampton, and +had slept peacefully ever since, woke up at that moment, looked out, saw +the bare moor, remarked in a decided voice that he wouldn't live on +Dartmoor for a thousand pounds, and went to sleep again. The stout +commoner took up his parable and said—</p> + +<p>"There be a little man got out now, and he'm poking about wi' a stick, +trying to get the baby out. Did ever hear of trying to get a baby up wi' +an ash-stick, woman?"</p> + +<p>His wife replied that she had never heard of a baby getting underneath a +train before, and she thought people ought to be ashamed of themselves +getting drunk so early in the morning.</p> + +<p>"Babies oughtn't to be took to the vair," said the young woman in the +white frock. "I shan't tak' mine when I has 'em."</p> + +<p>This remark caused young man Ben to smile nervously again.</p> + +<p>The Inwardleigh farmer opened his eyes and wanted to know why the train +was motionless. He was getting so thirsty that he could sleep no more. +"Us might sing a hymn," he suggested; and proceeded forthwith to make a +noise like a chaff-cutting machine, preparatory to describing himself in +song as a pure and spotless being whose sins had been entirely washed +away. Had he given his face and hands the attention which, according to +his own statement, his soul had received, he would have been a more +presentable object. The young woman in the white frock knew the hymn, +and joined in vigorously, claiming for her soul a whiteness which her +dress could not equal. The farmer was so delighted with her singing that +he leaned forward and kissed the damsel rapturously. The unhappy Ben +dared not remonstrate with his elders and betters, but merely sat and +gulped. By this time Peter had dropped his stick beneath the train, +where it reposed side by side with the umbrella.</p> + +<p>"They'm going to run the train back," said the stout commoner.</p> + +<p>"The baby 'll be dead," remarked his wife cheerfully. She was not going +to be depressed upon a holiday.</p> + +<p>Peter and Mary stood upon the platform, a statuesque, obstinate pair, +determined to give the railway company no mercy. It was nothing to them +that the train was being delayed. Their property was underneath it, and +all the Gubbings blood in them rebelled.</p> + +<p>"I'll bide till I gets my umbrella. Tak' your mucky old train off 'en," +said Mary, wagging her big hand at the men in authority; while Peter +added that his intention was also to bide until his ash-stick should be +returned to him.</p> + +<p>Finally the train was backed, the umbrella and stick were recovered, and +the savages permitted themselves to be bundled into the first +compartment handy, amid laughter from the heads at the windows and +profanity from the mouths of the officials. The train drew out of the +station, and Mary subsided into a corner and held on tightly, shouting +to her brother, "Shet the window, Peter, du'ye. Us may be falling out."</p> + +<p>Peter tried to explain that would not be easy, but Mary was unable to +listen. Her former fears had returned. She clutched her umbrella, +trembled, and prayed to the gods of Brentor and the gods of +Ebenezer—Mary's religion was a misty affair—for a safe deliverance +from the perils of the railway. She had a feeling as if she was about to +part with her breakfast. She had also a distinct admiration just then +for all those who went down to the towns in trains, and for her brother, +who sat calmly upon the cushions—it was a first-class compartment which +they had invaded—and spat contentedly upon the carpet. The speed of the +train exceeded thirty miles an hour, and poor Mary's bullet head was +rolling upon her shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Aw, my dear life!" she moaned. "I feels as if my belly were running +back to home again. Where be us, Peter?"</p> + +<p>"On the railway," her brother answered, with truth, but without +brilliance. The remark was reassuring to Mary, however. She thought the +train had got upon the moor somehow and was speeding furiously down a +steep place towards destruction upon the rocks. A glance from the window +gave no comfort. It was terrible to see the big tors tumbling past like +a lot of drunken giants.</p> + +<p>"Mind what I told ye," observed Peter. "Yew wun't like travelling, I +ses. 'Tis easy when yew begins young, but yew be too old to begin."</p> + +<p>"Us ha' got legs, and us was meant to use 'em. Us was never meant to run +abroad on wheels," said Mary. "If ever I gets home, I'll bide."</p> + +<p>Peter refilled his pipe, and began to boast of his experiences upon sea +and land; how he had ventured upon the ocean and penetrated to a far +country. Mary had heard it all before, but she had never been so +impressed as she was then by her brother's account of his famous +crossing of the Hamoaze in a fishing-boat, and his alighting upon the +distant shore of Torpoint to stand upon Cornish soil. But while Peter +was describing how he had been rocked "cruel and proper" upon the waves +of what it pleased him to style the Atlantic, brakes fell heavily upon +the wheels, a whistle sounded, and the train dragged itself gradually to +a standstill. There was no station in sight. The moor heaved on both +sides of the line. Even Peter was at a loss to explain the sudden +stoppage for a moment.</p> + +<p>"The train be broke," said Mary, who was bold now that she had ceased +from travelling. "They've run 'en over a nail, and us mun bide till 'em +blows the wheels out again."</p> + +<p>Mary comprehended bicycles, and had contemplated tourists, who were so +foolish as to bring their machines upon Dartmoor, pumping away at +punctured tyres. Peter did not contradict because he was perturbed. He +understood that the train had not broken down; but he believed that an +accident was impending. Out of his worldly wisdom he spoke: "It be a +collusion, I reckon."</p> + +<p>Suspiciously Mary demanded an explanation.</p> + +<p>"'Tis when two trains hit one into t'other," explained Peter, striking +his left fist into his right palm. "That be a collusion. Same as if yew +was to run into a wall in the dark," he added.</p> + +<p>The meaning of these words did not dawn upon Mary for some moments. When +she did grasp them she made for the door, with the intention of +abandoning the railway forthwith; but the train gave a sudden jerk, +which threw her upon the seat, and then began to glide back. Peter +thrust his head out of the window and perceived they were making for a +siding. He and his sister had delayed the train so long that an express +which was due to follow had almost caught them up, and had made it +necessary for the local train, which has to wait for everything, to get +off the main line. Peter did not understand that. Even old travellers +make mistakes sometimes. He considered that the situation was desperate.</p> + +<p>"They'm trying to get away, trying cruel hard," he said drearily.</p> + +<p>"What be 'em getting away from?" gasped Mary.</p> + +<p>"T'other train," her brother answered.</p> + +<p>"Aw, Peter, will 'em du it?"</p> + +<p>"Bain't hardly likely," said Peter dolefully.</p> + +<p>"Be t'other train going to run into we?"</p> + +<p>Peter admitted that it was so, adding: "I told ye to bide to home."</p> + +<p>"Will us get hurt?" moaned Mary.</p> + +<p>"Smashed to bits. They newspapers will tell us was cut to pieces," said +Peter, in his gloomiest fashion. "How much have ye got in the +money-box?" he asked.</p> + +<p>With prophetic insight Peter perceived that he would be spared. Mary +would be destroyed, together with all the other passengers, and Peter +naturally was anxious to know the amount of hard cash he was likely to +inherit.</p> + +<p>But Mary gave no heed to the avaricious question. She groaned and rubbed +her eyes with the umbrella. It was the umbrella she was thinking of +rather than herself. Somehow she could not imagine her own body mangled +upon the line; but a melancholy picture of the wrecked umbrella was +clear before her eyes.</p> + +<p>In the next compartment the farmer was still singing hymns, accompanied +by a chorus. Mary thought they were praying. This was travelling, +enjoying life, a day's pleasure, St. Goose's Day! Mary wished with all +her heart she had never left her geese and her hut-circle. In the +meantime Peter was keeping her well informed.</p> + +<p>"They be running the train off on Dartmoor," he explained. "There's a +gurt cleave down under, and they be going to run us down that. Us mun +get smashed either way."</p> + +<p>"Why don't us get out and run away?" suggested frightened Mary.</p> + +<p>As she spoke the train stopped. It was safe in the siding, although the +savages did not know that. They supposed that the motive power had +failed, or the engine-driver had come to realise that escape was +hopeless, and had abandoned the train to secure his own safety. Peter +saw a man running along the line. He was only a harmless pointsman going +about his business, but Peter supposed him to be the base engine-driver +flying for his life, and he told Mary as much. Even Peter's nerve was +somewhat shaken by this time. Mary said plainly she should follow the +example of the engine-driver. "My legs be as good as his," she cried. "I +hain't a-going to bide here and be broke up like an old goosie's egg. I +be a-going out."</p> + +<p>"They'll fine ye," cried Peter. "There be a notice yonder. For +trampesing on the line a sum not exceeding forty shilluns—"</p> + +<p>"Bain't that better than getting smashed to pieces?" shouted Mary.</p> + +<p>Peter was not sure. He could not translate the phrase "not exceeding," +but he had a clear notion that it meant considerably more than forty +shillings.</p> + +<p>Mary was struggling with the door. In another moment she would have +opened it, but a terrific interruption occurred. There sounded a wild +whistling, and a roar which stunned her, and caused her to fall back +upon the seat to prepare hurriedly for her doom, to recall various +religious memories and family associations, and to mutter fervently such +disjointed scraps of sun-worship and Christianity as: "Our Vaither, +hollered be the name, kingdom come. Angels and piskies, long-stones and +crosses, glory to 'em all. Amen."</p> + +<p>Then the express thundered past, shaking everything horribly. The +tragedy was soon over, and Peter emerged into the light with worm-like +wrigglings. For all his courage and experience he had dived beneath the +seat, conscious somehow that any change of position would be better than +no change. Everything seemed to have become very quiet all at once. They +could hear the wind whistling gently over the moor, and the water +splashing below. Mary had no idea what had happened, but she quite +believed that Peter's worst fears had been realised, and that the +"collusion" had actually occurred. So she groaned, and did not venture +to move, and muttered feebly: "I be cut to pieces."</p> + +<p>"No, you bain't," said Peter cheerfully. "Us got away after all."</p> + +<p>With a little more encouragement Mary stretched herself, discovered that +she and the umbrella were both intact, and from that moment the joy of +life was hers again. They had escaped somehow. The express had missed +them, and Peter assured her it was not likely to return. He admitted +they had gone through a terrifying experience, which was as novel to him +as to Mary; and his conclusion of the whole matter was that the +engine-driver had undoubtedly saved their lives by cool and daring +courage in the presence of fearful danger.</p> + +<p>"He saw t'other train coming, and got us out o' the way just in time. +Yew saw how near t'other train was. Only just missed us," explained +Peter.</p> + +<p>"He'm a cruel larned man," declared Mary. "He ought to be given +something. Ought to be fined forty shilluns." Poor Mary was anxious to +learn the English language; but when she made use of strange words she +betrayed her ignorance.</p> + +<p>"You means rewarded," Peter corrected out of the depths of his +education.</p> + +<p>"Aw ees," said Mary. "Us will reward 'en wi' a shillun."</p> + +<p>Peter did not see the necessity. As they were perfectly safe, and as no +further advantage could possibly accrue to them from the engine-driver's +heroism, he thought they might as well keep the shilling. The train drew +out of the siding, continued its journey, and Mary became quite +comfortable, even venturing to lean forward and look out of the window, +though the telegraph-poles and bridges frightened her at first. They +looked as if they were going to run into her, she said.</p> + +<p>Nothing else eventful happened until they reached Tavistock, although +there was a good deal of human nature at work in the adjoining +compartment, where the Inwardleigh farmer had exchanged hymn-singing for +amorous suggestions, and had proceeded to appropriate the unfortunate +Ben's white-frocked young woman to himself. It was especially hard upon +the poor young clown, as he had paid for the railway tickets; but he had +only a couple of shillings for fairing, and the Inwardleigh farmer had +gold in his fob, so the girl naturally preferred to spend the day with +the man of well-filled pockets. Weak-minded young bumpkins sometimes +murder their sweethearts, and it is not very surprising. Even +degenerates get weary of playing the singularly uninteresting part of +the worm that is trampled on.</p> + +<p>"Tavistock! Good Lord!" exclaimed Mary, with great relief, as the train +entered the station.</p> + +<p>She and Peter tumbled out. Such people always tumble out of railway +carriages. They merely bang the door open, fall forward, and find their +feet somehow. It is easy to tell whether a person is well-bred or not by +the way he or she leaves a railway carriage. A young lady comes forth +after the manner of a butterfly settling on a flower. The country maid +emerges like a falling sack of wheat. Peter and Mary tumbled out, and +were considerably astonished not to find a procession of grateful +passengers advancing towards the engine to thank the driver for the +courage he had displayed in saving their lives. Every one seemed anxious +to quit the platform as soon as possible. Peter was shocked to discover +so much ingratitude. It was ignorance perhaps, indifference possibly, +but to Peter and Mary it seemed utter callousness. They felt themselves +capable of something better. So they pushed through the crowd, reached +the engine, and insisted upon shaking hands, not only with the driver, +but with the fireman also, and thanked them very much for bringing them +safely into Tavistock, and for having; avoided the "collusion," which +they, the speakers, confessed had at one time appeared to them as +inevitable. Peter invited them to come and have a drop of gin, and Mary +asked sympathetically after the "volks to home."</p> + +<p>The men enjoyed the joke immensely. They thought that the quaint couple +were thanking them for having backed the train at Lydford in order that +Mary might recover her umbrella and Peter his ash-stick. They chaffed +them in a subtle fashion, and after a minute's complete mutual +misunderstanding bade them farewell with the ironical hope they might +some day save them again.</p> + +<p>Mary was overflowing with generosity. As she and her brother turned away +she produced two shillings and instructed Peter to reward the heroes +suitably. Peter slipped the shillings unobtrusively into his own pocket. +With all his faults he was a strict man of business.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h3> + +<h2>ABOUT THE FEAST OF ST. GOOSE</h2> + + +<p>The cult of the goose, so far as it concerns Tavistock Fair, is +gastronomic entirely, and has no religious significance. At dedication +festivals of a church some particular saint is flattered with +decorations and services, and his existence upon this world at one time +is taken for granted. In certain places a few bones are produced for the +edification of the faithful, and advertised as the great toe or the jaw +of the patron in question. Goose bones are displayed at the "gurt vair" +in lieu of the living creature, and they are unmistakably genuine, for +there is plenty of sound meat upon them. St. Goose is honoured with the +fun of the fair, while he himself is offered up on a charger. The +congregation of countryfolk devour their canonised bird, and wash him +down with beer and cider. There is not a living goose to be seen about +the town, but the atmosphere of the principal street is thick and +fragrant with sage and onions.</p> + +<p>Peter and Mary trod the wide roads as delicately as large boots could, +feeling far too nervous to enjoy themselves. Peter would not enter into +the pleasure of the fair until he had swallowed several stimulating +pints, and even Mary was willing to take a little cordial for the sake +of her nerves. It was not so much the noises which disconcerted +her—there was plenty of howling wind and roaring water down Tavy +Cleave—as their unaccustomed nature. She was not used to steam +roundabouts, megaphones, and all the drums and shoutings of the showmen. +When Peter proposed an aërial trip upon wooden horses, Mary moved an +amendment in favour of light refreshment. Peter could not object to a +suggestion so full of sense, so they passed beside the statue of Francis +Drake, crossed the road, and were getting clear of the crowd, when a +familiar laugh reached their ears, and Mary saw a fresh and happy pair +of youngsters. Boodles and Aubrey, in high spirits and good health, +laughing at everything merely because they were together for a good long +day. Boodles had never looked nicer. West-country beauty is nothing but +fair hair and tinted skin; but Boodles was all glorious just then. She +was a flame rather than a flower. Her hair had never looked so radiant, +or her skin more golden. She was as happy as she could be; and when a +girl is like that she has to look splendid, whether she likes it or no.</p> + +<p>Mary was soon after her, bellowing like a bullock, lunging with the +umbrella, shouting! "Aw, Miss Boodles! Aw, my dear! I be come to the +vair tu. Me and Peter has come to Goosie Vair. Where be ye going, my +dear?"</p> + +<p>Boodles turned with a look of amazement. She had her flaming hair up, +beneath a big straw hat which was trimmed with poppies, and her dainty +frock just touched her ankles. She looked so deliciously clean that Mary +hardly liked to come near her, and she smelt, not like a chemist's shop, +but like the sweet earth after a shower. Mary drew her right hand +swiftly across her big tongue, rubbed the palm upon her buttock, and +held it out. She always shook hands with Boodles whenever they met. She +felt that the civilising contact lent her some of the womanhood which +nature had withheld.</p> + +<p>"It's so jolly!" cried the child. "Such a lovely day, and everything +perfect. I'm glad you have come—and Peter too! Aubrey, this is Mary who +gives us eggs and butter. She and Peter live upon Tavy Cleave. You +know!"</p> + +<p>Mary cleansed her right hand again.</p> + +<p>"Why, Where's Peter?" cried Boodles.</p> + +<p>Peter was already across the road, following his little turned-up nose +in the direction of a door which suggested pewters.</p> + +<p>"He'm thirsty," explained Mary.</p> + +<p>"Poor Peter!" laughed Boodles. "You must look after him, Mary. Don't +bring him home staggery."</p> + +<p>Mary was not listening. Of course Peter would go home staggery. It was +the proper thing to do. How could a man be said to enjoy a fair if he +went home sober? Mary was regarding the young man. She was able to +reason with a good deal of clearness sometimes. It was not easy to +believe that the title <i>man</i> included beings So far apart as Aubrey and +her brother, just as she found it hard to understand how the word +<i>woman</i> could serve for Boodles and herself.</p> + +<p>"Bain't he a proper young gentleman?" she exclaimed. "A main cruel +butiful young gentleman. Aw ees, my dear! I'd like to kiss a gentleman +like yew."</p> + +<p>Mary had not felt so womanly for a long time. She comprehended there was +something in life beyond breeding geese, and cleaning turnips, and +bringing the furze-reek home; something that was not for her, because +she was too much of a man to be a woman.</p> + +<p>Their answering laughter did not upset her, although it was in a way +expressive of the truth that there could never be any pleasant gilt upon +her gingerbread.</p> + +<p>"It wouldn't do here. Rather too public," said the boy, with a sly look +in his blue eyes, squeezing his sweetheart's fingers as he spoke.</p> + +<p>Boodles had flushed with pleasure. She would rather have heard Aubrey +praised than be praised herself. She was quite right when she had +declared Aubrey was the prettiest boy ever made. It was obvious even to +poor old wooden-faced half-man Mary.</p> + +<p>Boodles and Aubrey hurried on, representatives of fun and laughter, +which were otherwise somewhat wanting. It was too early in the day for +excitement. The countryfolk were not yet warmed up; they were reserved, +and took the holiday seriously; hanging about the streets with a lost +expression, unwilling to change their shillings into pence, oppressed +with the idea that it would be necessary soon to enjoy themselves, +studiously avoiding the pleasure-ground in order that they might cling +to their cash a little longer, and quite content to look on and listen, +and welcome acquaintances with prolonged handshakes. The spending of the +first penny was difficult; the rest would be easy. There were some who +had not a penny to spend, and even they would be happy when the +temperature went up. A poor plain girl from some remote village will +stand in a puddle all day, and declare when she gets home she has never +enjoyed herself so much in her life. It is a sufficient pleasure, for +those who live in lonely places, to stand at a corner and stare at a +rollicking crowd for a few hours.</p> + +<p>There was the fair within the town, and the fair without. That within +was beside the Tavy and among the ruins of the Abbey; that without was +also beside the Tavy, but upon the opposite bank. There was also the +business-fair, where beasts were bargained for: ponies, bullocks, pigs, +sheep, everything except geese. It was a festival which would have +delighted the hearts of Abbot Cullyng's gay monks, who, it is recorded, +wore secular garments about the town, divided their time between hunting +the deer on Dartmoor and holding drunken suppers in their cells, and +cared not at all for religious discipline or black-lettered tomes. Part +of the fair is held upon the former site of those monastic buildings, +and the ruin of Betsey Grimbal's tower looks down upon more honest +pleasures from what was once the Abbey garden. The foundation was +despoiled of its gold and silver images, and the drones were smoked out +of their nest, centuries ago, and what was their refectory is now by the +irony of fate a Unitarian chapel; and St. Goose has become a greater +saint than St. Rumon, who was claimed as a bishop of renown by his +Church, although secular history suggests no such gentleman ever lived.</p> + +<p>Certain objects were against the railings of the church, objects neither +beautiful nor necessary; Brightly and his mongrel, hungry and +business-like as ever. They occupied very little space, and yet they +were in the way, principally because they were not pleasant to look +upon, being rather like heaps of refuse which the street-cleaners had +overlooked. Brightly was not there for the fun of the thing. He did not +know the meaning of such words as holiday and pleasure. Had any one +given him five shillings, and told him to go and enjoy himself, he would +not have known what to do. Both he and Ju were thinner, though that was +only interesting as a physiological fact. Brightly held up his +ridiculous head and sniffed continually. Ju did the same. The atmosphere +was redolent of sage and onions; and they were trying to feed upon it.</p> + +<p>"Trade be cruel dull," muttered Brightly.</p> + +<p>Ju did not acknowledge the remark. She had heard it so often, or words +to the same effect, that she deemed it unnecessary to respond with a +tail-wag. Besides, that sort of thing required energy, and Ju had none +to spare. She was wondering, if she followed up that wonderful odour, +whether she would obtain gratuitous goose at the other end.</p> + +<p>"Tie-clips, penny each. Dree for duppence. Butiful pipes, two a penny," +sang Brightly; but his miserable voice was drowned by the roundabouts +and megaphones.</p> + +<p>Brightly was celebrating the general holiday by exchanging one form of +labour for another. It would have been useless to follow his usual +calling of purveyor of rabbit-skins that day, so he had become for the +time being a general merchant. He had obtained a trayful of small goods +on credit. Brightly had one fault, a grave one in business; he was +honest. So far he had sold nothing. He was merely demonstrating the +marvellous purchasing powers of a penny. It never occurred to him that +he was opposing his miserable little trayful of rubbish to all the +booths and pleasures of the great fair. Tie-clips and clay-pipes were +all he had to offer in competition with attractions which had delighted +kings and princes, if the honesty of the showmen could be accepted as +advertised. Even the fat woman admitted that royal personages had +pinched her legs. If Brightly had followed the fat lady's example, and +declared in a loud enough voice that autocrats smoked nothing but his +clay-pipes, and kept their decorations in place with his tie-clips, he +might have acquired many pennies.</p> + +<p>Above the town, where the cattle-fair was in full swing, various hawkers +had established themselves; men who looked as if they had been made out +of metal, with faces of copper and tongues of brass. One man was giving +away gold rings, and if a recipient was not satisfied he threw in a +silver watch as well. He couldn't explain why he did such things. It was +his evil fate to have been born a philanthropist. He owned he had come +to the fair with the idea of selling his goods; but when he found +himself among so many happy, smiling people, fine young men, beautiful +girls, dear old folks who reminded him of his own parents, all making +holiday and enjoying themselves, with the sun shining and Nature at her +best, he felt totally unable to restrain his benevolence. He couldn't +take their money. It was weak and foolish of him, he knew, but he had to +give them the rings and watches, which, as they could see for +themselves, had cost him pounds, shillings, and pence, because he wanted +to send them home happy. His only idea was to give them a little present +so that they would remember him, and tell their friends what a simple +and generous creature they had encountered at the fair. So he flowed on, +with an eloquence which any missionary would have envied. And then he +produced a black bag, and said he wished to draw their attention to +something which he must really ask them to buy, not because he wanted +their money, but because he knew that people never really valued a thing +unless they gave something for it. It was a fatal thing, this +philanthropy, but it made him happy to be kind to others. Out of the bag +came some more rubbish, and the rascal was soon doing a roaring trade. +What chance had Brightly against a metallic creature like that?</p> + +<p>Higher up the road another gentleman established himself. He was well +dressed, his mottled hands were gleaming with immense rings, and his +clean-shaven face was as red as rhubarb. He assumed an academic cap and +gown, casually informing those who gathered around that he was entitled +to do so, as he was not only a man of gentle birth, but a graduate of +"one of our oldest universities," and a duly qualified physician also. +He stated with emphasis, and a slight touch of cynicism, that he was no +philanthropist. He belonged to an overcrowded profession; he had no +settled practice; and knowing how unwilling country-people were to come +to a medical man until they had to, when it was usually too late, and +knowing also how grievously afflicted many of them were with divers +diseases, he had decided to come out by the wayside and heal them. It +was entirely a matter of business. He was going to cure them of a number +of ailments which they were harbouring unawares, and they would pay him +a trifling sum in return. He wasn't going to give anything away. He +couldn't afford to be generous. He begged the people not to crowd about +him so closely, as there was plenty of time, and he would undertake to +attend to every one.</p> + +<p>This man ought to have been a genius, if he hadn't been a rogue. He went +on to warn his listeners against quack doctors and patent medicines. +They were all frauds, he assured them, and he described in homely +language how he had often restored some poor sufferer whose health had +been undermined by the mischievous attentions of unqualified impostors. +He took a small boy, set him in the midst, and in flowing phrase +explained his internal structure. It was the liver which was the origin +of disease among men; liver, which caused women to faint, and men to +feel run down. Heart disease, consumption, eczema, cold feet, red nose, +and a craving for liquor were all caused by an unhealthy liver, and were +so many different names for the same disease. So far nobody but himself +had discovered any safe cure for the liver. There were a thousand +remedies mentioned in the <i>British Encyclopædia</i>—possibly he meant +pharmacopoeia—but not a genuine medicine among them. He had devoted his +life and fortune to discovering a remedy, and he had discovered it; and +his listeners should be allowed to benefit by it; for it needed but a +glance at their faces to convince him that the liver of every man and +woman in that circle was grievously out of order.</p> + +<p>At that moment Peter and Mary came up, considerably elevated, and gazed +with immense satisfaction at the figure in cap and gown, Mary exclaiming +in her noisy way: "Aw, Peter! 'Tis a preacher."</p> + +<p>The quack wiped his hands and face with a silk handkerchief, opened a +bag, and producing a small green bottle half full of grimy pellets, +continued solemnly; "The result of a life devoted to medical studies, my +friends. The one and only liver cure. The triumph of the human +intellect; more wonderful than the Pyramids of America; long life and +happiness in a small bottle; and the price only one shilling."</p> + +<p>There was not much demand at first for long life and happiness in bottle +form. The listeners had come to Goose Fair to enjoy themselves, not to +buy pills. They were all obviously as healthy as wayside weeds. But the +artful rogue had only been playing with them so far. He made his living +by the gift of a tongue, and so far he had not used it. The time had +come for him to terrify them. He removed his cap, threw his shoulders +back and his arms out, and lectured them furiously; telling them they +were dying, not merely ill, but hovering every one of them on the brink +of the grave; that tan of health upon their faces was a deception; it +was actually a fatal symptom, a sign of physical degeneracy, a herald of +bodily impotence. They were all suffering from liver in some shape or +form, and with the majority, he feared, the disease was already too far +advanced to be arrested by any treatment, except one only—the little +green bottle of pills, which might be theirs for one shilling. He choked +them with eloquence for ten minutes, frightening, converting, and making +them feel horribly ill. He was irresistible, especially when he spoke +with pathos of his devotion for his fellow-creatures, and his pain when +he saw them suffering. That man would have made an ideal preacher, if he +had known how to speak the truth.</p> + +<p>Mary listened open-mouthed. A bee flew in, and she spat it out and +gasped. For the first time in her life she realised she was in a state +of delicate health.</p> + +<p>The quack advanced to Peter, who was looking particularly despondent, +being fully persuaded he had not long to live, and with a grave shake of +the head punched him in the body. "Does that hurt?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Cruel," said Peter.</p> + +<p>"Enlarged liver, my friend," said the rogue. "It is not too late to save +the patient if he takes the remedy at once. Let me tell you how you +feel," and he went on to describe a condition of ill-health, which most +of his other hearers felt coming upon themselves also under the potent +influence of mere suggestion.</p> + +<p>"Du'ye feel like that, Peter?" demanded Mary with great anxiety.</p> + +<p>"I du," said Peter miserably.</p> + +<p>"So du I," declared Mary. "I feels tired when I goes to bed, just like +he ses."</p> + +<p>"Better have three bottles each," said the friend of mankind. "One +arrests the disease, three remove it."</p> + +<p>That would have meant six shillings, which of course was not to be +thought of. Even ill-health was to be preferred to such an expenditure. +As Peter reminded his sister, he could almost bury her for that sum. +Finally they bought one bottle of pellets. Not even the quack's +conviction that Mary was suffering from an undue secretion of bile could +persuade them to purchase more. The rogue collected a pound's worth of +silver from the circle, and went on his way to capture a fresh lot of +gulls; and so the dishonesty and fun of the fair went on side by side; +while there was half-blind Brightly, squeezing against the railings of +the church, with his ridiculous honesty, and his trayful of pipes and +tie-clips which never grew less. Honesty is a money-making policy in the +land of Utopia, but not elsewhere; and Utopia means nowhere. +Christianity has been preached for nearly two thousand years, and still +the man is a fool who leaves his silver-mounted stick outside the door.</p> + +<p>The next thing was luncheon, as elegant folk have it; or a proper old +guzzle, according to Peter. The savages had made up their minds to do +the fair properly, and eating was certainly a chief item of the +programme. Savoury goose, with plenty of sage and onions, was the dish +of the day. Peter put the pills in his pocket, and forgot that his liver +was out of order, as Mary ignored the untruth that she suffered from +"too much oil." It was useless to try strange words upon her. While she +was eating that portion of goose appointed for the day she tried to make +her brother explain how the oil had got into her system, but Peter was +much too busy to answer. He was guzzling like a monkey, with his face in +the plate, half choking in his hurry, gulping, perspiring, gasping with +sheer greediness, and splashing in the rich gravy very much as the goose +he was feeding on had once flopped through some moorland bog.</p> + +<p>Boodles and Aubrey went to the Queen's Hotel for their goose dinner; a +place where good English fare may still be seen and eaten. Boodles had +witnessed the pleasure-fair only, the gay and noisy side of things, and +though the debased faces of some of the booth proprietors had alarmed +her at first, she had seen nothing actually nasty. Cruelty was not +there, or at least it had been out of sight. She did not go upon the +other side, where the rogues foregathered, and where beasts were bought +and sold; where sheep were penned in a mass of filth, with their mouths +open, tasting nothing but heat and dust; where ponies were driven from +side to side, half mad with fright, while drovers with faces like a +nightmare yelled and waved their hats at them, and brought their cudgels +down like hammers upon their sweating flanks; where calves, with big +patient eyes protruding with pain and terror, were driven through the +crowd by a process of tail-twisting; where fowls were stuffed in crates +and placed in the full heat of the sun; and stupid little pigs were +kicked on their heads to make them sensible. Boodles saw nothing of +that, and it was just as well, for it might have spoilt her day, and +have reminded her that, for some cause unexplained, the dominant note of +all things is cruelty; from the height of the unknown God, who gives His +beings a short life and scourges them through it, to the depth of the +invisible mite who rends a still smaller mite in pieces. Living +creatures were placed in the world, it is said, to perform the duty of +reproducing their species. It seems as reasonable to suggest that their +duty is to stamp out some other species; for the instinct of destruction +is at least as strong as the instinct of reproduction, making the world +a cold place often for the tender-hearted.</p> + +<p>It was not a cold place for Boodles that day, because she was in a happy +state of love and ignorance. She was not worrying herself about Nature, +who vivisects most people under the base old plea of physiological +research. She and Aubrey went up a sage-and-onion-scented street, into +the similarly perfumed hotel, up a flight of stairs fragrant with +stuffing, and into a long room, to find themselves in a temple of +feasting, with incense to St. Goose streaming upward, and two score +famished and rather ill-bred folk licking their lips ostentatiously and +casting savage glances at the knives and forks.</p> + +<p>Everything was on the grand scale. It was just such a meal as the +eighteenth-century post-houses gave passengers on the road before +railways had come to ruin appetites. It was a true Hogarthian dinner; +not a meal to approach with a pingling stomach; not a matter of "a +ragout of fatted snails and a chicken not two hours from the shell"; but +mighty geese, and a piece of beef as big as a Dartmoor tor—the lusty +cook's knees bowed as he staggered in with it—mounds of vegetables, +pyramids of dumplings, gravy enough to float a fishing-smack, and beer +and cider sufficient to bathe in. The diners were in complete sympathy +with the vastness of the feast, being mostly from ravenous Dartmoor. A +beefy farmer was voted to the chair, and carved until perspiration +trickled down his nose. A gentleman of severe appearance insisted upon +saying grace, but nobody took any notice. They were too busy sniffing, +and one who had been already helped was making strange noises with his +lips and throat. Boodles was laughing at his manners, and pinching +Aubrey's hand. "Such fun," she whispered.</p> + +<p>"Ladies first," cried the carver.</p> + +<p>"Quite right," gasped the man who had been served first, having snatched +the plate from the waiter as he was about to pass him. Then he gaped and +admitted an entire dumpling, nearly as big as a cricket-ball, and had +nothing else to say, except "Bit more o' that stuffing," for ten +minutes.</p> + +<p>"What am I to do with it?" sighed Boodles, when the heaped plate was set +in front of her.</p> + +<p>"Eat 'en, my dear!" said a commoner, who was wolfing bread until his +time came. "'Tis Goosie Vair," he added encouragingly.</p> + +<p>"Take it, Aubrey," she said, with a slight titter.</p> + +<p>"Go ahead," he replied. "Eat what you can, and leave the rest."</p> + +<p>"I wish we were alone," she whispered. "These people are pigs."</p> + +<p>Had they been alone they would probably have fed off the same plate, and +given each other kisses between every mouthful. As it was they could do +nothing, except play with each other's feet beneath the table. Everybody +else was hard at work. Faces were swollen on every side, and the sounds +were more suggestive of a farmyard at feeding time than a party of +immortal beings taking a little refreshment. There was no conversation. +All that had been done during the time of waiting. "'Tis a butiful day, +sure enough," and "A proper fine vair," had exhausted the topics. +Boodles was rather too severe when she called the feasters pigs, but +they were not pleasant to watch, and they seemed to have lost the divine +spark somehow. Philosophers might have wondered whether the species was +worth reproducing.</p> + +<p>The young people soon left the table, and a couple very differently +constituted pressed themselves into the vacant places. The others were +not half satisfied. Some of them would stuff to the verge of apoplexy, +then roll down-stairs, and swill whisky-and-water by the tumblerful. It +was holiday; a time of over-eating and over-drinking. They had little +self-control. They unbuttoned their clothes at table, and wiped their +streaming faces with the cloth.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad we went to goose dinner, but I shouldn't go again. It was +gorging, not eating," said Boodles, as they went along the street.</p> + +<p>"Let's go and see the living pictures," said Aubrey.</p> + +<p>"But we've seen them."</p> + +<p>"We'll go again. Perhaps they will turn on a fresh lot."</p> + +<p>They liked the living pictures, because the lights were turned down, and +they could snuggle together like two kittens and bite each other's +fingers.</p> + +<p>"Then we'll go for a walk—our walk. But no," sighed Boodles; "we can't. +It will be time for the ordeal."</p> + +<p>The fairy-tale was getting on. Ogre time had come. Boodles was to go and +drink tea with her boy's parents.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps we can go our walk later on."</p> + +<p>"It won't be a real day if we don't," said she.</p> + +<p>"Our walk" was beside the Tavy, where they had kissed as babies, and +loved to wander now that they were children. They thought they were +grown up, but that was absurd. People who are in love remain as they +were, and never grow up until some one opens the window and lets the +cold wind in. "Our walk" was fairyland; a strange and pleasant place +after goose dinner and Goose Fair.</p> + +<p>Brightly was against the railings, and had done no business, although +the day was far spent. There was no demand for tie-clips or clay-pipes. +Somebody was playing the organ in the church, and Brightly had that +music for his dinner. Everybody seemed to be doing well, and he was the +one miserable exception. He put up his sharp face, and chirped +pathetically: "Wun't ye buy 'em, gentlemen? Tie-clips, penny each. Dree +for duppence. Butiful pipes, brave and shiny, two a penny."</p> + +<p>The roundabout over the way was taking pennies by the bushel; but the +roundabout supplied a demand, and Brightly did not. A fat be-ribboned +dog passed and snapped at Ju. She took it patiently, having learnt the +lesson from her master. Then two young people swept round, and one of +them collided with Brightly, and almost knocked his thin figure through +the railings.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon," said a bright young voice. "I hope I didn't hurt +you."</p> + +<p>"You'm welcome, sir," said Brightly, wondering what on earth the young +gentleman was apologising for.</p> + +<p>"Why, it's the man with the rabbit-skins. What does he do with them? Now +he's selling pipes. Aubrey, I'm going to buy some. Oh, look at the poor +little dog! How it shivers! What is the matter with it?"</p> + +<p>"She'm hungry," explained Brightly.</p> + +<p>"You look as if you were hungry too," said Aubrey with boyish candour.</p> + +<p>"I be a bit mazed like, sir," admitted Brightly.</p> + +<p>"I want some pipes, please—a lot. Don't laugh, Aubrey," said Boodles, +looking down on the tray, with moisture in each eye and a frown on her +forehead. She had no money to spare, poor child, only a threepenny-bit +and four coppers; but she would have parted with the lot to feed the +hungry had not Aubrey taken and restrained her charitable little hand.</p> + +<p>"Give him this," he whispered.</p> + +<p>"Feed the little dog," said Boodles, as she gave Brightly the coin, +which was half-a-crown, as white and big, it seemed to Brightly, as the +moon itself. Then they went on, while Brightly was left to see visions +and to dream. He called out to tell them they had taken neither pipes +nor tie-clips, but his asthmatic voice was drowned as usual by the +noises of the fair, and it was quite a different set of faces and +figures that went before him. He picked Ju up, tucked her under his arm, +and shuffled away to buy food. He had seen the girl's face with pity on +it through his big glasses, only dimly, but it was enough to show him +what she was; something out of the church window, or out of the big +black book they read from, the book that rested upon the wings of a +golden goose, or perhaps she had come from the wonderful restaurant +called Jerusalem just to show him and Ju there was somewhere or other, +either in Palestine or above Dartmoor, some very superior Duke of +Cornwall who took a kindly interest in worms, himself, and other +creeping things. Brightly stopped, oblivious to holiday-makers, and +tried to think of Boodles' name. He found it just as he reached the +place where he could obtain a royal meal of scraps for threepence. +"Her's a reverent angel, Ju," he whispered.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Beyond the bridge, which crossed the Tavy near the entrance to the field +where the main pleasure-fair was making noises curiously suggestive of a +savage war-dance, Thomasine walked slowly to and fro. She had been doing +that ever since eleven o'clock, varying the occupation by standing still +for an hour or so gazing with patient cow's eyes along the road. +Pendoggat had promised to meet her there, and treat her to all the fun +of the fair. He had told her not to move from that spot until he +arrived, and she had to be obedient. She had been waiting four hours in +her best clothes, sometimes shaking the dust from her new petticoat, or +wiping her eyes with her Sunday handkerchief, but never going beyond the +bridge or venturing into the fair-field. One or two young men had +accosted her, but she had told them in a frightened way she was waiting +for a gentleman. She had seen her former young man. Will Pugsley, pass +with a new sweetheart upon his arm; and although Thomasine was unable to +reason she was able to feel miserable. Pendoggat was upon the other +side, kicking a calf he had purchased along the road, enjoying himself +after his own manner. He had forgotten all about Thomasine, and all that +his promise and the holiday meant to her. Besides, Annie Crocker was +with him like a sort of burr, clinging wherever he went, and not to be +easily shaken off; and she too wanted to be in the fair-field; only, as +she kept on reminding him, it was no place for a decent woman alone, and +she couldn't go unless he took her. To which Pendoggat replied that she +wasn't a decent woman, and if she had been nobody would want to speak to +her. They swore at each other in a subdued fashion whenever they found +themselves in a quiet corner.</p> + +<p>"Come on, my love! Come along wi' I, and have a ride on the whirligig," +shouted a drunken soldier with a big wart on his nose, staggering up to +Thomasine, and grabbing at her arm. The girl trembled, but allowed the +soldier to catch hold of her, because she did not know she had a legal +right to resist. After all this was a form of courtship, though it was +rather rough and sudden. Like many girls of her class Thomasine did not +see anything strange in being embraced by a man before she knew what his +name was. The soldier dragged her to the parapet of the bridge and +kissed her savagely, heedless of the passers-by. Then he began to take +her to the fair-ground, swearing at her when she hung back.</p> + +<p>"I've got to bide here," she pleaded. "I'm waiting for a gentleman."</p> + +<p>The drunken soldier declared he would smash the gentleman, or any one +else, who tried to take his prize from him; but he proved to be a man +whose words were mightier than his deeds, for when he saw a big +policeman approaching with a question in his eye he abandoned Thomasine +and fled. The girl dusted her clothes in a patient fashion and went on +waiting.</p> + +<p>The next local excitement was the arrival of Peter and Mary in a kind of +whirlwind, both of them well warmed with excitement and Plymouth gin. +Thomasine nodded to them, but they did not see her. Mary had been buying +flower-seeds for her garden, a whole packet of sweet-peas and some +mignonette. Peter had objected to such folly when he discovered that the +produce would not be edible. Their garden was small, and they could not +waste good soil for the purpose of growing useless flowers. But Mary was +always insisting upon being as civilised as she could. "Miss Boodles du +grow a brave lot o' flowers in her garden, and she'm a proper young +lady," she said. Mary knew she could not become a proper lady, but she +might do her best by trying to grow "a brave lot o' flowers" in her +garden.</p> + +<p>Later Thomasine saw Boodles and Aubrey pass over the bridge, walking +solemnly for the first time that day. The little girl was about to be +tried by ordeal, and she was getting anxious about her personal +appearance. Her shoes were so dusty, and there was a tiny hole in her +stocking right over her ankle, and her face was hot, and her hat was +crooked. "You did it, Aubrey," she said. She wasn't looking at all nice, +and her hair was tumbling, and threatening to be down her back any +moment. "And I'm only seventeen, Aubrey. I know they'll hate me."</p> + +<p>They went up the hill among the green trees; and beneath the wall, where +nobody could see them, Aubrey dusted his sweetheart's shoes, and put her +hat straight, and guided her hands to where hairpins were breaking loose +from the radiant head, and told her she was sweetness itself down to the +smallest freckle. "Well, if they are not nice I shall say I'm only a +baby and can't help it. And then you must say it was all your fault, +because you came and kissed me with your pretty girl's face and made me +love it."</p> + +<p>Thomasine watched Boodles as she went out of sight, trying to think, but +not succeeding. She regarded Boodles as a young lady, a being made like +herself, and belonging to her species, and yet as different from her as +Pendoggat was different from old Weevil. Boodles could talk, and +Thomasine could not; Boodles could walk prettily, while she could only +slouch; Boodles adorned her clothes, while she could only hang them upon +her in a misfitting kind of way. The life of the soul was in the eyes of +Boodles; the life of the body in Thomasine's. It was all the difference +between the rare bird which is costly, and the common one which any one +may capture, had Thomasine known it. She knew nothing except that she +was totally unlike the little girl of the radiant head. She did not know +how debased she was, how utterly ignorant, and how vilely cheap. She had +been accustomed to put a low price upon herself, because the market was +overstocked with girls as debased, ignorant, and cheap, as herself; +girls who might have been feminine, but had missed it somehow; girls +whose bodies cost twopence, and whose souls a brass ring.</p> + +<p>The Bellamies had a pretty home on the hill above Tavistock overlooking +the moor. There was a verandah in front where every fine evening the +mistress sat to watch the tors melting in the sunset. She and her +husband were both artistic. Aubrey might have been said to be a proof of +it. Tea was set out upon the verandah, where Mr. Bellamie was frowning +at the crude noises of the fair, while his wife observed the old fashion +of "mothering" the cups. They were a fragile couple, and everything +about them seemed to suggest egg-shell porcelain—their faces, their +furniture, and even the flowers in their garden. It was useless to look +for passion there. It would have broken them as boiling water breaks a +glass. They never lost their self-control. When they were angry they +spoke and acted very much as they did when they were pleased.</p> + +<p>"Here is the little girl," said Mr. Bellamie in his gentle way. "The red +poppies in her hat go well with her hair. Did you see her turn then? A +good deal of natural grace there. She does not offend at present. It is +a pretty picture, I think."</p> + +<p>"Beauty and love—like his name. He is always a pretty picture," +murmured the lady, looking at her son. "I wish he would not wear that +red tie."</p> + +<p>"It suits on this occasion, with her strong colour. She is quite +artistic. The only fault is that she knocks her ankles together while +walking. That is said, though I know not why, to be a sign of innocence. +She is Titianesque, a combination of rich surface with splendid tints. +Not at all unfinished. Not in the least crude."</p> + +<p>"Mother, here she is!" cried Aubrey, "I had to drag her up the hill. She +is so shy."</p> + +<p>"It's not true," said Boodles. She advanced to Mrs. Bellamie, her golden +lashes drooping. Then she put up her mouth quite naturally, her eyes +asking to be kissed; and it was done so tastefully that the lady +complied, and said: "I have wanted to see you for a long time."</p> + +<p>"A soft voice," murmured Mr. Bellamie. "I was afraid with that colour it +might be loud."</p> + +<p>"They are very young. It will not last," said the lady to herself. "But +she will not do Aubrey any harm."</p> + +<p>Boodles was soon talking in her pretty sing-song voice, describing all +their fun, and saying what a jolly day it had been, and how nice it was +to have Aubrey at home, and she hoped he would never be away for so long +again, until Mr. Bellamie roused himself and began to question her. The +child had to describe Lewside Cottage and her quiet dull life; and it +came out gradually—for Boodles was perfectly honest—how poor they +were, and the respectable Bellamies were shocked to hear of the numerous +housekeeping difficulties, and the limited number of the little girl's +frocks, and what was still worse, the fact that old Weevil was no +relation; until Mr. Bellamie began to fear that things were getting +inartistic, and his fragile wife asked gently whether the child's +parents were still living.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said Boodles, flushing painfully because she felt +somehow she had done wrong.</p> + +<p>Aubrey could not stand that. He jumped up and tried to choke his +sweetheart with small cakes, while Mr. Bellamie began to examine her +concerning her favourite pictures, and found she hadn't any, as she had +not been east of Exeter, and knew nothing whatever about the big town, +which is chiefly in Middlesex and Surrey, and partly in most of the +other counties. Mr. Bellamie was rather upset. No girl could be really +artistic if she had not seen the picture galleries. He began to feel +that it would be necessary either to check Aubrey's amorous propensities +or to divert them into some more artistic channel. Mrs. Bellamie had +already arrived at much the same conclusion. Girls who know nothing of +their parents could not possibly be well-bred, and might easily become a +source of danger to those who were. Aubrey, of course, was not of their +opinion. While his father was weighing Boodles in the æsthetic balance +and finding her wanting, he went round to his mother, passed his arm +about her neck, and whispered fervently: "Isn't she sweet? I may get her +a ring, mother, mayn't I?"</p> + +<p>"Don't be foolish, Aubrey," she whispered back. "You are only children."</p> + +<p>They went soon afterwards, but not back to the fair, which was beginning +to be marred by the drunkard and his language; they went into the very +different atmosphere of Tavy woods; and there picked up the thread of +the story, with the trees and the kind weather about them. But it was +not the same somehow. Boodles had been to the gate of Castle Dolorous, +had looked inside, and thought she had seen the skulls and bones of the +young men and maidens, who had wandered in the woods to hear +nightingales and pick the tender grapes of passion, but had been caught +instead by the ogre, that he might trim his mantle with their hearts. +She began at last to wonder whether it could be a sin to have no +recognised parents and no name. Even the mongrel can be faithful, and +the hybrid flower beautiful; and in their way they are natural, and for +themselves they are loved. But they have no names of their own. The +plant may cast back in its seed to the weed stage, and the owner of the +mongrel may grow ashamed of it at last. Such a splendid name as Bellamie +could hardly be hyphened with a blank. Still Boodles was very young, +only a baby, as she said; and she soon forgot the ogre; and they went +down by the river and smeared their kisses with ripe blackberries.</p> + +<p>Aubrey's parents strolled in their garden, and agreed that Miss Weevil's +head was perfect. They also agreed that the boy had better fall in love +with some one else.</p> + +<p>"He is so constant. It is what I love in him," said the mother. "He has +been devoted to the child always, and now that he is approaching the age +when boys do foolish things without consulting their parents, he loves +her more than ever. I thought the last time he went away he would come +back cured. What a nose she has!"</p> + +<p>"She is a perfect Romney," said, her husband.</p> + +<p>"I don't believe she knows her name. Boodles, she told me, means +beautiful, and her foster-father is called Weevil. Boodles Weevil does +not go at all with Aubrey Bellamie," said the lady.</p> + +<p>The fragile gentleman agreed that the girl's name violated every canon +of art. "If Aubrey will not give her up—" he began, breaking off a twig +which threatened to mar the symmetry of the border.</p> + +<p>"I shall not influence him. It is foolish to oppose young people. Leave +them alone, and they usually get tired of each other as they get older. +She is a good child. Aubrey is perfectly safe. He may go about with her +as much as he likes, but we must see he does not run off with her and +marry her."</p> + +<p>"We had better find out everything that is to be known," said Mr. +Bellamie. "I will go and see this old Weevil. He may be a fine old +gentleman with a Rembrandt head for all we know. She may be well-born, +only it is remarkable that she remembers nothing about her parents. She +would be a daughter to be proud of, if she had studied art. She offended +slightly in the matter of drapery. I noticed a hole in her stocking, but +it might have been caused during the day."</p> + +<p>"You did not kiss her, I think?" said his wife quickly.</p> + +<p>"No, certainly not," came the answer.</p> + +<p>"I don't want you to. Her mouth is pretty."</p> + +<p>"We must go in," said Mr. Bellamie decisively. "They are beginning to +light up the fair. How horribly inartistic it all is!"</p> + +<p>Peter and Mary were being pushed about in the crowd below, still +enjoying themselves, although somewhat past riding on wooden horses, for +Mary was stupid and Peter was sleepy and absent-minded. They had +followed custom and done the fair thoroughly, and had not forgotten the +liquor. It was an unusual thing for Mary to have a head like a swing and +a body like a roundabout, but Peter was used to it. He had been throwing +at cocoa-nuts, without hitting anything except a man's knee; and for +some time he had admired the ladies dancing in very short skirts to the +tune of a merry music-hall melody until Mary, who was terribly hampered +by her big umbrella, dragged him away from a spectacle so degrading. It +was time for them to return home. They got clear of the crowd, and set +their faces, as they supposed, towards the station.</p> + +<p>Thomasine was upon the bridge no longer. She had been joined by Will +Pugsley, who had lost sight of his new sweetheart, as they had managed +to drift apart in the crowd, and were not likely to meet again. She had +probably been picked up by some one and would be perfectly happy with +her new partner. Thomasine went off with young Pugsley, and it was only +in the natural order of things that she should meet Pendoggat at last, +not alone, but accompanied by Annie Crocker. It was unfortunate for +Thomasine that she should have Pugsley's arm round her waist, although +it was not her fault, as he had placed it there, and she supposed her +waist had been made for that sort of thing. It was impossible to tell +whether Pendoggat had seen her, as he never looked at any one. It was +not a happy holiday for Thomasine, although she did go home between +Pugsley and another drunken man, a young friend of his, who ought to +have made her feel common, had she been capable of self-examination.</p> + +<p>It was at the bridge that Peter and Mary went wrong. They ought to have +crossed it, only they were so confused they hardly knew what they were +doing. It was another bridge of sighs. Lovers, who had probably met for +the first time that day, were embracing upon it; and a couple of young +soldiers were outraging the clear water of the Tavy by being sick over +the parapet. Peter and Mary stumbled on, found themselves in darkness +and a lonely road, and soon began to wonder what had become of the town +and the station. They had no idea they were walking straight away from +Tavistock in the direction of Yelverton.</p> + +<p>"Here us be!" cried Mary at length. "A lot o' gals in white dresses +biding for the train. Us be in time."</p> + +<p>"There be hundreds and millions of 'em," said Peter sleepily.</p> + +<p>The road was very dark, but they could see a low wall, and upon the +other side what appeared to be a host of dim white figures waiting +patiently. They went up to a building and found an iron gate, but the +gate was locked, and the house was in darkness. It looked as if the last +train had gone, and the station was closed for the night.</p> + +<p>"Us mun climb the wall," said Mary. She began to shout at the girls in +the white dresses: "Open the gate, some of ye. Open the gate."</p> + +<p>There was no reply from the white figures; only the murmuring of the +river, and a dreary rustling of dry autumnal foliage. Peter rubbed his +eyes and stared, and put his little peg-nose over the wall.</p> + +<p>"It bain't the station," he muttered, with a violent belch. "It be a +gentleman's garden."</p> + +<p>"Aw, Peter, don't ye be so vulish. It be vull o' volks biding to go +home."</p> + +<p>They climbed the wall, far too sleepy and intoxicated to know they were +in the cemetery; and finding themselves upon soft grass they went to +sleep, using the mound of a young girl's grave for their bolster, adding +their drunken slumbers to the heavier sleep of those who Mary thought +were "biding to go home."</p> + +<p>About the middle of the night Peter awoke, much refreshed and less +absent-minded, and discovered the nature and the dampness of their +resting-place. The little man was not in the least dismayed. He aroused +Mary with his fist and facetious remarks. "Us be only lodgers. Us bain't +come to bide," he said cheerfully.</p> + +<p>Mary also saw the fun of the thing. It was a fitting climax to her +travelling experiences. Without being at all depressed by her +surroundings she said: "Aw, Peter! To think us be sleeping among the +corpses like." To the novelty of this experience was to be added the +fact that she had slept at last outside her native parish.</p> + +<p>They went back to Tavistock, to find the town at rest, and the fair dark +and silent. Returning to the house where they had eaten at midday, they +banged upon the door and shouted for sleeping accommodation, which was +at last provided. Peter felt a thrill of satisfaction when he +comprehended that he was putting up at what he was pleased to style an +hotel. While he was examining the furniture, the insecure bed, the chair +without a back, the cracked crockery, and all the other essentials of +the civilised bedroom, Mary began to shout violently—</p> + +<p>"Aw, Peter, du'ye come along and see the light! 'Tis a hot hair-pin in a +bottle on a bit o' rope, and yew turns 'en on and off wi' a tap like +cider."</p> + +<p>Peter had to admit that electric light was something startling. He +perceived that the same phenomenon occurred in his bedroom, and he was +at a loss to account for it. Mary's shouts had alarmed the young slut of +a maid who had introduced them to their rooms, and she hurried up to see +what was wrong, well accustomed, poor wench, to be on her feet most of +the day and night. She found Peter and Mary regarding their luminous +bottles with fear and amazement, not venturing to go too close lest some +evil should befall them.</p> + +<p>"Where be the oil?" asked Mary.</p> + +<p>The ignorant little wench said there wasn't any oil; at least she +thought not. She knew nothing about the light, except how to turn it on +and off. It had only been put into the house lately, and she confessed +it saved her a lot of work. She believed it was expensive, as her master +had told her not to waste it. A man had come in one day and hung the +little bottles in the rooms, and they had given light ever since when +they were wanted. They did not seem to wear out, and nothing was ever +put into them. Some telegraph-wires had been put about the house at the +same time, but she didn't know what they were for, as they did not +appear to have anything to do with the post-office. That was all the +little slut could tell them. She demonstrated how easy it was to turn +the light on and off. She plunged them into darkness, and restored them +to light. She couldn't tell them how it was done, but there was a big +barrel in the top attic, and perhaps the light was kept in that.</p> + +<p>Peter was unable to concur. He had recovered from his first +bewilderment, and his learning asserted itself. He considered that the +light was natural, like that of the sun. It was merely a matter of +imprisoning it within an air-tight bottle; but what he could not +understand was where the light went to when the tap was turned. This, +however, was nothing but a little engineering problem, which a certain +amount of application on his part would inevitably solve. He could make +clocks and watches; at least he thought he could, though he had never +tried; and the lighting of Ger Cottage with luminous bottles would, he +considered, be an undertaking quite within his powers.</p> + +<p>"Us wun't have no more lamps," he said. "Us will hang up thikky bottles. +Can us buy 'em?" he asked the little slut.</p> + +<p>"There be a shop where they sells 'em, bits o' rope and all. I seed 'em +in the window," said the girl.</p> + +<p>"Us will buy two or dree in the morning," declared Mary. "Can us hang +'em up, du'ye reckon, Peter?"</p> + +<p>Her brother replied that the task would be altogether beyond her; but it +was not likely to present any serious difficulties to him. He promised +to hang up one light-giving bottle in his own hut-circle, and another in +Mary's. She would pay for the fittings, and he would in return charge +her a reasonable sum for his services.</p> + +<p>The proprietor of the lodging-house made a poor bargain when he took in +Peter and Mary. They spent most of the remainder of the night turning +the wonderful light on and off, "like cider," as Mary said.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h3> + +<h2>ABOUT THE OCTAVE OF ST. GOOSE</h2> + + +<p>Things had gone wrong with Peter and Mary ever since the festival. +Excitement, Plymouth liquors, and ignorance were largely to blame for +the general "contrairiness" of things; but the root of the trouble lay +in the fact of their refusal to be decent savages; of Peter's claims to +be a handy man, and of Mary's desire to be civilised.</p> + +<p>Old Sal had last been seen wandering towards Helmen Barton; that was the +principal grievance. Others were the complete failure of Peter as an +electrical engineer; the discovery that nearly a pound's worth of +precious shillings had been dissipated at the fair in idle pleasures +alone; and the loss of a number of little packages containing such +things as tea, sugar, and rice, which Mary had bought in Tavistock and +placed, as she thought, in a position of safety. The pills and +flower-seeds had proved also a source of trouble. A bottle of almighty +pills had been thrust upon Peter for his liver's sake, and Mary had +later on acquired packets of sweet-peas and mignonette in order that her +garden might be made glorious.</p> + +<p>The loss of the groceries caused the first lamentation. Mary had a clear +recollection of buying them, or at least she remembered paying for them, +but beyond that memory did nothing for her. She had no impression of +walking about the streets with her arms full of packages; they were not +in her pocket, nor had they ever been in Peter's; she could not have +left them in the shop; she was ready to swear she had not dropped them. +The only possible conclusion was that the pixies had stolen them. Peter +the hypocrite grunted at that. Although he offered sacrifice continually +to the pixies that dwelt in Grandfather's bosom, he declared there were +no such things. School-master had told him they were all dead. Education +had in some obscure way shot, trapped, or poisoned the lot.</p> + +<p>"You'm a gurt vule," was Mary's retort. "Dartmoor be vull o' piskies, +allus was, and allus will be. When I was a little maid and went to +schule wi' Master, though he never larnt I more than ten fingers and ten +toes be twenty, though I allus remembered it, for Master had a brave way +of larning young volks—What was I telling, Peter? Aw ees, I mind now. +'Twas when I went to schule wi' Ann Middleweek, her picked up a pisky +oven and broke 'en all to bits, 'cause her said the piskies were proper +little brutes, and her was beat cruel that night wi' brimmles and +vuzzy-bushes 'cause her'd broke the oven, and her was green and blue +next day. 'Twas the piskies stole my tea and sugar, sure 'nuff. If I'd +ha' spat on 'em, and marked 'em proper wi' a cross betwixt two hearts, +they'd ha' been here now."</p> + +<p>Mary worried so much over her lost groceries that she felt quite ill. As +Peter also became apprehensive of the state of his health every time +that he looked at the bottle of pills, they decided to take a few. Then +Peter went out into the garden to sow the flower-seeds, while Mary +tramped over the moor to search for her missing goose.</p> + +<p>Peter imagined that he had mastered the science of horticulture. At +least he would not have accepted advice upon the subject from any one. +Vegetables he had grown all his life, and in exactly the same way as +they had been grown in his boyhood, and he was quite as successful as +his neighbours. He was a ridiculous little man, and in several ways as +much of a savage as his ancestors, but he had inherited something from +them besides their unpleasant ways. His pretensions to being skilled +with his hands and clever with his brain were grotesque enough; but he +possessed a faculty which is owned by few, because it is not required by +civilised beings, a faculty which to strangers appeared incredible. When +a bullock or a pony was pointed out to him, as it stood outlined against +the sky on the top of some distant tor, or even as it walked against the +dull background of the moor, he would put his hand to his eyes, and +almost at once, and always correctly, give the owner's name. He earned +several shillings at certain seasons of the year, and could have earned +more had he not been lazy, by going out to search for missing animals. +Peter was always in demand by the commoners about the time of the drift.</p> + +<p>Flowers were useless things according to Peter, and concerning their +culture he knew nothing. However, Mary insisted upon the seeds being +planted, to give her garden a civilised appearance, so Peter set about +the task. The packet of sweet-peas had broken in his pocket during the +fair, and upon returning he had placed them in a small bottle. The +mignonette was his first care. The instructions outside stated that the +seed was to be sown "in February, under glass." Peter shook his head at +that. February was a long way off, but he went on to argue that if the +seed would grow during the winter it was certainly safe to sow it during +the far warmer month of October. It was the "under glass" that puzzled +him. This was evidently something new in gardening, and Peter objected +to new-fangled methods. It occurred to him that the expression might +have been intended for "under grass," but that seemed equally absurd. +School-master would know, but Peter was not going to expose his +ignorance by asking questions. Besides, it would mean a long walk, and +Master's cottage possessed the distinct disadvantage of being a +considerable distance from the inn. Peter had no idea what sort of a +plant mignonette might be, but he supposed it was a foreign growth which +managed to flourish upon certain nutritive qualities possessed by glass. +There were plenty of bottles in the linhay. Peter broke up a couple with +the crowbar, collected the fragments—the instructions omitted to state +how much glass—scattered the seeds in an unimportant corner of the +garden, strewed the pieces of glass over them, and trod the whole down +firmly. Then he dug a trench and buried the sweet-peas.</p> + +<p>Soon afterwards he began to feel ill; and when Mary returned without +news of Old Sal she said she was "cruel sick-like tu." They conferred +together, agreed that the trouble was caused by "the oil in their +livers," and concluded they had better go on with the pills. Presently +they were suffering torments; the night was a sleepless time of groans +and invocations; and in the morning they were worse. Peter was the most +grievously afflicted, at least he said he was; and described the state +of his feelings with the expressive phrase: "My belly be filled wi' +little hot things jumping up and down."</p> + +<p>"So be mine. Whatever be the matter wi' us?" groaned Mary.</p> + +<p>"They pills. Us ha' took tu many."</p> + +<p>"Mebbe us didn't tak' enough. Us ha' only took half the bottle, and he +said dree bottles for a cure."</p> + +<p>"Us wun't tak' no more. I'll smash that old bottle on they seeds. 'Twill +dung 'em proper," said Peter, shuffling painfully across the floor and +reaching for the bottle.</p> + +<p>A moment later he began to howl. He had discovered something, and terror +made him own to it.</p> + +<p>"Us be dead corpses! Us be pizened! Us ha' swallowed they peas!" he +shouted.</p> + +<p>"Aw, my dear life! Where be the pills, then?" cried Mary.</p> + +<p>"I've tilled 'em," said Peter. "They be in the garden, and them peas be +growing in our bellies."</p> + +<p>"Aw, Peter, us will die! I be a-going to see Master," groaned Mary.</p> + +<p>Peter said he should come too. He was afraid to be left alone, with +Grandfather ticking sardonically at him, and sweet-peas germinating in +his bowels. If it had been only Mary who was suffering he would have +prescribed for her; but as he was himself in pain he argued that it +would be advisable to seek outside assistance. Master was a "brave +larned man," and he would know what ought to be done to save their +lives. They made themselves presentable, and laboured bitterly across +the moor to St. Mary Tavy village.</p> + +<p>Master was never out. He lived in a little whitewashed cottage near the +road, gazing out of his front window all day, with a heap of books on a +little table beside him, and pedantic spectacles upon his nose. He was +nearly eighty, and belonged to the old school of dames and masters now +practically extinct, an entirely ignorant class, who taught the children +nothing because they were perfectly illiterate themselves. Master was +held in reverence by the villagers. That pile of books, and the +wonderful silver spectacles which he was always polishing with knowing +glances, were to them symbols of unbounded knowledge. They brought their +letters to the old man that he might read them aloud and explain obscure +passages. Not a pig was killed without Master's knowledge, and not a +child was christened until the Nestor of the neighbourhood had been +consulted.</p> + +<p>"Please to come in, varmer. Please to sot down, Mary," said Master, as +he received the groaning pilgrims into his tiny owlery, "varmer" being +the correct and lawful title of every commoner. "Have a drop o' cider, +will ye? You'm welcome. I knows you be main cruel fond of a drop o' +cider, varmer."</p> + +<p>Peter was past cider just then. He groaned and Mary moaned, and they +both doubled up in their chairs; while Master arranged his beautiful +spectacles, and looked at them in a learned fashion, and at last hit +upon the brilliant idea that they were afflicted with spasms of the +abdomen.</p> + +<p>"You've been yetting too many worts?" he suggested with kindly sympathy.</p> + +<p>"Us be tilling peas in our bellies," explained Mary. .</p> + +<p>Master had not much sense of humour. He thought at first the remark was +made seriously, and he began to upbraid them for venturing on such +daring experiments. But Mary went on: "Us bought pills to Goosie Vair, +'cause us ha' got too much oil in our livers, and us bought +stinking-peas tu. Us ha' swallowed the peas, and tilled the pills. Us be +gripped proper, so us ha' come right to wance to yew."</p> + +<p>Master replied that they had done wisely. He played with his books, +wiped his spectacles, and dusted the snuff from his nose with a +handkerchief as big as a bath-towel. Then he folded his gnarled hands +peacefully across his brass watch-chain, and talked to them like a good +physician.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell ye why you'm gripped," he said. "'Tis because you swallowed +them peas instead o' the pills. Du'ye understand what I be telling?"</p> + +<p>Peter and Mary answered that so far they were quite able to follow him, +and Mary added: "A cruel kind larned man be Master. Sees a thing to +wance, he du."</p> + +<p>"Us ha' got innards, and they'm called vowels," Master went on. "Some +calls 'em intestates, but that be just another name for the same thing. +Us ha' got five large vowels, and two small ones. The large ones be +called <i>a, e, i, o, u</i>, and the small ones be called <i>w</i> and <i>y</i>. I +can't tell ye why, but 'tis so. Some of them peas yew ha' swallowed have +got into <i>a</i>, and some ha' got into <i>o</i>, and mebbe some ha' got into <i>w</i> +and <i>y</i>. Du'ye understand what I mean?"</p> + +<p>The invalids replied untruthfully that they did, while Peter stated that +Master had done him good already.</p> + +<p>"They be growing there, and 'tis the growing that gripes ye. Du'ye +understand that?" continued Master.</p> + +<p>Peter ventured to ask how much growth might be looked for.</p> + +<p>"They grows six foot and more, if they bain't stopped," said Master +ominously.</p> + +<p>"How be us to stop 'em?" wailed Mary.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell ye," said Master. "Yew mun get home and bide quiet, and not +drink. Then mebbe the peas will wilt off and die wi'out taking root."</p> + +<p>"Shall us dig up the pills and tak' some?" Suggested Peter.</p> + +<p>"Best let 'em bide. They be doing the ground good," said Master. "It +bain't nothing serious, varmer," he went on. "Yew and Mary will be well +again to-morrow. Don't ye drink and 'twill be all right. The peas will +die of what us calls instantaneous combustion. If yew was to swallow +anything to pizen 'em 'twould pizen yew tu. Aw now, you might rub a +little ammonia on your bellies just to mak' 'em feel uneasy-like. I'll +get ye a drop in a bottle. Nothing's no trouble, varmer."</p> + +<p>"It taketh a scholard to understand it," said Mary. "When he putched +a-telling I couldn't sense 'en, but I knows now it bain't serious. A +brave larned man be Master. There bain't many like 'en."</p> + +<p>The invalids were pretty well by that evening. Their pains were +departing, and Mary was able to hunt again for Old Sal and bewail her +lost groceries, while Peter turned his attention towards establishing +electric light into the two hut-circles. He had brought back from +Tavistock two little bottles with taps, hairpins, and bits of rope +complete, also mystic circles made of china, which, he had been +informed, were used for securing the completed article to the roof, and +nearly a mile of thin wire, which he had picked up very cheaply, as it +was getting rusty.</p> + +<p>The wire had excited Mary's amazement, but Peter refused to give her any +information concerning it. He had enjoyed an instructive conversation +with the man in the shop, who perceived that Peter was a savage, but did +not on that account refuse to sell him the required articles. Peter +asked how the light was made, and the answer "with water," or words to +that effect, so stunned him that he heard nothing for the next few +moments. If it could be true that fire and heat were made out of water +he was prepared to believe anything. The man seemed to be serious and +not trying to make a fool of him; for he went on to explain that the +light was conveyed from the water by a wire which communicated with the +little bottles—he showed Peter that what he had mistaken for a piece of +rope was in reality twisted wires—over any distance, although more +power would be required if the house to be lighted was far from the +water. The word "power" was explained to Peter's satisfaction as meaning +a strong current, preferably a waterfall. The entire art of electrical +engineering became clear to Peter at once. He remembered how the +ignorant little girl in the lodging-house had mentioned the telegraph +wires which had been put about the house. The child could not be +expected to understand what the wires were for—Peter had not much +tolerance for such stupidity—but it was evident, after the shopman's +explanation, that those wires communicated with the Tavy and brought the +light into the lodging-house from its waters. If the river at Tavistock, +which is wide and shallow, could give forth light of such excellent +quality, what might not be expected from the rushing torrent of Tavy +Cleave? Peter perceived that every difficulty had been smoothed away.</p> + +<p>"Best tak' they old lamps to the village and sell 'em," he said, with +vast contempt for old and faithful servants. "Us ha' done wi' they. Us +will ha' lights in our bottles avore to-night." He had hung them up +already, one in his own hut, the other in Mary's, and they looked +splendid hanging from the beams. "Like a duke's palace," according to +the electrician.</p> + +<p>"Aw ees, I'll sell 'em," said Mary, getting out a bit of sacking to wrap +the old lamps in. "Us won't be mazed wi' paraffin and wicks and busted +glasses. I'll tak' 'em' to Mother Cobley, and see if her will give us +two or dree shilluns for 'em."</p> + +<p>Mary went off with the lamps, which Peter's science was about to render +superfluous, while the little man took up his bundles of wire and +stumbled down the cleave, to put the hidden radiance of the Tavy into +communication with their humble dwellings.</p> + +<p>It was very pleasant down by the river that crisp October afternoon; the +rich autumnal sun upon the rocks, the bracken in every wonderful tint of +brown and gold, the scarlet seed-clumps of bog asphodel, and the +trailing red ropes of bramble sprinkled with jetty berries, full of +crimson blood like Thomasine's cheeks. It was nearly a month past +Barnstaple Fair, and yet the devil had not put his foot upon the +blackberries. The devil is supposed to attend Barnstaple Fair in state +and tread on brambles as he goes home; which is merely the pleasant +Devonshire way of saying that there is generally a frost about +Barnstaple Fair week which spoils the fruit. The fairy cult was much +prettier than all this demonology, but when education killed the little +people there was only the devil to fall back upon; and though education +will no doubt kill him in due time it has not done so yet.</p> + +<p>Peter trampled among the brambles and swore at them because they caught +his legs. He saw nothing beautiful in their foliage. It was too common +for him to admire. The colours had been like that the year before; they +would be the same the year after. Peter appreciated bluebells and +primroses because they were soft to walk upon; but the blood-red +"brimmles" only pricked his legs and made him stumble; and the golden +bracken was only of use in the cow-shed, or in his hut as a +floor-litter; and the gracious heather was only good for stuffing +mattresses; and the guinea-gold gorse would have been an encumbrance +upon the side of the moor had it not been so useful as a thatch for his +hut, and a fence for his garden, and a mud-scraper for his boots. Peter, +though very much below the ordinary moorman, was artistically like them +all—insensible to beauty which is not of the flesh. Not a Dartmoor +commoner would pause a moment to regard the sun setting and glowing in a +mist upon the tors. Yet a Cornish fisherman would; and a Norman peasant +perhaps would take off his hat and cross himself, not so much with a +sense of religion, as because there is something in his mind which can +respond to the beauty and poetry and romance of the sun in a mist. +Possibly, with the Dartmoor commoner, it is his religion which is to +blame. His faith is as dark and ugly as the bottom of a well. The +Cornish fisherman has his Cymric blood, his instincts, his knowledge of +folklore, to help him through. The Norman peasant has the daily help of +gleaming vestments, glowing candles, clouds of sun-tinted +incense—pretty follies perhaps, but still pretty—the ritual of his +mass, and the Angelus bell. But the Dartmoor commoner has little but his +hell-fire.</p> + +<p>In the midst of all the splendour of Tavy Cleave on fire with autumn, +Peter the ridiculous unwound a portion of the first roll of wire, and +pondered deeply. It seemed absurd even to him to place the end into the +water and leave Nature to do the rest; but he couldn't think of any +other method. The shopman had distinctly mentioned wire and waterfalls, +and both were ready to hand. As Peter went on to consider the matter it +became clearer in his mind. The ways of Nature are incomprehensible. +There were lightning-conductors, for instance. They were just bits of +wire sticking aimlessly into the air, and apparently they caught the +lightning, though Peter was not sure what they did with it. To put a +piece of wire into a waterfall to attract light could not be more absurd +than to erect a bit of wire into space to catch lightning. It was +amazing certainly, but Peter had nothing to do with marvels, except to +turn them to practical account. Once, when he was ill, a doctor had come +to visit him armed with a little instrument which he had put against his +chest and had then looked right inside him. Peter knew the doctor had +looked inside him, because he was able to describe all that he saw. That +was another marvellous thing, almost as wonderful as extracting light +and heat from cold water.</p> + +<p>There was a waterfall lower down, and below it a pool fringed with fern +and boiling with foam. It was an ideal spot, thought Peter, so he went +there, and after fastening his wire to a stone, dropped it into the pool +at the foot of the falls. The silver foam and the coloured bubbles +laughed at him, and had Peter been blessed with anything in the form of +an imagination, he might have supposed they were inviting him to play +with them, and the sunlight made a rainbow out of flying foam. The scene +was so full of radiance that Peter easily believed how brilliantly the +hairpins in the bottles would presently be glowing.</p> + +<p>It was a lengthy business laying the wire up the side of the cleave +among the boulders, fern, and brambles, and the task was not finished +until twilight. The wire was rotten stuff, breaking continually, and had +to be fastened together in a score of places.</p> + +<p>Peter reached the top of the cleave at last, and discovered Mary waiting +to inform him in an angry way how Mother Cobley had given her only a +shilling for the two lamps, and that only under pressure, because they +were old and worn out. Mary wanted light in her bottle at once, as she +had to mix the bread and make the goose-feed. "That Old Sal be a proper +little brute. He bain't come home, and I can't hear nothing of 'en," she +concluded.</p> + +<p>Peter replied that he would not be able to introduce the light into both +huts that evening. Mary would have to wait for hers, for it did not +occur to him that it would be possible to illumine Mary's hut before his +own.</p> + +<p>"How be I to work in dimsies?" said Mary.</p> + +<p>"Can't ye mix bread in my house?" replied Peter.</p> + +<p>Mary admitted the thing was possible, so she stalked off for the +bread-pan, while Peter completed the installation by running the wire +through his door, along the roof, and twisting it about the "bit o' +rope" holding the little bottle which he fondly imagined would soon be +radiant.</p> + +<p>"Bain't a first-class job, but I'll finish him proper to-morrow," he +said.</p> + +<p>"Turn thikky tap!" cried excited Mary. "Aw, Peter, wun't the volks look +yaller when they sees 'en?"</p> + +<p>The folks were not destined to look yellow, but Peter and Mary were soon +looking blue when repeated turning of the tap failed to lighten their +darkness. It was not such a simple matter as tapping a cask of cider +after all. They turned and twisted until the hut was dark and dreary, +but not a farthing's worth of rush-light was produced.</p> + +<p>"Mebbe the wire's been and broke," suggested Peter hopefully.</p> + +<p>He lighted his lantern, and they tramped together down the cleave, +following the wire all the way to the river and finding it intact. +Presumably it was the waterfall which was not doing its duty.</p> + +<p>They returned to their gloomy huts, the one sorrowful, the other angry. +"You'm a gurt dafty-headed ole vule! That's what yew be!" cried the +angry one, when they reached the top of the cleave.</p> + +<p>Peter received this opinion with unwonted humility; and replied as +meekly as any Christian martyr: "He be gone wrong somehow. I'll put 'en +right to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Put 'en right, will ye?" cried Mary scornfully. "How be I to mix bread' +and get supper? You'm a proper old horniwink, and I hopes the dogs 'll +have ye."</p> + +<p>These curses aroused Peter. He spat upon the ground, and drew mystic +figures with his boot between Mary and himself. Having done what he +could to avert the evil, he turned upon Mary and threatened her with the +lantern. She continued her insults, having lost her temper completely, +not so much because Peter had failed in his electrical engineering, as +because she had an idea he had been making a fool of her. They were both +ignorant, but one did not know it and was brazen, while the other was +aware of it and was sensitive. She went on calling him weird names, and +hoping the whist hounds would hunt him, until he lost his temper too. +They had never quarrelled so violently before, but Peter was helpless in +spite of his big threats, for Mary could have tackled and beaten two men +as strong as her little brother. When he came to close quarters she +picked him up, lantern and all, cuffed him, carried him into her hut, +and snatching up her bulging umbrella whacked him well over the head +with it.</p> + +<p>Peter was immediately overwhelmed, not merely by the umbrella, but with +packages which tumbled upon his shoulders, then to the floor, and were +revealed to Mary's eyes by the dull gleam of the lantern, which was +giving a very different light from that which had been anticipated from +what had been the little glass globe hanging from the roof—had been and +was not, for Mary had utterly demolished it with an upward sweep of her +immense umbrella.</p> + +<p>"Lord love us all!" she cried, her good-humour returning at once. "If +there hain't the tea, and sugar, and t'other things what I bought to +Goosie Vair, and thought the piskies had been and took!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h3> + +<h2>ABOUT VARIOUS EMOTIONS</h2> + + +<p>Pendoggat stood beneath the penthouse of his peat linhay, looking at a +newspaper. The issue was dated Friday, and it contained the news of the +week; not the news of the world, which was of no local interest, but a +condensed account of the great things begun, attempted, and accomplished +in the rural districts of Devon. The name of the parish was printed in +big letters, and under it appeared the wonder of the week: how little +Willie Whidden, while tramping to school, had picked a ripe strawberry +from the hedge; or how poor old Daniel Ashplant had been summoned for +drunkenness—P.C. Copplestone stating that defendant had behaved like a +madman—and fined half-a-crown, despite his solemn oath and covenant +that he had never tasted liquor in his life. Unimportant items, such as +the meeting of Imperial Parliament, and a great railway disaster, served +as stop-gaps in cases where advertisements just failed to fill the +column.</p> + +<p>Pendoggat was looking for something. The testimony of a Wesleyan +minister after twenty years of faithful service, accompanied by his +photograph, caught his eye, and he thought he had found what he was +searching for. He was astonished to learn that friend and pastor Pezzack +was so popular; but when he read on he discovered it was only an +advertisement for a nerve tonic. He turned over a page, and at last came +upon the heading which he required. The title was that of a small +sub-parish north of the moor, celebrated for a recent pronouncement of +the curate-in-charge, who had congratulated the inhabitants upon their +greatly increased sobriety, as during the late year only forty-seven +persons, out of a total population of seventy-two, had been guilty of +drunkenness. Printers had blundered and mixed things up rather. A +hedge-builder had in the course of his duties come across a hole +containing a rabbit, a hedgehog, and a rat; and in the same paragraph +the Reverend Eli Pezzack had been safely married to Miss Jeconiah +Sampson, with a good deal of bell-ringing, local excitement—the bride +being well known in the neighbourhood for her untiring zeal in the +matter of chapel teas—and an exhibition of such numerous and costly +presents as a pair of brass candlesticks, an American clock, a set of +neat doyleys, and an artistic pin-tray.</p> + +<p>It was one of Pendoggat's peculiarities that he did not smile. His idea +of expressing pleasure was to hurt something; just as a boy in moments +of excitement may slash at anything with his stick. Pendoggat dropped +the paper suddenly, ran at a goose which was waddling across his court, +captured the big strong bird, and wrung its neck. He flung the writhing +body on the stones and kicked it in his joy. The minister could not side +against him now. He had burdened himself with a wife, and there would +soon be the additional burden of a child. Pezzack was a free man no +longer, and had become dependent upon Pendoggat for food and home and +boots. He would have to obey his master and be his faithful dog, have to +keep his mouth shut when he discovered that the nickel-mine was a fraud, +for his home's sake and his wife's sake. Pendoggat could strip him naked +at a stroke.</p> + +<p>Annie Crocker crossed the court towards the well with a crock in her +hand. Pendoggat noticed that her hair was growing grey, and that she was +getting slovenly.</p> + +<p>"Who killed that old goose?" she said, standing and staring at the big +white body.</p> + +<p>"I did," muttered Pendoggat.</p> + +<p>"You'll have to pay," she said shrilly. "That be Mary Tavy's Old Sal, +what she thinks the world of. Killed him, have ye? I wouldn't be you, +Farmer Pendoggat, when Mary comes to hear on't. Mary's as good a man as +you."</p> + +<p>"Shut your noise," he growled. "Who's to tell her?"</p> + +<p>"Who? What's my tongue for? The first time you lift your hand to me Mary +knows."</p> + +<p>Annie carried her crock to the well and lowered the bucket, muttering to +herself, and keeping a watchful eye upon the man who kept her; while +Pendoggat took the bird by the neck and dragged it towards the +furze-brake. He was afraid when he learnt that it was Mary's Old Sal, +for Mary was a creature whom he could not tackle. She seemed to him more +a power of Nature than a strong hermaphrodite; something like the wind, +or the torrential rain, or the storm-cloud. No commoner in his heart +disbelieves in witchcraft; and even the girls, who twist a bridal veil +across their faces when they are going to be married, know that the +face-covering is not an adornment, but a fetish or protection against +the "fascination" of the Evil Eye.</p> + +<p>"Going to bury him!" sneered Annie. "Aye, he bain't the only one in +there. Bury him in the vuzz till Judgment, if ye can. The Lord will send +fire from heaven one day to consume that vuzz, and all that be hidden +shall be revealed. Drag him in by the neck, du'ye? Maybe they'll be +dragging you to a hole in the ground avore long."</p> + +<p>She staggered across the court, splashing water like curses from the +crock, and slammed the house door violently. Pendoggat said nothing. He +bore with Anne because he was used to her, and because she knew too much +about him; but he felt he would murder her some day if he didn't get +away. He pushed the dead body of Old Sal as far into the furze as he +could with the pole that propped up the washing-line, then went into the +linhay, sat down upon the peat, and muttered hoarsely to the spiders in +the roof.</p> + +<p>Two things he required: the return of Pezzack, and winter. He had +received through the minister nearly two hundred pounds from the retired +grocer and his friends, and he hoped to get more; but Pezzack the +secretary was a miserable correspondent without Pendoggat's assistance, +and nothing could be done until he came back to resume the duties which +were being interfered with by the honeymoon. Frost and snow were also +essential for his plans, because the fussy grocer, to whom had been +thrown the sop of chairman of the company—a jobbing printer had +prepared an ill-spelt prospectus, and the grocer never moved a yard +without a pocketful—was continually writing to know how things were +going, and Pendoggat wanted snow as an excuse for deferring mining +operations until spring. He would have left Dartmoor before then. He was +going to take Thomasine with him, and enjoy her youth until his passion +for her cooled; and then she could look after herself; and as for Annie, +the parish would look after her. He had reckoned on getting five hundred +pounds out of the visionary mine, only those respectable people of +Bromley were so chary of parting with their money, even though they had +Pezzack's unquestioned morality and good character to rely upon. His +only fear was lest the grocer should take fright and get it into his +head that the mine was a wild-cat scheme. It was hardly likely, as +Dartmoor is to Bromley minds an unknown and almost legendary district.</p> + +<p>"I gave him five pounds of his uncle's money to get married on," +Pendoggat muttered, without a trace of humour. "For the next few weeks +I'll give him fifteen shillings to live on, and then he may smash, if he +can't preach his pockets full."</p> + +<p>He was more afraid of Annie than any one else. The suspicious nature of +women is one of their most animal-like characteristics. There had never +lived a man better able to keep a secret than Pendoggat; and yet Annie +knew there was something brewing, although he did not guess that she +knew. It was a matter of instinct, the same instinct which compels a dog +to be restless when, his master is about to go away. The animal knows +before his master begins to make any preparation for departure; and by +the same faculty Annie knew, or perhaps only guessed, that Pendoggat was +meditating how he could leave her. She was in the miserable position of +the woman who has lived for the best part of her life with a man without +being married to him, having no claim except a sentimental one upon him, +but compelled to cling to him for the sake of food and shelter, and +because he has taken everything from her whatever of charm and beauty +she might have possessed, and left her without the means of attracting +an honest man. She had passed as Mrs. Pendoggat for nearly twenty years. +Every one in the neighbourhood supposed she was married to her master. +Only he and she knew the truth: that her marriage-ring was a lie. +Pendoggat was a preacher, and a good one, people said. He was severe +upon human frailties. He preached the doctrine of eternal punishment, +and would have been the first to condemn those who straightened a +boundary wall or led a maid astray. He could not have maintained his +position had it been known that she who passed as his wife was actually +a spinster. Pendoggat did not know the truth about himself. When in the +pulpit religious zeal seized hold upon him, and he spoke from his heart, +meaning all that he said, believing it, and trying to impress it upon +the minds of his listeners. Outside the chapel his tempestuous passions +overwhelmed him. Inside the chapel he could not feel the Dartmoor winds, +although he could hear them; but the stone walls shielded him from them. +Outside they smote upon him, and there was nothing to protect him. He +was a man who lived two lives, and thought he was only living one. His +most strongly-marked characteristic, his inherent and incessant cruelty, +he overlooked entirely, not seeing it, not even knowing it was there. He +could steal a fowl from his neighbour's yard, and quote Scripture while +doing it; and the impression which would have remained in his mind was +that he had quoted Scripture, not that he had stolen the fowl. When he +thought of his conduct towards Pezzack he saw no cruelty in it. The only +thought which occurred to him was that the minister was a good man and +did his best, but that he, Pendoggat, was the better preacher of the +two.</p> + +<p>It was Thursday; Thomasine's evening out, and her master's day to get +drunk. Farmer Chegwidden was regular in his habits. Every Thursday, and +sometimes on Saturdays, he went to one of the villages, drank himself +stupid, and galloped home like a madman. It was a matter of custom +rather than a pleasure. He had buried his father, mother, and sister, on +different Thursdays; and it was probably the carousal which followed +each of these events which had fixed Thursday in his mind as a day for +drowning sorrow.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Chegwidden was one of the minor mysteries of human life. People +supposed that she lived in some shadowy kind of way, and they asked +after her health, and wondered what she was like by then; but nobody +seemed to have any clear notion concerning her. She was never visible in +the court of Town Rising, or in the garden, and yet she must have been +there sometimes. She never went to chapel, or to any other amusement. +She was like a mouse, coming out timidly when nobody was about, and +scuttling into some secret place at the sound of a footfall. She passed +her life among pots and pickle-jars, or, when she wanted a change, among +bottles and cider-casks, not drinking, or even tasting, but brewing, +preserving, pickling all the time. Chegwidden did not talk about her. He +always replied, "Her be lusty," if inquiries were made. The invisible +lady had no home talk. She was competent to remark upon the weather, and +in an occasional burst of eloquence would observe that she was troubled +with rheumatism. There are strange lives dragged out in lonely places. +No doubt Mrs. Chegwidden had been conceited once; and perhaps the +principal cause of her retirement into the dark ways and corners of Town +Rising might have been traced to the fact that she was bald. A woman +with no hair on her head is a grotesque object. Thomasine was really the +mistress of the house, and she did the work well just because she was +stupid. She worked mechanically, doing the same thing every day at the +same time. Stupid women make the best housekeepers. Thomasine was a +useful willing girl, who deserved to be well treated. Her master had not +meddled with her.</p> + +<p>Young Pugsley had been round to the kitchen door after dark since Goose +Fair, and had urged Thomasine to wear a ring. The poor girl was willing, +but she could not accept the offer, for more than one reason. Young +Pugsley was not a bad fellow; not the sort to go about with a revolver +in his pocket and an intention to use it if his young woman proved +fickle. His wages were rising, and he thought he could get a cottage if +Thomasine would let him court her. He admitted he was giving his company +to another girl, and should go on with his attentions if Thomasine would +not have him. The girl went back into the kitchen and began to cry; and +Pugsley shuffled after her in a docile manner and sought to embrace her +in the dark; but she pushed him off, with the saying: "I bain't good +enough for yew, Will." Pugsley felt the age of chivalry echoing within +him as he replied that he was only an everyday young chap, but if he was +willing to take her it wasn't for her to have opinions about herself; +only he couldn't hang on for ever, and she must make up her mind one way +or the other, as he was doing well, getting fourteen shillings now, and +with all that money it was his duty to get married, and if he didn't he +might get into the way of spending his evenings in the pot-house. +Thomasine only cried the more, until at last she managed to find the +words of a confession which sent him from her company for ever. On that +occasion it was fortunate for the girl that she could not think, because +the faculty of reason could have done nothing beyond suggesting to her +that the opportunity of leading a respectable life had gone from her, +like her sweetheart, never to return.</p> + +<p>She dressed herself in her best, and went to the old tumble-down linhay +on the moor where Brightly had taken shelter after his unfortunate +meeting with Pendoggat. She had been told to go there after dark and +wait. She did not know whether she was going to be murdered, but she +hoped not. She mended her gloves, put on her hat, twisted a feather boa +round her neck, though it would be almost as great a nuisance in the +wind as Mary's umbrella, but she had nothing else, gave a few tidying +touches to the kitchen, and stepped out. It was very dark, and the sharp +breeze pricked her hot face and made it smart.</p> + +<p>She reached the linhay and waited. The place smelt unpleasantly, because +beasts driven from the high moor by bad weather had taken shelter there. +A ladder led up to a small loft half filled with dry fern except in +places where moisture dripped through the roof. It was very lonely, +standing on the brow of the hill where the wind howled. A couple of owls +were hooting pleasantly at one another. No drearier spot would be found +on all Dartmoor. Thomasine felt horror creeping over her, and her warm +flesh kept on shuddering. She would not be able to wait there alone for +long. Terror would make her disobedient. She wished she had been walking +along the sheltered road by Tavy station, with young Pugsley's arm about +her waist. It was not an evening to enjoy that bald stretch of moor with +its wild wind and gaping wheals.</p> + +<p>A horse galloped up. The sound of its iron shoes suggested frost, and so +did the girl's breathing. She was wondering what her father was doing. +He was a village cobbler, and a strict Methodist, fairly straight +himself, and without sympathy for sinners. She moved, trod on some +filth, and cried out. A man's voice answered and told her roughly to be +quiet. Then Pendoggat groped his way in and felt towards her.</p> + +<p>He had come in an angry mood, prepared to punish the girl, and to make +her suffer, for having dared to flaunt with young Pugsley before his +eyes in Tavistock. He had brought his whip into the linhay, with some +notion of using it, and of drawing the girl's blood, as he had drawn it +with the sprig of gorse at the beginning of his courtship. But inside +the dreary foul-smelling place his feelings changed. Possibly it was +because he was out of the wild wind, sheltered from it by the cracked +cob walls, or perhaps he felt himself in chapel; for when he took hold +of Thomasine and pulled her to him he felt nothing but tenderness, and +the desire in him then was not to punish, nor even to rebuke her, but to +preach, to tell her something of the love of God, to point out to her +how wicked she had been to yield to him, and how certain was the doom +which would come upon her for doing so. These feelings also passed when +he had the girl in his arms, feeling her soft neck, her big lips, her +hot blood-filled cheeks, and her knees trembling against his. For the +time passion went away and Pendoggat was a lover; a weak and foolish +being, intoxicated by that which has always been to mankind, and always +must be, what the fragrance of the lime-blossom is to the bee. Even +Pendoggat had that something in him which theologians say was made in +heaven, or at least outside this earth; and he was to know in that dirty +linhay, with moisture around and dung below, the best and tenderest +moments of his life. He was to enter, if only for once, that wonderful +land of perennial spring flowers where Boodles and Aubrey wandered, +reading their fairy-tales in each other's eyes.</p> + +<p>"Been here long, my jewel?" he said, caressing her.</p> + +<p>Thomasine could see nothing except a sort of suggestion of cobwebby +breath and the outline of a man's head; but she could hear and feel; and +these faculties were sharpened by the absence of vision. She did not +know who the man was. Pendoggat had galloped up to the linhay, Pendoggat +had entered and seized her, and then had disappeared to make way for +some one else. He had, as it were, pushed young Pugsley into her arms +and left them alone together, only her old sweetheart had never caressed +her in that way, with a devotional fondness and a kind of religious +touch. Pugsley's courtship had been more in the nature of a duty. If she +had been his goddess he had worshipped her in a Protestant manner, with +rather the attitude of an agnostic going to church because it was right +and proper; but now she was receiving the full Catholic ritual of love, +the flowers, incense, and religious warmth. This was all new to +Thomasine, and it seemed to awaken something in her, some chord of +tenderness which had never been aroused before, some vague desire to +give a life of attention and devotion to some one, to any one, who would +reward her by holding her like that.</p> + +<p>"Who be ye?" she murmured.</p> + +<p>"The man who loves you, who has loved you ever since he put his eyes +upon you," he answered. "I was angry with you, my beautiful strong girl. +You went off with that young fellow at the fair when I'd told you not +to. He's not for you, my precious. You are mine, and I am going to have +you, and keep you, and bite the life out of you if you torment me. Your +mouth's as hot as fire, and your body pricks me like a furze-bush. Throw +your arms around me and hold on—hold on as tight as the devil holds us, +and let me love you like God loves."</p> + +<p>He buried his lips in her neck, and bit her like a dog playing with a +rabbit.</p> + +<p>"I waited on the bridge all day," faltered Thomasine, merely making the +statement, not venturing a reproof. She wanted to go on, and explain how +young Pugsley had forced himself upon her and compelled her to go with +him, only she could not find the words.</p> + +<p>"I couldn't get away from Annie. She stuck to me like a pin," he +muttered. "I'm going to get away from her this winter, leave her, go off +with you somewhere, anywhere, get off Dartmoor and go where you like. +Heaven or hell, it's the same to me, if I've got you."</p> + +<p>This was all strange language to Thomasine. Passion she comprehended, +but the poetry and romance of love, even in the wild and distorted form +in which it was being presented, were beyond her. She could not +understand the real meaning of the awakening of that tenderness in her, +which was the womanhood trying to respond, and to make her, like +Boodles, a creature of love, but failing because it could not get +through the mass of flesh and ignorance, just as the seed too deeply +planted can only struggle, but must fail, to grow into the light. She +felt it would be pleasant to go away with Pendoggat if he was going to +love her like that. She would be something of a lady; have a servant +under her, perhaps. Thomasine was actually thinking. She would have a +parlour to keep locked up; be the equal of the Chegwiddens; far above +the village cobbler her father, and nearly as good as the idol-maker of +Birmingham. That Pendoggat loved her was certain. He would not have lost +his senses and behaved as he had done if he did not love her. Thomasine, +like most young women, believed as much as she wanted to, believed that +men are as good as their word, and that love and brute passion are +synonymous terms. Once upon a time she had been taught how to read, +write, and reckon; and she had forgotten most of that. She had not been +taught that love is like the flower of the Agave: rare, and not always +once in a lifetime; that passion is a wayside weed everywhere. Perhaps +if she had been taught that she would not have forgotten.</p> + +<p>"We'll go away soon, my jewel," Pendoggat whispered. "Annie is not my +wife—you know that. I can leave her any day. My time at the Barton is +up in March, but we'll go before then."</p> + +<p>"Don't this old place smell mucky?" was all Thomasine had to say.</p> + +<p>They climbed up the ladder, and sat on the musty fern, which had made a +bed for Brightly and his bitch, and Pendoggat continued his pleasant +ways. He was in a curious state of happiness, still believing he was +with the woman that he loved. The walls of the linhay continued to be +the walls of Ebenezer and a shelter against the wind. They embraced and +sang a hymn, but softly, lest any chance passer-by should overhear and +discover them. Pendoggat knelt upon the fern and prayed aloud for their +future happiness, speaking from his heart and meaning what he said. +Thomasine was as happy as the fatted calf which knows nothing of its +fate. It was on the whole the most successful of her evenings out. She +was going to be a respectable married woman after all. Pendoggat had +sworn it in his prayer. He could do as he liked with her after that, now +that she was his in the sight of Heaven. The dirty linhay was a chapel, +and a place of love where they were married in word and deed.</p> + +<p>Farmer Chegwidden came thundering home from Brentor, flung across his +horse like a sack of meal, and almost as helpless. He crossed the +railway by the bridge, and his horse began to plunge over the boggy +slope of the moor. It was darker, the clouds were hurrying, and the wind +was a gale upon the rider's side as he galloped for the abandoned mines, +clinging tighter. His horse knew what Thursday-night duty meant. He knew +he had to gallop direct for Town Rising with a drunken man upon his +back, and that he must not stumble more than he could help. There was no +question as to which was the finer animal of the two. They crossed +Gibbet Hill, down towards the road above St. Mary Tavy about two hundred +yards above the linhay; and there the more intelligent animal swerved to +the right, to avoid some posts and a gravel-pit which he could not see +but knew were there; but as they came down the lower animal struck his +superior savagely upon the ear to assert his manhood, and the horse, in +starting aside, stumbled upon a ridge of peat, came to his knees, and +Farmer Chegwidden dived across the road with a flourish that an acrobat +might have envied.</p> + +<p>These gymnastics were no new thing, but the farmer had been lucky +hitherto and had generally alighted upon his hands. On this occasion his +shoulder and the side of his head were the first to touch ground, and he +was stunned. The horse, seeing that he could do nothing more, sensibly +trotted off towards his stable, and Farmer Chegwidden lay in a heap upon +the road after the manner of the man who went down from Jerusalem to +Jericho and fell among thieves.</p> + +<p>There was no good Samaritan about that part of Dartmoor; or, if there +was one, he was not taking a walk abroad with the idea of practising his +virtues. There was, indeed, no reason why any one should pass that way +before morning, as people who live in lonely places require no curfew to +send them under cover, and the night was wild with the first big wind of +autumn. Still some one did come that way, not a Levite to cross over to +the other side, but Peter, to take a keen interest in the prostrate +form. Peter had been into the village, like a foolish virgin, to seek +oil, and new lamps to put it in. All attempts to install the electric +light had continued to prove that there was still something in the +science which he had failed to master; and as the evenings were getting +long, and the light afforded by the lantern was quite inadequate, Mary +had sent him into the village to buy their old lamps back. Mother Cobley +the shopwoman said she had sold them, which was not true, but she +naturally desired to make Peter purchase new lamps. He had done so under +compulsion, and was returning with a lamp under each arm and a bottle of +oil in his pocket, somewhat late, as an important engagement at the inn +had detained him, when he stumbled across Farmer Chegwidden. He placed +his purchases upon the road, then drew near to examine the body closely.</p> + +<p>"He'm a dead corpse sure 'nuff," said Peter. "Who be ye?" he shouted.</p> + +<p>As there was neither reply nor movement the only course was to apply a +test to ascertain whether the man was living or dead. The method which +suggested itself to Peter was to apply his boot, and this he did, with +considerable energy, but without success. Then he reviled the body; but +that too was useless.</p> + +<p>"Get up, man! Why don't ye get up?" he shouted.</p> + +<p>There was no response, so Peter began to kick again; and when the figure +refused to be reanimated by such treatment he lost his temper at so much +obstinacy and went on shouting: "Get up, man! Wun't ye get up? To hell, +man! Why don't ye get up?"</p> + +<p>It did not appear to occur to Peter that the man could not get up.</p> + +<p>The next course was the very obvious one of securing those good things +which the gods had provided. Farmer Chegwidden had not much money left +in his pockets, but Peter discovered it was almost enough to pay for the +new lamps. Mary had advanced the money for them, so what Peter gained +through the farmer's misfortune was all profit. Then he picked up his +lamps, and hurried back to the village to lodge the information of the +"dead corpse lying up on Dartmoor" in the proper quarter.</p> + +<p>He had not been gone long when Pendoggat rode up. Thomasine had hurried +back to Town Rising by the "lower town," afraid to cross by the moor in +that wind. He too discovered the farmer, or rather his horse did; and he +too refused to pass by on the other side. Dismounting, he knelt and +struck a match. The wind blew it out at once, but the sudden flash +showed him the man's face. Chegwidden was breathing heavily, a fact +which Peter had omitted to notice.</p> + +<p>"Dead drunk! He can bide there," muttered Pendoggat.</p> + +<p>He got upon his horse and rode on. As he crossed the brow, and reached a +point where there was nothing to break the strength of the wind, he +pulled his horse round, hesitated a moment, then cantered back. The wind +was in his lungs and in his nostrils, and he was himself again, a strong +man, not a weak creature in love with a farm-wench, not a singer of +hymns nor a preacher of sermons, but a hungry animal to whom power had +been given over weak and lesser beings of the earth.</p> + +<p>He knelt at Chegwidden's side, and tore the clothes off him until he had +stripped him naked. He dragged the body to the side of the road and +toppled it into the gorse. The clothes he rolled up, took with him, and +higher up flung into an old mine-shaft. Then he rode on his way, +shouting, fighting with the wind.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h3> + +<h2>ABOUT A STRUGGLE AT THE GATE OF FAIRYLAND</h2> + + +<p>Old Weevil walked about the moor, because there was no room in the +cottage or garden, and whispered to the sun: "I wish she wasn't so +happy, I wish she wouldn't laugh so, I wish she wouldn't talk about that +boy." A good many other things he wished for. Mr. Bellamie had written +to present his compliments to Abel Cain Weevil, Esquire—though the old +man was not used to that title—and to announce that he proposed giving +himself the pleasure of calling at Lewside Cottage and enjoying a little +conversation with its tenant. Weevil guessed how he would blunder +through that interview in his simple beetle-hearted way; and then he +would have to break his little girl's heart as carefully as he could. +After all she was very young, and hearts broken early can be put +together again. Plants broken off in the spring grow up as well as ever. +It is when they are broken in the late summer that there is no chance, +and no time, to mend.</p> + +<p>"She will feel it—like a butcher's knife," he whispered. "I was wrong +to pick her up that night. I ought to have left her. It would have been +all over long ago, and she would have been spared the knife. But no, she +is too nice, too good. She will do it! She will fight her way through! +You'll see, Abel-Cain. You watch her, my old dear! She will beat the +Brute yet." He chuckled, snapped his fingers at the sun, waved his hand +at Ger Tor, and trotted back to the cottage.</p> + +<p>Weevil talked in parables with the eccentricity, not of genius, but of +habit. His life had been spoilt by "the Brute." He had done what he +could to fight the monster until he had realised his utter helplessness. +And now his little maid's life was to be spoilt by the Brute, but he +thought she would succeed better than he had done, and fight her way out +into a more serene atmosphere. Old Weevil's Brute was simply cruelty, +the ugly thing that encompassed him.</p> + +<p>He was a silly old man in many ways. People with an intense kindness for +animals are probably freaks of Nature, who has tried to teach them to be +cruel, only they have rejected her teaching. Love for animals is, +strictly speaking, no part of the accepted religion. Hebrew literature, +so far from teaching kindness to animals, as the Koran does, recommends +the opposite; and the founder of Christianity in his dealings with +animals destroyed them. Fondness for animals began probably when men +first admitted beasts into their homes as members of the family, as the +Bedouin Arab treated his horse. Such animals developed new traits and +advanced towards a far higher state of evolution than they would have +attained under natural conditions. With higher intelligence came also a +greater sensitiveness to pain. Those animals, such as the horse and dog, +who have been brought up with men, and acquired so much from them, have +an equal right to be protected by the laws which protect men. Such were +some of Weevil's arguments, but perhaps he was mistaken. He had failed +signally to impart the doctrine of kindness to animals to his +neighbours. He went too far, a common fault among men who are obsessed +with a single idea. He attacked the rabbit-trap violently, which was +manifestly absurd, and only convinced people that he was mad. He +declared that the rabbit, caught and held in the iron jaws of the trap +to perish miserably hour by hour, must suffer agonies. He had himself +put his finger into such a trap, and was unable to bear the pain more +than ten minutes. Naturally people laughed at him. What a fool he must +be to put his finger in a trap! It had always been the custom to capture +rabbits in that savage way, and if it had been cruel the clergy would +have preached against it and the law would have prohibited it. But when +Weevil went on to assert that the rabbits had feelings he got beyond +them entirely, and they could only shake their heads at him, and feel +sorry for his insanity, and despise him for being such a bad sportsman. +Even the village constable felt he must draw the line somewhere, and +objected to paying any tribute of respect to a dafty old man who went +about telling people that rabbits could feel pain. When he met Weevil he +grinned, and looked the other way to avoid saluting him.</p> + +<p>Weevil spent much of his time drafting petitions to Parliament for the +abolition of various instruments of torture, but of course nobody would +sign them; and he indited lengthy screeds to humane societies upon the +same subject, and these were always courteously acknowledged and placed +on file for future reference, which was another way of saying that they +would not be looked at again. He was himself a member of one society, +and some years back had induced it to prosecute a huntsman who had been +guilty of gross cruelty to a cat; but as the man was popular, and the +master of the hounds was upon the Bench in the company of other +sportsmen, the prosecution failed, although the offence was not denied; +and old Weevil had his windows broken the next day. After that he +quieted down, acknowledging that victory must remain with the strong. He +went on preparing his indictments, writing his letters, and drafting his +useless petitions; and whenever he discovered a rabbit-trap in his walks +he promptly sprung it; and if the river happened to be handy, and nobody +was about, that trap disappeared for ever.</p> + +<p>It was unfortunate for Weevil that he was more eccentric in appearance +than in habits. He had a comic face and a nervous smile. The more in +earnest he was the more he grinned; and that helped to convince people +of his insanity. Then he was a loose character, and had evidently +enjoyed a lurid past. People were not going to be lectured by a wicked +old fellow, with a face like a rag-doll and a foolish smile, who lived +in a small cottage with an illegitimate daughter. Weevil had never +openly denied the paternity; he did not want it to be known that Boodles +was a child of shame for her own sake; and he was in his heart rather +proud to think people believed he was the father of such a radiant +little maid.</p> + +<p>"You must do it," he said, as he trotted into the cottage. "You must +prepare the child, Abel-Cain. Don't be a fool now."</p> + +<p>The little sitting-room was very neat. Boodles was not there, but +visible tokens of her industry were everywhere. A big bowl of late +heather from the moor, with rowan and dogwood berries from Tavy woods, +stood upon the table. A little stocking, rather plentifully darned, was +being darned again. A blotting-book was open, and a sheet of paper was +upon it, and all that was written on the sheet was the beginning of a +letter: "My dearest Boy," that and nothing more. It would have been a +pretty little room had it not been for that sheet of paper. The silly +old man bent over it, and a very good imitation of a tear splashed upon +the "dearest Boy" and blotted it out. "You must not be such an old fool, +Abel-Cain," he said, in his kindly scolding voice.</p> + +<p>Then Boodles came in laughing, with a head like the rising sun. She had +been washing her hair, and it was hanging down to dry, and sparkling in +the strong light just as the broken granite on Dartmoor sparkles when +the sun casts a beam across and seems to fill the path with diamonds.</p> + +<p>"Oh, what a grumpy face, old man!" she cried. "Such a toothachy face for +as butiful a morning as ever was! Have you been cruel and caught a wee +mousie and hurt it so much that you couldn't let it go? I think I shall +throw away that trap and get a benevolent pussycat instead."</p> + +<p>Lewside Cottage was infested with mice, very much as Hamelin town was +once overrun with rats, and as Weevil could not pipe them into the Tavy +he had invested in a humane trap which caught the little victims alive. +Then the difficulty of disposing of them arose. Weevil solved it in a +simple fashion. He caught a mouse every night and let it go in the +morning. In spite of these methods of extermination the creatures +continued to increase and multiply.</p> + +<p>"I was going out this afternoon," said Boodles, tugging at her hair with +a comb. "But if you have got one of your umpy-umpy fits I shall stop at +home. I want to go, daddy-man, 'cause my boy hasn't got much longer at +home, and he says it is nice to have Boodles with him, and Boodles +thinks, it is nice too."</p> + +<p>"Boodle-oodle, my darling," quavered Weevil, "the sun may be shining +outside, but it is damp and clammy in here. The Brute has got hold of me +again."</p> + +<p>"No, it isn't clamp and dammy, daddy," she laughed. "It's only a stupid +old cloud going by. There are lots of butterflies, if you will look out. +See! I can nearly tread upon my hair. Isn't it butiful?"</p> + +<p>"You must try and grow up, little girl."</p> + +<p>"Not till I'm twenty," said she.</p> + +<p>"You mustn't laugh so much, my little maid."</p> + +<p>"Why, daddy?" she cried quickly. "You mustn't say that. Oh, I don't +laugh too much; I couldn't. I'm not always so very happy when I laugh, +because it's not always afternoon out with me, but it does us good to +make believe, and I thought it helped you to forget things. You telling +me I mustn't laugh! You've been and killed a mouse."</p> + +<p>"They say fair-haired girls don't feel it like the dark-haired ones," +muttered Weevil.</p> + +<p>"What are you talking about?" cried Boodles. She had stopped laughing. +The clouds were coming up all round and it was nearly snow time; and +there is little laughter in a Dartmoor winter. "Is it the Brute, daddy?" +she said sympathetically.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Boodle-oodle," said the sorrowful old man, with his nervous grin. +"It is the Brute."</p> + +<p>"I wish you could catch him in your trap. You wouldn't let him go," said +Boodles, with a little smile.</p> + +<p>Weevil was kneeling at the table, his comic head jerking from side to +side, while his fingers tried to make a paper-boat out of the "dearest +Boy" sheet of note-paper.</p> + +<p>"I want to talk to you, my little maid," he said. "I want to remind you +that we cannot get away from the Brute. I came to this lonely cottage to +hide from him, because he was making my life miserable. I could not go +out without meeting him. But it was no good. Boodles. Doors and bolts +won't keep him out. Do you know why? It is because he is a part of +ourselves."</p> + +<p>"Such nonsense," said she. "Silly old man to call yourself cruel."</p> + +<p>"The Brute is only ourself after all. I cannot put my foot to the ground +without crushing some insect. I cannot see the use of it—this prolific +creation of things, this waste of life. It drives me nearly mad, +tortures me, makes me a brute to myself."</p> + +<p>"But you're such a—what do you call it?—such a whole-hogger," said the +child. "Try and not worry, daddy. You only make yourself wretched, and +you make me wretched too, and then you're being cruel to me—and that's +how things get cold and foggy," said she. "May I laugh now?"</p> + +<p>"No, Boodles," he said, quite sternly. "I was cruel when I picked you up +that night and brought you in."</p> + +<p>The girl winced a little. She wanted to forget all about that.</p> + +<p>"Nature preserves only that she may destroy," he rambled on. "Take the +plants—"</p> + +<p>"I've taken them," broke in Boodles merrily.</p> + +<p>"Be serious, Boodle-oodle," said the old man, grinning worse than ever. +"The one and only duty of the flower is to bear seed, and when it has +done that it is killed, and that it may do so Nature protects it in a +number of different ways, many of which cause suffering to others. Some +plants are provided with thorns, others with stinging-cells, others with +poison, so that they shall not be destroyed by animals. These are +generally the less common plants. Those that are common are unprotected, +because they are so numerous that some are certain to survive. All the +plants of the desert have thorns, because vegetation is so scarce there +that any unprotected plant would soon be devoured. The rabbit is an +utterly defenceless creature among animals, and almost every living +thing is its enemy; but lest the animal should cease to survive Nature +compels it to breed rapidly. Surely it would have been kinder to have +given it the means of protecting itself. I cannot understand it, +Boodles. There seems to be no fixed law, no limit to Nature's cruelty, +although there is to her kindness. The world is a bloody field of +battle; everything fighting for life; a pitiful drama of cowardice right +through. I don't know whether I am talking nonsense, Boodles. I expect I +am, but I can't speak calmly about these things, I lose control over +myself, and want to hit my head against the wall."</p> + +<p>Boodles slipped her arm about his neck and patted his white whiskers. +The paper-boat was a heap of pulp by this time.</p> + +<p>"Now it's my turn," she said gaily. "Let Boodles preach, and let old men +be silent. Dear old thing, there are lots of queer puzzles, and I'm sure +it is best to leave them all alone. 'Let 'em bide,' as Mary would say. +We can't know much, and it's no use trying. You might as well worry your +dear white head about the queer thing called eternity. You start, and +you go round, and then you go round again faster until you begin to +whirl, and you see stars, and your head aches—that's as far as you can +ever get when you think about queer puzzles. And that's all I've got to +say. Don't you think it rather a good sermon for a babe and suckling?"</p> + +<p>"It's no use. She doesn't see what I'm driving at," muttered poor old +Weevil.</p> + +<p>"My hair is nearly dry. I think I'll go and do it up now," said Boodles. +"I'm going to wear my white muslin. Shan't I look nice?"</p> + +<p>"She doesn't know why she looks nice," murmured the silly old man. "It +is Nature's cruel trick to make her attract young men. Just as the +flowers are given sweetness to attract the fertilising bee. There it is +again—no fixed law. Every sweet flower attracts its bees, but it is not +every sweet girl who may."</p> + +<p>"What's all that about bees?" laughed Boodles. "Oh, I forgot! I'm not to +laugh."</p> + +<p>"Boodle-oodle, do try and take things seriously. Do try and remember," +he pleaded.</p> + +<p>"Remember—what?" she said.</p> + +<p>"We cannot get away from the Brute."</p> + +<p>"But I'm not going to be grumpy until I have to," she said. "It would be +such nonsense. I expect there will be lots of worries later on. I must +be happy while I can. Girls ought not to be told anything about +unhappiness until they are twenty. There ought to be a law made to +punish any one who made a little girl grumpy. If there was you would go +to prison, old man."</p> + +<p>"You must think, Boodles. We are putting it off too long—the question +of your future," he said blunderingly. Now he had got at the subject! "I +am getting old, I have only an annuity, and there will be nothing for +you when I die. I do not know what I shall do without you, but I must +send you away, and have you trained for a nurse, or something of the +kind. It will be bad to be alone again, with the Brute waiting for me at +every corner, but worse to think of you left unprovided for."</p> + +<p>"My dear daddy-man," sighed Boodles, with wide-open eyes. "So that's the +trouble! Aren't you worrying your dear old head about another queer +puzzle? I don't think I shall have to work very dreadful hard for my +living."</p> + +<p>"Why not?" said the old man, hoping his voice was stern.</p> + +<p>"Why?" murmured Boodles prettily. "Well, you know, dear old silly, some +one says that my head is lovely, and my skin is golden, and I'm such a +jolly nice little girl—and I won't repeat it all, or I might swell up +with pride, and you might believe it and find out what an angel you have +been keeping unawares—"</p> + +<p>"Believe," he broke in, catching at the straw as he went down with a +gurgle. "You mustn't believe too much, Boodle-oodle. You are so young. +You don't in the least know what is going to happen to you."</p> + +<p>"Of course I know," declared Boodles; "I'm going to marry Aubrey when +I'm twenty."</p> + +<p>"But his parents—" began Weevil, clutching at the edge of the table, +and wondering what made it feel so sharp.</p> + +<p>"They are dears," said Boodles. "Such nice pretty people, and so kind. +He is just an old Aubrey, and I expect he had the same girl's face when +he fell in love with his wife. She's so fragile, with beautiful big +eyes. It's such a lovely house. Much too good for me."</p> + +<p>"That's just it," he said eagerly, wishing she would not be dense. "It's +much too good for you, darling."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but I don't think you ought to say it," pouted Boodles.</p> + +<p>"We are ordinary people. I am not quite what the Bellamies would call a +gentleman. My father was only a piano-maker," old Weevil faltered, +hoping that the girl would think of her unknown parents when she heard +him refer to his. "I went to a grammar-school, then became a bank-clerk +until I was shelved, partly on account of my grey hairs, but chiefly +because I hit the cashier on the head with a ruler for kicking a dog. I +could not go into Mr. Bellamie's house, Boodles. It is too good for both +of us. There is nothing to be ashamed of in my name, but it is not a +genteel one. We are only unimportant beetles, and the Bellamies are big +bugs," he said, laughing in spite of his feelings at his joke because it +was so seldom that he made one.</p> + +<p>"Aubrey knows all about it. He doesn't care," declared Boodles, nodding +cheerfully. "Besides, I'm not really your daughter anyhow."</p> + +<p>Weevil gasped at her innocent impertinence. Here he was trying to make +her understand that she was a nameless little lady who could not +possibly marry any one of gentle birth, and she was calmly suggesting +she might be superior to him. It was only a thoughtless remark, but it +served to show him that nothing but plain speaking would serve with a +girl in love. She looked at everything through Aubrey's eyes; and Aubrey +was only a boy who could hardly know his own mind. A boy does not care +whether his sweetheart's father is a tinker or a rake; but a man, and an +only son, who has reached an age when he can understand what his family +and society and his profession demand of him, cares a great deal. There +comes a time for every young person when he or she must leave fairyland +and go into the world; and the pity of it is they cannot return. They +look back, but the gate is shut. It is a gate which opens only one +way—to exclude. For every child is born inside. They grow up, and see +their children in that pleasant land, and wish they could join them +there; but if they could go back they would not be happy, for it would +be to them no longer a place of romance and sunshine, but a place of +shadow, and dead selves, and memories. It would not be spring, with +primroses and bluebells in flower, but a Christmas Eve when the dead +life and the dead companions haunt the house, and grim Mother Holle is +plucking her geese and dropping the feathers down the chimney. Aubrey at +twenty adored Boodles. Aubrey at thirty might worry his head about her +parents and her birth-name. Boodles at thirty would be the same as she +was then, loving, and wanting nothing else. Weevil was right in some of +his theories. Every one must suffer from the Brute, except those who +deserve it most. The innocent have to suffer for them. Boodles too was +right. It is no use trying to solve queer puzzles.</p> + +<p>"No, darling; you are not my daughter. I wish you were. I wish you +were."</p> + +<p>"You are too old, daddy-man—at least rather too old," said Boodles +gently. "I should have been born when you were past fifty. Why, what's +the matter? You are dreadful funny to-day, old man."</p> + +<p>Weevil had jumped up nimbly, and running to the window poked his head +out to gulp into his lungs a good mouthful of air. He ran back to the +astonished little girl, took her by the shoulders, shook her severely, +grinned at her; then he stumbled back into his chair and began to laugh +furiously.</p> + +<p>"Shall I tell you a story, Boodle-oodle, a beautiful story of a little +girl who wasn't what she thought she was, though she didn't know who she +was, and didn't care, and wouldn't think, and couldn't listen when +people tried to tell her? Shall I tell you all that, darling?"</p> + +<p>"Not now," gasped Boodles. "I must go and dress. And I shall laugh as +much as I like—mean old thing! Telling me I mustn't laugh, and then +shaking the house down. Dad, if you go on making explosions you'll bring +up rain-clouds, and my afternoon will be spoilt, and so will my frock; +and then I shall have to tell you a story of a horrid old man, who +wasn't a bit like what he hoped his daughter thought he was, though he +didn't know how horrid he was, and didn't care, and wouldn't listen when +people tried to tell him. Well, I'll give you a kiss anyhow, though you +are mad."</p> + +<p>"Not daughter," cried the excited old man. "Remember you are not my +daughter, Boodles."</p> + +<p>"I know. You needn't rub it in."</p> + +<p>"I've got the Brute! I've got him by the neck. He's made me suffer, but +I'll pay him now. Run away, darling. Run away and put on your white +muslin. Laugh as much as you can, and be as pretty as you like. The +Brute shan't touch you. I'll put a muzzle on him. Don't forget to tell +them I am not your father. I've got the whole story in my head. Run +away, little girl, while I think it out."</p> + +<p>Boodles was used to these fits, but usually she understood them. They +were generally provoked by rabbit-traps. She could not understand this +one. Evidently the old man had got hold of something new; but she +couldn't stop any longer, as it was nearly time to go down to the Tavy +and turn up the stones to look for fairies.</p> + +<p>Weevil certainly had got hold of something new. When Boodles had gone he +jumped up and locked the door. Then he looked at his watch. Mr. Bellamie +might arrive at any time; and he was not nearly ready. He began to jump +about the room in a most eccentric way, snapping his fingers, and +grinning at his comic features in the mantel-glass.</p> + +<p>"You've got to be a liar, Abel-Cain, the worst liar that ever lived, as +big a rogue as your namesake Cain, who murdered your namesake Abel. +You're an old man, and you ought not to do it, but if lies can save her +from the Brute lies shall. They'll punish you for it when you're dead, +but if she is saved no matter, none at all. I shall tell them they ought +not to have created the Brute. I won't be afraid of them. Now you +mustn't make a mess of it. I'm afraid you will, Abel-Cain. You're a +shocking old fool sometimes. Put it all down—write it out, then learn +it by heart. The old hands are shaking so. Steady yourself, old fool, +for her sake, for the sake of that pretty laugh. Come along now! +Abel-Cain <i>versus</i> the Brute. We must begin with the marriage."</p> + +<p>He pressed his cold hands upon his hot face, and began to scribble +tremulously on the paper.</p> + +<p>"You were married at the age of twenty-five to a girl who was superior +to you socially. Her name—let me see—what was her name? You must find +one that sounds well. Fitzalan is a good name. You married Miss Fitzalan +at—at, why, of course, St. George's, Hanover Square. She's dead now. +She died of—of, well, it don't matter; she's dead. We had a daughter, +or was it a son? Better keep to one sex, and then there will be no +saying hims for hers, and you mustn't get confused, Abel-Cain, you must +keep your brain as clear as glass. We had a daughter, and called +her—now it must be something easy to remember. Titania is a pretty +name. We called her Tita for short, Titania Fitzalan-Weevil That's it! +You are doing it, Abel-Cain! Keep it up, you old liar. He'll be here +presently. You took the name of Fitzalan-Weevil because it sounded +better, but when your wife died you went back to your own. She was +buried in Hendon churchyard. You don't know why it should be Hendon. Ah +yes, you do, Abel-Cain. Don't you remember how you used to walk along +that road on Sundays and holidays, and have some bread and cheese in the +little tea-garden at Edgware; and then by Mill Hill and Arkley to +Barnet, and back by Hampstead Heath to your lodgings in Kentish Town? +That's why your wife was buried in Hendon churchyard. Then Titania was +married, a very grand marriage, Hanover Square again. It's a pity you +haven't got the press-cuttings, but they are lost—burnt, or something +of the sort—and Titania's husband was the youngest son of the Earl +of—No, that won't do. You mustn't lie too high, or you'll spoil the +story. He was Mr. Lascelles, Harold Lascelles, second son of the late +Reverend Henry Arthur Lascelles, sometime rector of St. Michael's, +Cornhill, and honorary canon of St. Paul's Cathedral. Drag the clergy +in, Abel-Cain. It's respectable. They lived in Switzerland for his +health. You remember he was rather delicate, and Titania wasn't very +strong either; and Boodles was born there. It's working out fine. You +can't be her father, but you can be her grandfather. Boodles was born in +Lausanne, at the hotel where Gibbons wrote his history.</p> + +<p>"Now you come to the mystery; there must be a mystery about Boodles, but +it must be respectable, a tragedy in high life, a regrettable incident, +not a shameful episode. Titania disappeared. What happened to her nobody +knows. You don't know, and Harold doesn't know. She may have gone for a +walk in the mountains and never come back, or she may have gone out in a +boat on Lake Geneva and been drowned, or she may have been murdered by a +madman in a pine-wood. It was all very sad and dreadful, and has +naturally cast a cloud over Boodles's life, though she knows nothing +about it, as she was scarcely a year old when her mother disappeared. +You have never got over it, Abel-Cain, and you don't think you ever +will, as Titania was your only child. You couldn't bear to keep any of +her photographs, so you destroyed them all.</p> + +<p>"Now there is Harold. You can't kill him, Abel-Cain. So much mortality +might be suspicious, and if you let him marry again that would mean a +lot more names to remember. Harold went into the Catholic Church and +became a priest. At the present time he is in charge of a mission in +British Guiana. That's a good long way off, but you must look it up in +the map and make sure where it is."</p> + +<p>The old man leaned back and mopped his face. He was working under a kind +of inspiration, and was afraid it might die out before he had got to the +end of the story. Again he plunged into the narrative, and continued—</p> + +<p>"Harold didn't know what to do with Boodles. Young Catholic priests +cannot be bothered with babies, so he sent her to you, to old +grandfather, and asked you to bring her up. He couldn't pay anything, as +he had devoted his fortune to building a church and establishing his +mission, and besides, you didn't need it in those days, He was a good +fellow, Harold, an earnest, devoted man, but you haven't heard anything +of him for a long time. You called the child Boodles when she was a baby +because it was the sort of name that seemed to suit her, and you have +never got out of it. Her real name is—There must be a lot of them. They +always have a lot in high life. No girl with a long string of names +could be anything but well-born. Her name is Titania Katherine Mary +Fitzalan-Lascelles."</p> + +<p>He read out the list again and again, grinning and crying at the same +time, and chuckling joyfully: "There's nothing of the Weevil in her +now."</p> + +<p>"Then there came the smash," he went on, resuming his pen to add the +finishing touches to the story. "You lost your money. It was gold-mines. +That is quite safe. One always loses money in gold-mines, and you were +never much of a man of business, always ready to listen to any one, and +so you were caught. You retired with what little you could reclaim from +the wreck of your shattered fortunes—that's a fine sentence. You must +get that by heart. It would convince any one that you couldn't tell a +lie. You retired, broken in health and mind and fortune, to this little +cottage on Dartmoor, and you have lived here ever since with Boodles, +whom you have brought up to the best of your ability, although you have +lacked the means to give her that education to which she is entitled by +her name and birth. It is almost unnecessary to add, Abel-Cain," he +concluded, "that you have told the child nothing about her parents lest +she should become dissatisfied with her present humble position. You are +keeping it all from her until she comes of age."</p> + +<p>It was finished. Weevil stared at the blotted manuscript, jabbered over +it, and decided that it was a strong and careful piece of work which +would deceive any one, even the proudest father of an only son who was +much too precious to be thrown away. He was still jabbering when there +were noises outside the door, and he hurried to open it, and discovered +Titania Katherine Mary Fitzalan-Lascelles, looking every syllable of her +names; her beautiful hair coiled under her poppy-trimmed hat, the white +muslin about her dainty limbs, her lips and little nostrils sweet enough +to attract bees with their suggestion of honey, and about her that +wonderful atmosphere of perfect freshness which is the monopoly of such +pretty creatures as herself.</p> + +<p>"You're looking quite wild, old man. What have you been doing?" she +said.</p> + +<p>"Story-writing. About the little girl who—"</p> + +<p>"I can't stop to listen. I must hurry. I just came to say good-bye," she +said, putting up her mouth. "Be good while I am gone. Don't fall into +the fire or play with the matches. You can say if this frock suits me."</p> + +<p>"If I was a boy I shouldn't bother whether it suited you or not," said +Weevil, nodding at her violently.</p> + +<p>"But as you are only an old daddy-man?" she suggested.</p> + +<p>"It will do, Boodle-oodle. Sackcloth would look quite as well—on you."</p> + +<p>"I'll wear sackcloth presently; when Aubrey goes and winter comes," she +laughed.</p> + +<p>Weevil became excited again. He wished she would not make such heedless +and innocent remarks. They suggested the possibility of weak points in +his amazing story. Another unpleasant idea occurred as he looked at the +charming little maid. She was always walking about the moor alone. The +Brute might seize her in one of his Protean forms, and she might +disappear just as her fictitious mother had done. Weevil had invoked his +imagination, and as a result all sorts of ghostly things occurred to his +mind to which it had been a stranger hitherto. There were traps lying +about for girls as well as rabbits.</p> + +<p>"Where are you going, little radiance?" he said.</p> + +<p>"Down by the Tavy. Our walk. We have only one."</p> + +<p>Boodles answered from the door, and then she went. She had only one +walk. On all Dartmoor there was only one. Weevil caught up his +manuscript and began to jabber again. She must not have that one walk +taken away from her.</p> + +<p>For two hours he worked, like a student on the brink of an examination, +trying to commit his story to memory. Each time he read the fictions +they became to him more probable. He scarcely knew himself what a +miserable memory he had, but he was well aware how nervous he could be +in the presence of strangers, and how liable he was to be confused when +any special eccentricity asserted itself. As the time when his visitor +might be expected approached he went and put on his best clothes, tidied +himself, brushed his hair and whiskers, tried to make himself look less +like a Hindoo idol, burnished his queer face with scented soap, and +practised a few genteel attitudes before the glass. He hoped somebody +had told Mr. Bellamie he was eccentric.</p> + +<p>Weevil was still poring over his manuscript when the visitor arrived. +With a frantic gesture the old man went to admit him. People were not +announced in that household. Mr. Bellamie entered with a kindly +handshake and a courteous manner; but his impressions were at once +unfavourable. Well-bred men tell much by a glance. The grotesque host, +the pictures, furniture, and ornaments, were alike inartistic. Mr. +Bellamie was a perfect gentleman. He had come merely as a matter of duty +to make the acquaintance of the tenant of Lewside Cottage, not because +it was a pleasure, but he had received Boodles at his house, and his +son's attachment for the little girl was becoming serious. He could not +definitely oppose himself to Aubrey's love-making until he had +ascertained what manner of people the Weevils were. The pictures and +ornaments told him. The cottage represented poverty, but it was hardly +genteel poverty. A poor gentleman's possessions proclaim his station as +clearly as those of a retired pork-butcher betray his lack of taste. A +few good engravings, a shelf or two of classical works, and a cabinet of +old china, would have done more for Boodles than all the wild romances +of her putative grandfather.</p> + +<p>"You have a glorious view," said the visitor, turning his back upon art +that was degraded and rejoicing in that which was natural. "I have been +admiring it all the way up from the station. But you must get the wind +in the winter time."</p> + +<p>"Yes, a great deal of it. But it is very fine and healthy, and we have +our windows open most days. Tita insists upon it."</p> + +<p>"Tita?" questioned Mr. Bellamie, turning and looking puzzled. "I +understood that—"</p> + +<p>"Her name is not Boodles," said Weevil decidedly. "That is only a pet +name I gave her when she was a baby, and I have never been able to break +myself of it. She is my grand-daughter, Mr. Bellamie, and her name is +Titania Katherine Mary Fitzalan-Lascelles," he said, reading carefully +from the manuscript. "I think she must have inherited her love of open +windows and fresh air from her father, who was the Reverend Henry—no, I +mean Harold Lascelles, second son of the Reverend Henry Arthur +Lascelles—the late, I should have said—sometime Director of St. +Michael's, Cornhill, and minor canon—no, honorary—honorary canon of +St. Paul's Cathedral. He was rather delicate and lived in Switzerland a +good deal, and died there—no, he didn't, that was Tita's mother. He is +in charge of a Catholic mission in British Guiana."</p> + +<p>Polite astonishment was upon every feature of the visitor's fragile +face. He had not come there to talk about Boodles, but to see Weevil and +Lewside Cottage, that he might judge for himself whether the girl could +by any chance be considered a suitable subject for Aubrey's adoration; +to look at the pictures, and make a few conventional remarks upon the +view and the weather; then to return home and report to his wife. He had +certainly not expected to find Weevil bubbling over with family history, +pedigrees, and social intelligence, regarding the child whom he had been +led to suppose was not related to him. Mr. Bellamie glanced at Weevil's +excited face, at the pencil he held in one hand and at the sheet of +paper in the other; and just then he didn't know what to think. Then he +said quietly: "I will sit down if I may. That long hill from the station +was rather an ordeal. As you have mentioned your—your grand-daughter, I +believe you said, you will, I hope, forgive me if I express a little +surprise, as the girl—and a very pretty and charming girl she is—came +to see us one day, and on that occasion she distinctly mentioned that +she knew nothing of her parents."</p> + +<p>Mr. Bellamie would have murmured on in his gentle brook-like way, but +Weevil could not suppress himself. While the visitor was speaking he +made noises like a soda-water bottle which is about to eject its cork; +and at the first opportunity he exploded, and his lying words and broken +bits of story flew all about the room.</p> + +<p>"Quite true, Mr. Bellamie. Boodles—I mean Tita—was telling you the +truth. I have never known her to do the contrary. She has been told +nothing whatever of her parents, does not know that her daughter was my +mother—"</p> + +<p>"You mean that her mother was your daughter," interposed the gentle +guest.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mr. Bellamie, that is what I did mean, but I am rather confused. +She does not know that her father is living, nor that her rightful name +is Lascelles, nor that her paternal grandfather was the rector of St. +Michael's, Cornhill, and prebendary of St. Paul's Cathedral—"</p> + +<p>"I understood you to say honorary canon," murmured the visitor.</p> + +<p>"I am not certain," cried the excited old man, who was by no means sure +what a prebendary might be. "It is a long time ago, and some of the +facts are not very clear in my mind. You can easily find out," he went +on recklessly. "The Reverend Canon Lascelles was a very well-known man. +He wrote a number of learned books. I believe he refused a bishopric. +Let me see. I was telling you about my little maid. I have kept +everything from her because I feared she might be upset if she knew the +truth and found out who she was. She mightn't be satisfied to go on +living in this little cottage with a poor shabby old man like me, if she +knew how well born she was. I am going to tell her everything when she +is twenty-one, and then she can choose for herself, whether to remain +with me, or to join her father if he wants her in British Guiana."</p> + +<p>"There must be some reason," suggested Mr. Bellamie gently, with another +wondering glance at Weevil's surprising aspect. "I am not seeking to +intrude into any family secret, but you have introduced this subject, +and you must permit me to say that I feel interested in the little girl +on account of my son's—er—friendship with her."</p> + +<p>"I was just coming to it," cried Weevil, exploding again. He was warmed +up by this time. He had lost his nervousness, felt he was playing a +winning game, and believed he had the story pat. The lies had stuck in +his throat at first, as he was a naturally truthful man, but they were +coming along glibly now. "You have a right to be told. There is a little +mystery about Tita's mother. They were living in Lausanne—Tita was born +in the hotel where Gibbings wrote his history—and one day her mother +went out and disappeared. She has never been heard of since that day. It +is supposed she went for a walk in the mountains. Perhaps she fell down +a glacier," he added, brilliantly inspired.</p> + +<p>"A crevasse," corrected Mr. Bellamie mildly. "It is hardly likely. +Lausanne is not quite among the mountains."</p> + +<p>Weevil had not known that. Hurriedly he suggested a fatal boating trip +upon the lake of Geneva, and was relieved when the visitor admitted in a +slightly incredulous manner that was more probable.</p> + +<p>"You have interested me very much," he went on, "and surprised me. You +are the girl's grandfather on the mother's side?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; and now I must tell you something about myself," said Weevil, with +a hurried glance at his notes which the visitor could not help +observing. "I am not your social equal, Mr. Bellamie, and I cannot +pretend to be. I have not enjoyed the advantages of a public-school and +university education, but I was left with a fortune from my father, who +was a manufacturer of pianos, at an early age, and I then contracted a +marriage with a lady who was slightly older than myself, and very much +my superior socially, mentally—possibly physically," he added, with +another inspiration, as he caught sight of his comic face in the +mantel-glass. "Her name was Miss Fitzalan, and we were married at St. +George's, Hanover Square."</p> + +<p>The visitor inclined his head, and did so just in time to conceal a +smile. Weevil was overacting the part. He was placing an emphasis on +every word. In his excitement he dropped the manuscript, without which +he was helpless. It fluttered to Mr. Bellamie's feet, and before Weevil +could recover it the visitor had a distinct recollection of having read: +"Your wife was buried in Hendon churchyard." It was strange, he thought, +that a man should require to make a note of his wife's burying-place.</p> + +<p>"Titania was our only child," Weevil went on, after refreshing his +memory, like a public speaker, with his notes. "She was something like +Boodles, only her hair was flaxen, and she was taller and more slim. I +am sorry I have not a photograph of her, but after her tragic +disappearance I burnt them all. I could not bear to look at them. There +was one of her in court dress which you would have liked. Some time +after my wife's death I lost my money in gold-mines. It was my own +fault. I was foolish, and I listened to the advice of knaves. I came +here with what little I could reclaim from the wreck of my shattered +fortunes," he said, pausing to notice the effect of that tremendous +sentence, and then repeating it with added emphasis. "I settled here, +and Father Lascelles, as he was by then, sent me my grandchild and asked +me to bring her up as my own. At first I shrank from the responsibility, +as I had not the means to educate her as her birth and name require, but +I have been given cause every day of my life since to be thankful that I +did accept, for she has been the light of my eyes, Mr. Bellamie, the +light and the apple of my eyes."</p> + +<p>Weevil sank into a chair and wiped his face. His task was done, he had +told his story; and he fully believed that Boodles was safe and that the +Brute was conquered. The visitor was looking into the interior of his +hat. He seemed to have found something artistic there. He coughed, and +in his gentle well-bred way observed: "Thank you, Mr. Weevil. You have +told me a piece of very interesting family history."</p> + +<p>Weevil detected nothing of a suspicious or ironical nature in that +admission. He nursed his knee, and wagged his head, and grinned +triumphantly as he replied in a naive fashion: "I took the name of +Fitzalan-Weevil after my marriage, because I thought it sounded better, +but after I lost my wife and fortune I went back to my own."</p> + +<p>Mr. Bellamie took another glance round the room, just to make sure he +had missed nothing. There might be some little gem of a picture in a +dark corner, or a cracked bit of Wedgwood ware, which he had overlooked +in the former survey. There might be some redeeming thing, he thought, +in the environment which would fit in with the amazing story. The same +inartistic features met his eyes: Weevil pictures, Weevil furniture, +Weevil carpet and wall-paper. There was nothing to represent the family +of Fitzalan or the family of Lascelles. The simple old liar did not know +what a powerful advocate was fighting against him, and how his poor +little home was giving verdict and judgment against him. The visitor +completed his survey, turned his attention to the old man, regarding him +partly with contempt and pity, chiefly in admiration. Then he took out +his trap and set it cleverly where Weevil could hardly fail to blunder +into it.</p> + +<p>"I think I knew Canon Lascelles a good many years ago," he said in his +gentle non-combative voice. "He was a curious-looking man, if I remember +rightly. Tall, stooping very much, with a red face which contrasted +strangely with his white hair, and he had a trick of snapping his +fingers loudly when excited. Do you recognise the portrait?"</p> + +<p>Old Weevil gasped, said he did, declared it was life-like, and then +fumbled for his manuscript. Hadn't he made any notes on that subject? +There was nothing to help him in the inky scrawl. He was being examined +upon unprepared subjects. So there had been a Canon Lascelles in real +life, and Mr. Bellamie had known him. Well, there was nothing for it but +to agree to all that was said. His imagination would not work upon the +spur of the moment, and if he tried to force it he would be sure to +contradict himself or become confused. He replied that he distinctly +remembered the Canon's trick of snapping his fingers loudly when +excited.</p> + +<p>"Your daughter married the second son Harold. Of course you knew Philip +the eldest. I think his name was Philip?"</p> + +<p>"Quite right, Mr. Bellamie, quite right. Philip it was. He went into the +Army," gasped Weevil.</p> + +<p>"Surely not," said Mr. Bellamie. "Excuse me for contradicting you, but I +know he went into the Navy, and I think he is now a captain. Aubrey will +tell me. Very possibly my son has met Captain Lascelles, and may indeed +have served under him."</p> + +<p>Weevil was trying to look contemplative, but succeeding badly. He was +digging new ground and striking roots everywhere. There was nothing for +it but to admit his mistake. He was old and forgetful. He had probably +been thinking of some one else. Of course Philip Lascelles went into the +Navy. He had heard nothing of him for years, and was very glad to hear +he had risen to the rank of captain.</p> + +<p>"Then there was a daughter. Only one, I think?" Mr. Bellamie continued, +in his pleasant conversational way.</p> + +<p>"That's right," agreed Weevil, longing to add something descriptive, but +not venturing. He was not going to be caught again.</p> + +<p>"Edith?" suggested the visitor. "I think the name was Edith."</p> + +<p>"No," cried Weevil determinedly—he could not resist it; "Katherine. She +was the godmother of Boodles—Tita, I mean—and the child was named +after her."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is my mistake this time. Katherine of course," agreed Mr. +Bellamie. "But I am certain she was the eldest child, and she married +young and went to India. She must have been in India when your +grandchild was born."</p> + +<p>"She came over for the ceremony. Harold was her favourite brother, and +when she heard of Tita's birth she came to London as fast as she could," +cried Weevil, not realising what a wild thing he was saying.</p> + +<p>"To London!" murmured Mr. Bellamie. "The child was baptised at St. +Michael's, Cornhill?" he added swiftly.</p> + +<p>"No, in Hendon church."</p> + +<p>"I thought you said she was born in Lausanne at the Hotel Gibbon?"</p> + +<p>"So she was," gasped Weevil, perspiring and distraught. "I mean she was +buried in Hendon churchyard."</p> + +<p>"What! the little girl—Boodles!" said Mr. Bellamie, laughing gently.</p> + +<p>"No, my wife. We were married there." Weevil did not know what he was +saying. The pictures and ornaments, which had been his undoing, were +dancing about before his eyes.</p> + +<p>"You are getting confused," said the gentle visitor. "I understood you +to say you were married at St. George's, Hanover Square."</p> + +<p>"Ah, but I used to go to Hendon," said Weevil eagerly, nodding, and +grinning, and speaking the truth at last. "I used to walk out there on +Sundays and holidays, and have bread and cheese in a tea-garden at +Edgware, and then go on by Mill Hill and Arkley and round to Barnet, and +back across Hampstead Heath to my lodgings in Kentish Town. I was very +fond of that walk, but I couldn't do it now, sir. It would be much too +far for an old man like me."</p> + +<p>Weevil was happy again. He thought he had succeeded in changing the +subject, and getting away from the fictitious family of Lascelles. Mr. +Bellamie was satisfied too. Canon Lascelles was a fiction with him also. +The pictures and furniture had given truthful evidence. Weevil was a +fraud, but such a well-meaning pitiable old humbug that the visitor +could not feel angry. They had fenced at each other with fictions, and +in such delicate play Weevil had not much chance; and his latest and +only truthful admission had done for him entirely. Gentlemen of means do +not walk up the Edgware Road on Sundays and holidays, and partake of +bread and cheese in suburban tea-gardens, and then return to lodgings in +Kentish Town.</p> + +<p>"Thank you for what you have told me," said Mr. Bellamie, rising and +looking into his hat; and then, succumbing to the desire to add the +final artistic touch: "I understand you to have said that you were +married to Miss Fitzalan in Hendon church, and that your daughter +married Mr. Harold Lascelles, who disappeared in an unaccountable +fashion in Lausanne?"</p> + +<p>"No, no," cried Weevil despairingly. He was tired and had put aside his +manuscript. "I never said that. You have got it quite wrong. I was +married to Miss Fitzalan in St. Michael's, Brentor, and our daughter +Boodles married Philip Lascelles—captain as he now is—at Hendon, and +Tita was baptised in St. George's, Hanover Square, and then went to +Lausanne to that hotel where Gubbings wrote his history, and there she +disappeared—no, not Boodles, but her mother Tita. But she may be alive +still. She may turn up some day."</p> + +<p>"Then how about Father Lascelles?" suggested Mr. Bellamie.</p> + +<p>"Why, he married my daughter Tita," said Weevil rather crossly. "And now +he is in British Columbia at his mission. He won't come back to England +again. Boodles doesn't know of his existence, but I shall tell her when +she is twenty-one."</p> + +<p>The visitor smiled rather sadly, and after a moment's hesitation put out +his hand. Old Weevil had been turned inside out, and there was nothing +in him but a foolish loving heart. Mr. Bellamie understood the position +exactly. There was a mystery about the little girl's birth, and it was +probably a shameful one, and on that account the old man had concocted +his lying story, not for his own sake, but for hers. Mr. Bellamie could +not feel angry at the queer shaking figure, with tragedy inside and +comedy on its face. Boodles was his all, the only thing he had to love, +and he was prepared to do anything which he thought might ensure her +happiness. There was something splendid about his lies, which the +visitor had to admire although they had been prepared to dupe him. It +was not a highly moral proceeding, but it was an artistic one; and Mr. +Bellamie was able to forgive anything that was artistic.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye," he said, in a perfectly friendly way. "I hope you will come +and see me at Tavistock, and look at your tors from my windows."</p> + +<p>Weevil returned thanks effusively, happy in the belief that he had +played his part well; but it was characteristic of him that his thoughts +should be for Boodles rather than for himself. "If you would let her +come and see you sometimes it would make her happy. It's a dull life for +the little maid here, and she is so bright and full of laughter. I think +she laughs too much, and to-day I told her so. There is a lot of cruelty +in this world, Mr. Bellamie, and I want to keep her from it. The man who +makes a little maid miserable deserves all the cruelty that there is, +but it shan't touch Boodles if I can put myself before her and keep it +off. I could not see her suffer, I couldn't hear her laugh ring false. I +would rather see her dead."</p> + +<p>Mr. Bellamie walked away slowly. He had prepared a mild revenge, but he +did not execute it. He had intended to tell Weevil a story of a man who +took a dog out to sea that he might drown it; but while fastening a +stone to its neck the boat overturned, the man was drowned, while the +dog swam safely to shore. He thought Weevil might be able to interpret +the parable. But when he heard those last words, and saw the love and +tenderness on that queer grinning face, he said no more. He walked away +slowly, with his eyes upon the ground.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h3> + +<h2>ABOUT JUSTICE</h2> + + +<p>What luck is nobody can know, but it is certainly a gift to be preferred +before natural ability. Luck is that undefinable thing which enables a +man to push his head and shoulders well above the crowd. Make him wise +it cannot, but no man cares about wisdom if he can only be wealthy. +Lucky men pile up big fortunes, and invariably become humbugs in their +old age, and assure young men that their affluence is entirely owing to +the splendid virtues of application, perseverance, and early rising, +which they practised in their youth. No doubt the virtues help, but hard +work alone makes no man wealthy, let him toil like Sisyphus. It is luck +that lodges the stone on the top of the mountain. The idle apprentice +who has luck is far more likely to marry his master's daughter than the +industrious apprentice who hasn't it. The clever man and the lucky one +start out side by side, but they soon drift apart; the lucky man goes to +the right door, the clever man goes to the wrong one; and the end of it +is that the clever man writes from his cottage to the lucky man in his +mansion, begging the loan of a few pounds to keep the bailiffs out. +There is nothing to which a man without luck cannot attain by hard work, +except one thing—success.</p> + +<p>Decidedly there had been no fairy godmothers at Brightly's christening. +None of the good things of life had fallen upon him; and yet he +possessed those virtues which are supposed to make for wealth; no man +could have worked harder or showed more perseverance; and as for early +rising it was easy because he had no bed to rise from. Still he could +not make a living. The elusive coppers refused to increase and multiply +into shillings; and as for sovereigns they were as extinct as dodos.</p> + +<p>Brightly continued his various progresses with that strict attention to +business which had always characterised him, and with the empty stomach +which had become a habit; but without any luck. Any one might have +mistaken him for a poet.</p> + +<p>He was working the same old stretch: Meldon, Sourton Down, Bridestowe, +Lydford, Brentor, and the Tavys, his basket dragging at his arm, and Ju +trotting her poor little life away at his heels. Ju also had been +deserted by canine fairy godmothers. Perhaps she too had dreams—of a +basket, furnished with soft cushions beside a fire, and perennial plates +of bones and biscuits.</p> + +<p>Brightly had a fresh stock of atrocious yellow vases, thanks to the +generosity of the lovers at the fair; and he was hard at work again +collecting rabbit-skins; and still encouraged himself by thinking of the +glorious time when he would jog contentedly along the stony roads in a +little cart neatly littered with fern, with a lamp to be lighted after +dark, and the board bearing the inscription: "A. Brightly. Purveyor of +rabbit-skins," set forth for all to read. It was not a very lofty +ambition, although quite an impossible one. Brightly was getting on in +years; his rheumatism and asthma were increasing; so was his blindness; +he wept sometimes, but that did not assist his business. Sometimes he +thought the time was getting near when he would have to sell his vases +and buy two pennyworth of rat-poison. He thought he would do it with +rat-poison. Perhaps when he woke up, if he did wake up, he would find +himself in Jerusalem among the jugs of milk and honey-pots; and perhaps +there would be somebody like Boodles looking at him with the same moist +eyes. He could not go into the poorhouse. They would frighten him there, +and he would much rather be dead than in that prison. Nature seemed +rather to have overreached herself when she created Brightly. What was +the use of such a defenceless creature, this sort of human rabbit whom +any one could attack? Why turn him out feeble and half blind when he had +his living to make? Even the wayside weed is better cared for. When its +crown-bud is bitten off by a cow Nature sets to work to repair the +injury at once, and the plant grows up as well as ever. Nature did +nothing to repair Brightly's injuries. She did not even permit him to +enjoy tobacco, that one luxury of the lonely and friendless. Probably +she foresaw what a boon tobacco would be to him, so she afflicted him +with asthma. Nature delights in thus adding toil to toil and trouble to +trouble. It is only in the matter of adding pleasure to pleasure that +she is niggardly.</p> + +<p>Brightly was coming up the moor towards St. Mary Tavy. His face looked +smaller and his hands bigger. There was another change, a far more +striking one; he was actually well dressed; there was nothing, of +course, in the shape of useless accessories, such as shirt or underwear, +but the black seal-like raiment had been discarded and a suit of brown +cloth had taken its place. He had picked up those clothes while +burrowing in a wheal to find shelter from a pitiless downpour. It had +been a great find which had rejoiced his heart, for although he was +accustomed to make a living by picking up things which other people +threw away, he had never before discovered anything half as priceless as +a suit of stout garments. It had never occurred to him that they might +not have been thrown away, but merely hidden in the wheal, or that he +had no right to them, or that it could be dangerous for him to be seen +about in them.</p> + +<p>"Us will pitch here," said Brightly, stopping near the moor gate, and +lowering his basket carefully. "It be dinner time, Ju."</p> + +<p>The little dog wagged at the prospect. Dinner time occurred frequently, +but generally without the dinner. She sniffed ravenously at the +handkerchief in the corner of the basket, and decided that the menu of +the day was cheese, largely rind, but still cheese, a slab of bread, and +two onions. It was one of the feast-days. They reposed upon heather, and +Brightly made a division of the food, reserving the onions for himself, +but allotting Ju a bigger piece of rind as compensation. "You'm a lot +littler than I," he explained. "Your belly be filled quicker. It be no +good giving yew an onion, 'cause yew wun't yet 'en. Tak' your +cheese—don't swallow like that, ye little stoopid! Yew don't get the +taste of 'en at all. Yet 'en slow, and tak' a bit o' bread wi' 'en same +as I du. Us wun't get no more to-day like enough."</p> + +<p>The meal was soon over, and then Brightly sat up and began to whistle, +while Ju squatted upon the heather, her tongue lolling out, and her poor +little mongrel head following every motion of her master's body. +Brightly's only recreation was whistling, and he took the pastime +seriously. With his pinched face and big round glasses set towards +Brentor he piped away as hard as he could; first a ballad which he had +heard in an ale-house, then a hymn, and another ballad, and then the +favourite of all, Jerusalem the Golden. He whistled them all wrong, but +he didn't know it. For the time being he was happy enough, as he was a +contented soul, and his chief happiness was to be alone on the moor, +which then seemed to be his own property, with the scented garden of +heather and gorse about him, and the sweet wind blowing upon his face; +and they all seemed to be his own while he was alone. It was only when +he saw a cottage, or a farm, or a man approaching him, that he +understood they were not his own, but the property of the cottage, or +the farm, or the man approaching him, and that he lived only upon +sufferance, and might get into trouble for lying on the heather, and +smelling the gorse, or for permitting the pleasant wind to blow upon his +face.</p> + +<p>After whistling he began to sing, making, it must be owned, a shocking +noise. He did not know the words of the ballads, nor more than a single +line of the Wesleyan hymn which children sing in procession upon chapel +anniversary day. Brightly had often listened as he tramped by, with his +full basket and his empty stomach, but he had never caught the Words +because the children gabbled them so in their hurry to get the religious +exercises over and attack the cakes and splits. "Jesu, Master, us +belongs to yew," he howled discordantly, while Ju howled in dismal +agreement, and began to whimper when her master went on to scream about +Jerusalem and dairy produce.</p> + +<p>"I reckon that be the beautifullest tune as ever was sung," commented +Brightly, "I'll sing 'en again, Ju, and I'll get 'en right this time. I +mun sing him a bit stronger. I reckon the end o' the world can't be over +far off, wi' volks got so cruel wicked, and us mun get ready vor't."</p> + +<p>He folded his hands upon his knees, and was about to resume his noises +when the moor gate clicked. Brightly's faculties were as keen as a +bat's. He could not see much, but he could sense the approach of danger; +and when he heard the gate slam violently, and a thick voice exclaim: +"There a' be!" he started up, anxious to get back to his solitude, +conscious somehow that unfriendly beings were upon him, to steal his +"duppence," and put him out of business by smashing his vases. He stared +through his glasses until he distinguished two fat figures, one in +uniform, the other in shabby raiment, advancing upon him with +threatening movements, one the village constable, the other the village +reprobate; and when he saw them, that grim thing called terror descended +upon Brightly. He had done nothing wrong so far as he knew, but all the +same he could not resist the fear, so he fled away as hard as he could, +the basket dragging upon his arm, and Ju trotting at his heels. He knew +what it meant to fall into the hands of his fellow-men. Pendoggat had +shown him, and most men were Pendoggats to Brightly.</p> + +<p>He went up the moor towards the top of the village, and the stout +constable soon gave up the chase, as he was not used to violent +exercise, nor did he receive any extra pay for exerting himself. +Besides, he was sure of the man. He wiped his face and told the village +reprobate, who was his most obliging servant and had to be, that it was +cruel hot, and he'd got that lusty he didn't seem able to run properly, +and he thought he would return to the village and prepare for more +strenuous deeds with a drop o' cider; and he charged the reprobate to +follow Brightly and head him off at the top of the village, and keep him +close until he, the constable, should have cooled down and recovered +from his fatigue sufficiently to attend in great pomp and arrest the +rascal. He reminded the reprobate he must not arrest Brightly because +that was not allowed by law; but he was at perfect liberty to knock him +down, and trample on him, and inform him that the criminal law of the +land was about to spread its net around him. The constable's state of +mind regarding the law was peculiar. He had no idea that laws were made +to punish crime. He conceived that creatures like Brightly existed to +supply the demands of the law.</p> + +<p>At the head of the village Brightly encountered more man-hunters, but he +managed to escape again, although he had to leave his basket behind. +Some children soon rifled it, and took the gorgeous vases home to their +mothers. With the instinct of the hunted animal the fugitive turned upon +his tracks, fled up a side lane, climbed over a hedge, waited until his +pursuers had passed, then hurried back for his basket, hoping to reclaim +it and get away upon the moor, where he could soon hide himself. But he +had not gone far when he saw a vision; the angel again, the angel of +Tavistock, the angel from Jerusalem, who had dropped out of the church +window and set him up in business with half-a-crown; and she came to +meet him in the road, as angels do, with his basket in her hand, and +just the same pitiful look in her eyes. There was no church just by, +only a little white cottage; but perhaps it was furnished like a church, +with coloured windows, booming organ, and a big black book on the +outspread wings of a golden goose.</p> + +<p>"I have got some of the vases. The children have not taken them all," +said Boodles. "I saw it from the window. What have you done?"</p> + +<p>"They knows, your reverent; I don't," gasped Brightly. He didn't know +how he ought to address the angel, but he thought "your reverent" might +do for the present. He stood upon the road, panting, shivering, and +coughing, while Boodles looked at him and tried to laugh, but couldn't.</p> + +<p>"What a dreadful cough!" she said sorrowfully.</p> + +<p>"It's asthma, your reverent. I allus has it, and rheumatics tu—just +here, cruel, your reverent. I be getting blind. I don't seem able to see +you properly," he said, in the voice of one saying his prayers, and half +choking all the time.</p> + +<p>"Don't call me your reverent," said Boodles. "How silly! I—I'm only a +little girl."</p> + +<p>Brightly had always supposed that celestial beings are modest. He only +shook his head at that remark. He had seen little girls, and knew quite +well what they were like. They didn't have golden skin and a glory about +their heads, neither did they drop down suddenly before starving and +persecuted beings, to give them half-crowns, and save them from their +enemies.</p> + +<p>"Asthma, rheumatics, and getting blind," he repeated, shattering the +words with coughs. He hoped the angel might touch him and heal his +infirmities if he told her all about them.</p> + +<p>She only gave him the basket, and said: "You had better come in and +rest. I don't like to hear you cough so. I hope you haven't been +stealing anything?" she said reproachfully.</p> + +<p>"I ain't done nothing—nothing serious," declared Brightly. "I was +a-sitting on the heather, singing about Jesus and us belonging to 'en, +when policeman comes a-shouting, there 'a be,' and I ran, your reverent. +I was that mazed I didn't hardly know what I was doing. They'm after I +now, and I ain't done nothing that I knows on. I was a-yetting my bread +and cheese and singing. I warn't a-harming a living thing. I warn't +a-harming not a butterfly, your reverent."</p> + +<p>Boodles would have laughed had Brightly been a less pathetic object. She +said she believed he was honest, bent to pat Ju, then took them both +into the cottage and into the little room where old Weevil was preparing +a long screed, to be addressed to some society, and headed: "An Inquiry +into the Number of Earthworms mutilated annually by Agricultural +Implements." He was very much astonished when he saw Brightly, but +became as pitiful as the girl when he had heard the story.</p> + +<p>"I am sure he speaks the truth," said Boodles for the defence.</p> + +<p>"I don't care whether it's the truth or a lie. Another poor thing caught +by the Brute," muttered Weevil. "We must help him to escape. We will +keep him here until dark, and then he can creep away. It's what we are +always doing, all of us—trying to creep away from the Brute."</p> + +<p>Brightly seated himself in a reverential attitude, regarding poor old +Weevil as a patriarch, a sort of modern Abraham who had pitched his tent +in that part of the country for the benefit of the poor and friendless. +He wondered if the patriarch was a prophet also, and could tell him if +he would ever attain to the pony and cart; but he had not the courage to +ask.</p> + +<p>"What are those things in your basket?" said Weevil.</p> + +<p>"Two rabbit-skins, sir. I makes my living out o' they. Least I tries +to," added Brightly drearily.</p> + +<p>"Where have you come from?"</p> + +<p>"To-day from Lydford, sir. Yesterday from Belstone, round Okehampton, +and over Sourton Down. Trade be bad, sir."</p> + +<p>"How many miles is that?"</p> + +<p>"Mebbe nearly twenty from Belstone. I went round about like, and pitched +to Lydford last night."</p> + +<p>"Twenty miles for two rabbit-skins. Merciful God!" gasped Weevil.</p> + +<p>"Amen, sir," said Brightly.</p> + +<p>"Don't you know what the policeman wants you for?"</p> + +<p>"I don't, sir. I was a-sitting on the heather when he come, and I ran. I +got to the top o' the village, and a lot more of 'em were after I, and I +ran again. I got away from 'em, and was a-coming back vor my basket, +when the reverent appeared avore I wi' my basket in the reverent's +hand."</p> + +<p>"That's me," said Boodles, demurely and ungrammatically, in answer to +Weevil's puzzled look. She was feeding Ju with biscuit, stroking her +thin sides at the same time, and making the poor bitch share her +master's impressions concerning the pleasant nature of angelic visions.</p> + +<p>There was a knock upon the door, not the timid knock of a visitor, nor +the obsequious knock of a tradesman, but the loud defiant knock of +authority. The constable had arrived, full of cider and a sense of duty, +and behind him a number of villagers had gathered together, with a +sprinkling of children, some of whom had stolen Brightly's vases, and +seen him enter Lewside Cottage, and then had run off to spread the news +everywhere.</p> + +<p>"Very sorry, miss," said the policeman, with a polite hiccup. "You've +got the man I'm after. Got in when you wasn't looking, likely enough. +He'm a bad lot. I've been after him a long time, and now I've got him."</p> + +<p>"What has he done?" said Boodles, guarding the door, and making signs to +Weevil to get Brightly out at the back.</p> + +<p>"Robbery with violence, attempted murder, and keeping a dog wi'out a +licence," said the happy policeman, in the satisfied manner of a fat boy +chewing Turkish delight. "You must stand aside, if you plase, miss. +Mustn't interfere with the course of law and justice."</p> + +<p>"It's horrid," cried the child. "I'm sure he has done nothing."</p> + +<p>"Come away, my maid. We can't do anything," called Weevil tremulously. +"The man must go to the Brute. Innocent or guilty, it's all the same. +The Brute has us all in turn."</p> + +<p>Brightly sat in the corner coughing, and beside him Ju huddled, +swallowing the last crumbs of biscuit. They were an unlovely but +entirely inoffensive pair. A student of human nature would have +acquitted the pinched little man of guilt at a glance, but the policeman +was not a student of either human nature, law, or morals. He had +promotion to consider, and weak and friendless beings like Brightly were +valuable assets in a place where opportunities for distinction were few. +Brightly had no relations to come behind the constable on a dark night +and half murder him. Little difficulties like that compelled him to look +the other way when commoners set the law aside. But Brightly and Ju were +fair game, and the constable had long regarded them as such.</p> + +<p>"You come along with me," he said pleasantly, pulling at Brightly's +sleeve. "Best come quiet, and I've got to warn ye that anything you ses +will be used agin ye. If you tries to get away again 'twill go hard wi' +ye."</p> + +<p>"What ha' I done, sir?" whispered Brightly, lifting his thin face and +pathetic spectacles. He was not usually of an inquisitive nature, but he +was curious then to learn the particular nature of the villainies he had +committed.</p> + +<p>The policeman winked at Weevil and smiled greasily, meaning to imply +that the prisoner was an old hand and a desperate character.</p> + +<p>"Ain't he a booty?" he said, with professional admiration for a daring +criminal. "Wants to know what he's done. Well, I'll tell ye. Thursday +night, not last week, but week avore, you set on Varmer Chegwidden as he +was a-riding home peaceable across Gibbet Hill, and you pulled 'en off +his horse, and stripped the clothes off 'en, and flung 'en into +vuzzy-bushes, and purty nigh murdered 'en, and you steals his money and +his clothes, and you'm a-wearing his clothes now; and he wants to know +what he've been and done," said the policeman, with another wink at +Weevil's distressed countenance.</p> + +<p>"What nonsense!" cried Boodles. "He pull Chegwidden off his horse! Why, +Chegwidden could keep him off with two fingers."</p> + +<p>"He'm one of the artfullest criminals in the country," explained the +constable.</p> + +<p>"How did you get those clothes?" asked the girl, turning towards the +accused.</p> + +<p>"Picked 'en up in a wheal, your reverent," answered Brightly.</p> + +<p>"Didn't I tell ye?" cried the policeman. "Artful ain't the word for 'en. +If 'twasn't for me, and the evidence I got agin him, he'd purty nigh +make the magistrates believe he was innocent. Walks about in stolen +clothes, he du, and says he never stole 'em. Takes a bit of a bad 'un to +du that."</p> + +<p>Brightly could not understand much about it, but he supposed it was all +right. He was evidently a rascal, but he felt almost proud to learn that +he had dragged Chegwidden off his horse, although he could not remember +having done so. His own impression was that if he had seen Chegwidden +approaching he would have fled like a frightened rabbit. He supposed +they would not hang him, and anyhow, if they did try, the angel would +very likely appear before him and help him to escape, and show him a +short-cut to Jerusalem, or tell him how he could get the pony and cart +without being accused of having stolen them. He got up, ready to go with +the policeman, and Ju rose too and shook herself, knowing nothing of the +law.</p> + +<p>"Where's your dog-licence?" demanded the constable.</p> + +<p>Brightly looked about in his misery, but his glasses were so dim he +could see nothing. He had always been afraid that question would come, +and he had often wondered how he should answer it. He had tried again +and again to save up for that licence in pennies and halfpence, but it +was quite impossible. The sum never reached a shilling. Prosperous +commoners could easily obtain exemption orders for their dogs; but a +large sum of money was demanded from him, although he had none, for the +right to keep his only little friend.</p> + +<p>"I ain't got no paper, sir," he said. "I've tried time and time, but the +pennies wun't keep. I couldn't mak' it up. I'll tell 'en how I tried to +save it, sir."</p> + +<p>Boodles turned to the window and her shoulders began to shake, while old +Weevil was using his handkerchief as if he had a cold. The constable was +grinning more than ever. After such zeal on his part he considered that +his promotion to a more important station was practically assured.</p> + +<p>"Don't tak' the little dog away, sir; don't ye. I ain't got much, sir, +only the basket and bit of oil-cloth to keep the rain off, and the +vases, and two rabbit-skins, and four pennies in my pocket, and she, +sir. I ain't got nothing else, 'cept an old pan to Belstone Cleave what +I cooks in, and a few bits o' cloam, and a blanket I sleeps under. I +never stoled the clothes, sir. I picked 'en up in the wheal, and +reckoned they'd been thrown away. I'll give 'em back, sir. I'll tak' 'em +back to Varmer Chegwidden to wance, sir."</p> + +<p>The policeman did not listen to that nonsense. He had his duty to think +of, and with a loud "Come on here" he fished a bit of rope out of his +pocket and tied it round Ju's neck. The dog shrank back, frightened at +such roughness, so the man promptly kicked her with his big boot and +growled angrily, "Bite me, will ye?"</p> + +<p>There was a yelp of pain from the poor beast, and the next moment the +constable had himself to think of. Brightly lost control over himself. +He could bear most things fairly well, but not cruelty to Ju. He flung +out his raw hands in a blind sort of way, and one went against the +policeman's nose, and the other on his ear, astonishing the fat creature +a good deal, but not hurting him in the least, as Brightly's arms had no +strength in them.</p> + +<p>"Assaulting the police," he cried triumphantly, feeling for his +note-book, "resisting arrest, and keeping a furious animal not under +proper control."</p> + +<p>"She did not try to bite you," choked Boodles in a tearful manner. "He +did not assault you. He was only protecting his dog;" while old Weevil +clutched the table, his head nodding wildly as if it was about to fall +off, muttering continually, "The Brute! the Brute!"</p> + +<p>"You had better be careful," the child went on. "We shall come and give +evidence against you."</p> + +<p>The fat constable was more amused than angry at the threat. As if the +magistrates would believe a silly old man and a foolish young girl, when +he had the crowd of villagers outside to swear that Brightly had knocked +him about and Ju had bitten him. Not that the villagers had seen +anything, but that would not make much difference, as he could easily +tell them what had happened. He had always kept in with them, and winked +at their little peccadilloes, and they would not forsake him in the hour +of need. On the whole the constable was a much bigger rogue than +Brightly.</p> + +<p>Presently there was a scene upon the road and much laughter. The +policeman went before dragging Ju at the end of the rope, and the +villagers followed after, enjoying themselves exceedingly. There was not +much excitement in their lives, and this was as good as a pony-drift or +an otter-hunt, for Brightly had assumed the part of buffoon and was +making a fool of himself for their delectation. The policeman did not +hold him, as he was unlikely to escape again, and besides, Ju was giving +so much trouble. She had to be dragged along over the stones and through +the gorse, with her tongue hanging out and the rope chafing her neck, +and the policeman found it necessary to kick her frequently because she +was "so contrairy like"; while Brightly jumped about like a new kind of +frog, his glasses nearly tumbling from his nose, his big useless eyes +bulging, and his foolish hands flapping in the air, whining and panting +like his dog, and blubbering like a baby.</p> + +<p>"Give I back my little dog. Don't ye tak' my little dog away, sir. You'm +hurting she cruel, and her ain't done nothing. Ah, don't ye kick she, +sir. Let she come wi' I, sir. Her will follow I close. Her wun't run +away. Her be scared of yew, sir, and you'm hurting she cruel."</p> + +<p>The villagers applauded these sayings, and tried to encourage Brightly +to perform again for their benefit. He was funnier than a dancing-bear, +and his dramatic efforts were very much appreciated. "Go at 'en again," +they shouted, and Brightly responded nobly.</p> + +<p>"I'll starve and pinch for the money, sir, if yew lets she go. I'll save +'en up somehow, pennies and duppences, till I gets the seven-and-sixpence +for the paper. 'Tis a cruel lot o' money for a hungry man, but I'll get +it, sir. I'll work day and night and get it, sir."</p> + +<p>"Steal it from one of you, likely," shouted the constable, grinning more +greasily than ever at the tumultuous laughter which welcomed his subtle +humour. He was so delighted at having discovered within him a hitherto +unsuspected vein of humour that he tried again, and won instant +recognition of his brilliant talent with the inspired witticism, "Walks +about in Varmer Chegwidden's clothes, and says he never stole 'em."</p> + +<p>"Purty near killed varmer tu. Tored 'en off his horse and beat 'en +mazed," added the reprobate, who saw no reason why the policeman should +have all the jokes.</p> + +<p>Some of the others regarded Brightly with admiration. He was not only a +clever low-comedian, but he was also the most desperate character on all +Dartmoor. They were well able to appreciate the spirit of lawlessness +because their own careers had been strongly marked with the same +peculiarity. He was not exactly their idea of what a criminal ought to +be, as in appearance he was little better than a half-starved worm, but +the fact remained that he was a criminal, and as such was entitled to +receive their admiration and their stones.</p> + +<p>"Listen to 'en! He'm play-acting again," shouted the reprobate.</p> + +<p>"Du'ye let I have my little dog, sir. Don't ye tak' she away 'cause I +can't pay for the paper," whined Brightly, continuing his strange dance +of agony. "I ain't got nothing now, sir. My vases be took, and my basket +and rabbit-skins, and her be all I have. I'd ha' paid the fine for she, +sir, but trade be cruel dull, and the pennies wun't keep. Don't ye tak' +she away, sir. I couldn't go abroad on Dartmoor wi'out she. I'd think +and wonder what had come to she, and 'twould hurt I cruel."</p> + +<p>"You ain't going to tramp about on Dartmoor. You'm going to prison," +shouted the witty policeman, while the villagers applauded him again, +and Ju struggled, and Brightly went on weeping.</p> + +<p>Not every one would have enjoyed the spectacle, although the constable +and the crowd appreciated it. The rugged little mountains stood about +silently, and became tired perhaps of looking on, for they began to mask +their heads in mist. Even the sun didn't like it, and rolled himself up +in a dark cloud, and came out no more that day. It was autumn, there was +a smell of decay in the air, and a sense of sorrow somehow. The dark +days were near; the time when warm earth, bright flowers, joy of life, +are so unreal, so far away, that it seems sometimes they may not return +again.</p> + +<p>In due course Brightly appeared before the magistrates, as sober a set +of justices as ever lived, as learned in law as a row of owls, but +carefully driven by a clerk, who kept their heads up, and their feet +from stumbling into the ditch. The case was fully stated, and witnesses +were called, among them Chegwidden, who had missed several Thursday +evenings out, and was then only just well enough to attend the court. He +explained that he had been riding home from Brentor on a dark windy +night, and had been suddenly attacked, dragged off his horse, and +stunned by a blow on the head. He remembered nothing more until he found +himself in bed at home. He identified the clothes as his property. In +answer to a question he admitted he had seen no one, but the attack had +been made suddenly, and the night was very dark. Had he been drinking? +Well, he might have taken a glass at Brentor, but not enough to upset +him. He was a sober man. Nobody had ever seen him the worse for liquor, +although he confessed he was not a teetotaler.</p> + +<p>Others, who also owned they were not teetotalers, although they were for +the most part habitual drunkards, swore that Chegwidden was a sober man, +and they had never seen him the worse for liquor. They did not add it +was because they had been probably too drunk to see anything. Their +evidence was accepted, although the magistrates might have known that it +is impossible to obtain evidence which will incriminate a commoner from +his own parishioners. They will give evidence against a man of the next +parish, but not against one of their own. In such a case perjury is not +with them a fault, but a virtue. The members of a parish hang together. +They may hate each other, curse each other, fight with each other, but +they will not give evidence against one another before outsiders. +Brightly lived nowhere apparently, having no parish and no clan; +therefore any one was prepared to give evidence against him, more +especially as he had attacked one of themselves. His guilt was clear +enough. The members of the Bench could not in their hearts believe that +he had overpowered a strong man like Chegwidden; but the testimony of +the clothes could not be set aside. It was obvious he had stolen them. +The constable gave him a bad character. There was no doubt he had been +guilty of all kinds of grievous offences, only he was such an artful +creature that he had hitherto succeeded in evading the law. He feigned +to be asthmatic and half blind in order that he might secure a +reputation for inoffensiveness; and he pretended to go about the moor +buying rabbit-skins, while it was suspected that his real motive was to +steal from farm-houses, or to pass on any information he might acquire in +his wanderings to a gang of burglars who had not as yet been +apprehended. The constable made up a very pretty story against Brightly.</p> + +<p>The little man listened and tried not to be amazed. So he had been a +rascal all the time and had never known it. No doubt it was true, for +the gentlemen said so. He had pleaded not guilty, but he could not be +sure about it, and he began to suspect that he must have told them a +lie.</p> + +<p>The chairman, a kindly old gentleman, who had lived long enough to know +that it is a pleasant thing to be merciful, was inclined to deal with +the case summarily, as it was a first offence; but, unfortunately for +Brightly, there was a clergyman upon the Bench, a very able man, who +received eight hundred a year for keeping a curate to preach twice on +Sundays and perform any little week-day duties that might be required. +He objected strongly, stating it was one of the worst cases he had ever +known, and certainly not one in which the quality of mercy could be +strained. Clemency on their part would be a mistaken kindness, and would +assuredly tend to a regrettable increase of the lawlessness which, as he +and his brother magistrates were so well aware, prevailed to such an +alarming extent in the mid-Devon parishes. They were then given the +opportunity of dealing with an individual who was, he feared, though he +was sorry to have to say it plainly, one of the pests of civilisation. +They were there to do their duty, which was necessarily unpleasant and +even painful. They were there, not to yield to a false sentiment, and to +encourage vice, but to suppress it by every means in their power. If +they did not protect law-abiding people from highwaymen and robbers, of +what use were they? He ventured to think, and to say, none whatever. He +concluded by stating that he was strongly in favour of committing the +prisoner for trial at the Assizes.</p> + +<p>There was another charge against the miserable Brightly. He had kept a +dog without a licence. At that point Boodles stepped forward, with +quaint old Weevil at her side, and said in her pretty girlish way that +if the magistrates would allow it she would pay for the licence. +Brightly began to weep at that, which was a bad thing for him, as only +the worst type of cunning criminals venture upon that sort of appeal to +the court. Boodles had a little money saved, and she had easily obtained +Weevil's permission to spend part of it in this manner.</p> + +<p>The chairman beamed at her through his glasses, and said she was a very +kind-hearted little girl, and he regretted very much they could not take +advantage of her generous offer. They appreciated it very much, but he +assured her that she was wasting her kindness and sympathy upon an +object totally unworthy. It was their duty, he hoped, to encourage +generosity; but it was still more their duty just then to punish vice. +They thanked her very much, but it was quite impossible for many reasons +to encourage her kindness on the prisoner's behalf. He hoped she would +devote the money to some more deserving cause. Boodles listened with her +head down, sighed very much, and then she and Weevil left the court.</p> + +<p>The constable's chance had come. He described Ju as a savage and mangy +cur, and he offered to produce her for the inspection of their worships. +He said the dog had tried to bite him, and he hoped the Bench would +issue an order for the animal's destruction. The magistrates conferred +together, and the clergyman was soon saying that he had enjoyed a very +large experience with dogs, chiefly sporting-dogs he admitted, but he +knew that animals which had been associated with criminals were always +unpleasant, frequently diseased, and generally ferocious. He should +certainly vote in favour of the animal's destruction.</p> + +<p>Brightly confirmed the worst suspicions of the Bench by his foolish and +extravagant conduct.</p> + +<p>The deliberations were soon over. Brightly was committed for trial, and +Ju was sentenced to be destroyed.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<h2>ABOUT WITCHCRAFT</h2> + + +<p>One day Peter went into the village to buy stimulants, and found, when +he reached the house of the creaking sign-board, that he was penniless; +a serious discovery, because the landlord was an austere man who allowed +no "slate." Some people are born thirsty, others have thirstiness thrust +upon them, and a third class, to which Peter belonged, acquire +thirstiness by toilsome and tedious endeavour. It was a long walk, and +the moor, like the bones in the valley, was very dry; there was not a +foot of shade, and the wind was parching. Peter had long ago discovered +it was easy to acquire thirst by the simple expedient of proceeding as +directly as possible to the place where it could be quenched. He would +borrow three-halfpence from his sister, or extract it from her box if +she was absent, and then make for the village by the nearest route, +winning the necessary dryness as he went. On this occasion he had +forgotten about money, chiefly because he had not been compelled to +borrow or steal from Mary recently, as Chegwidden had unconsciously +supplied him with the means for enjoyment.</p> + +<p>Peter leaned against the wall, and cursed all living creatures and +things inanimate. He flattered himself with the belief that he was a man +who never wasted time. He had walked from the hut-circles with a +definite object, which was twofold: the acquiring of thirst and the +quenching of the same. The first part had been attained to perfection, +but unfortunately it was the inferior part, it was the laborious side, +and the reward was not to come because he had been absent-minded before +the event, instead of, as was usually the case, afterwards. He wondered +if there was in the immediate neighbourhood any charitable soul who +would lend him twopence, not to be repaid.</p> + +<p>It was a feast-day in the village. Chapel tea and an Ebenezer love-feast +were in full swing, for Pezzack and his bride had arrived that day to +take up their abode in a cottage which had been freshly whitewashed to +symbolise the spotless nature of its new occupants' souls. Children, +dressed in their best, had earlier paraded the street with a yellow +banner, shrill hymn-screaming, and a box to collect the offerings of the +faithful.</p> + +<p>It had been announced that Pezzack would preside over the tea, and that +his bride would pour it out. Eli would recite grace, and all the +children would say amen. Later there would be prayer and preaching, when +Pendoggat was expected to give further proof of his rough eloquence and +of his devotion to the particular form of religion which he favoured and +to the pastor who was its faithful and local representative. Then a +blessing would be given, and the girls and young men would pair off in +the dark and embrace in lonely places.</p> + +<p>Peter saw signs of the love-feast, and tokens of the refreshments, and +the sight increased his thirst. Had beer been on supply within the +chapel, instead of rather weak tea, he would probably have experienced a +sudden ardour for religion, and have hurried there with incoherent +entreaties to be placed on the penitential bench and received into the +Wesleyan fold. As the festivities were of an entirely temperate nature, +so far as things fluid were concerned, he decided to go and visit +school-master. It was not in the least likely that the old man would +lend him twopence, but Peter had enough wit to argue that it is often +the most unlikely things which happen.</p> + +<p>Master was sitting at his window, writing a letter to his son in Canada. +He welcomed Peter gladly, and at once asked him to spell "turnips." It +was a strange question, considering their positions, but Master +explained he was getting so old and forgetful, and never could get the +simple words right. The long and difficult words he could spell readily +enough, but when it came to anything easy he felt so mazed he couldn't +seem to think of anything.</p> + +<p>"I be telling my Jackie how amazing fine the turnips be this fall," he +explained.</p> + +<p>Peter was glad to oblige Master. To help him with such an obscure word +would be worth twopence. Slowly and stertorously he spelt it thus: +"Turnnups."</p> + +<p>"B'est sure that's right?" said Master, rather suspiciously.</p> + +<p>Peter had no doubt whatever. He could spell harder words than that, and +with the same accuracy.</p> + +<p>"Seems to me somehow some spells 'en wi' one <i>n</i>," said Master.</p> + +<p>"Us don't. Us allus spells 'en wi' two," said Peter.</p> + +<p>"I reckon you'm right. What yew knows I larnt ye," said Master. "I larnt +yew and Mary to spell, and I mind the time when yew was a bit of a lad +wi' a turned-up nose and squinty eyes. Proper ugly yew was. Didn't I +whack they old breeks o' yourn? Aw now, didn't I? Dusted 'em proper, I +did. In these council schules what they has now there bain't no beating, +but love ye, Peter, in the old village schules us used to whack the lads +every day—aye, and the maids tu. There be many a dame about here and +Lydford whose buttocks I warmed when her was a maid. Them was brave +times, Peter, sure 'nuff."</p> + +<p>"Better volks tu. Us had Dartmoor to ourselves them days," said Peter, +anxious to propitiate the old man.</p> + +<p>"Mun spell all the words proper when I writes to Jackie. He'm vull o' +education," Master went on. "T-u-r-double-n, turnn, n-u-p-s, nups, +turnnups. Aw, Peter, yew ain't forgot what I larnt ye."</p> + +<p>He put down his pen, assumed the mantle of Nestor, and asked: "Can I +oblige ye, Peter?"</p> + +<p>The little man replied that he could, to the extent of twopence.</p> + +<p>Master became grave and sorrowful, wagged his head, and behaved +generally as people will when the integrity of their purse is +threatened.</p> + +<p>"Anything else, Peter—advice, sympathy, loving-kindness, you'm +welcome," he answered. "I be a poor man. I was never treated as I +deserved, yew mind. If I lends two pennies they don't come back. I be an +old man, and I've a-larnt that. They be like little birds, what come to +my window in winter for crumbs, and don't come back 'cept for more +crumbs. I be advising yew, Peter; don't ye borrow money, I ses. And I be +advising myself; don't ye lend it, I ses."</p> + +<p>This was all very wise, only Peter could not appreciate it. Wisdom +slakes no man's thirst. He replied that he had come to the village for +sugar, and Mother Cobley at the shop refused to serve him without the +money, which he had unfortunately forgotten. He added an opinion of +Mother Cobley which was not charitable.</p> + +<p>Master recited other verses from his book of wisdom. To succeed in trade +it was necessary to be severe when people came buying without money. He +admitted that Mother Cobley practised severity to the point of +ruthlessness, he was not prepared to deny that Mother Cobley would +rather permit her closest relations to walk in darkness than advance +them one tallow candle to walk by on credit, but he impressed upon Peter +the fact that Mother Cobley was a "poor lone widdie" who had to protect +herself against the wiles of customers. To sum up the matter: "If yew +buys her sugar her wants your twopence. It bain't no profit to she if +yew has her sugar and she don't ha' your twopence. It gives she what us +calls book-debts, and they be muddlesome and contrairy things."</p> + +<p>With the ethics of business Peter was not concerned while the thirst was +spreading through his body. So far it had been confined to the tongue +and throat, but while Master talked it extended its ravages throughout +the whole of his system. Peter began to be afraid he would not be able +to walk home without liquid assistance. Not the smallest copper coin of +the realm could be hoped for from Master; but Peter was something of a +strategist, he comprehended there were more ways than one out of his +present difficulties, just as there are more ways than one into a house, +and an enemy can be attacked from the rear as well as in front. Master +certainly refused to advance him twopence, but he could hardly in common +charity refuse him what the twopence would have purchased, if he was +convinced that the need was urgent. So Peter put a hand to his throat, +and made strange noises, and said it was coming on again.</p> + +<p>"What be the matter?" asked Master.</p> + +<p>"Hot vuzzy kind o' prickiness all over like. Starts in the throat, and +goes all through. I be main cruel sick, Master."</p> + +<p>"My dear life, but that be serious," cried Master. "What du'ye tak' for +'en, Peter?"</p> + +<p>"Something cooling. Water will du. Beer be better though."</p> + +<p>"I ain't got any beer, but I ha' cider, I'll fetch ye some in a mug," +said Master.</p> + +<p>He trotted off, while Peter sat and chuckled, and felt much better. He +was not wasting his time after all; neither was he spending any money. +When Master returned with a froth-topped cloam Peter adopted something +of the reverential attitude of Sir Galahad in the presence of the +Sangreal, drank deeply, and when he could see the bottom of the mug +declared that the dangerous symptoms had departed from him for a season. +Having nothing else to detain him he rose to go, and was at the door +when Master called him back.</p> + +<p>"Purty nigh forgot to tell ye," he said, pointing to a goose-quill erect +in a flower-pot upon the window-seat. "Put that feather there to mind me +to tell Mary or yew, if so be I saw yew go by. There be volks stopping +wi' Betty Middleweek, artist volks, and they'm got a gurt ugly spaniel +dog what's been and killed a stray goosie. Betty ses 'tis Mary's Old +Sal, and I was to tell ye. Betty ha' got the goosie in her linny. Mary +had best go and look at 'en."</p> + +<p>Peter rubbed his hands and became very convalescent. The heavens were +showering favours upon him. Artist folks could afford to pay heavy +damages. "I'll go and tell Mary to wance," he said. "Us will mak' 'em +pay. Old Sal be worth a sight o' money. Us wouldn't ha' lost she for +fifty pound. Thank ye kindly, Master."</p> + +<p>"Nothing's no trouble, Peter. Hope you'll be better to-morrow," said the +kindly old man.</p> + +<p>Peter brought on another thirst by the haste with which he hurried back +to inform his sister that her Old Sal had been destroyed "by artist +volks stopping wi' Betty Middleweek, at least not by they, but by a gurt +big ugly Spanish dog what belongs to 'em."</p> + +<p>Mary wasted no time. She did not trouble to attire herself suitably, but +merely took a great stick "as big as two years and a dag," as she +described it, and set off for the village; while Peter, who had "got the +taste," as he described it, determined to help himself from Mary's +money-box and follow her later on with a view to continuing the +treatment which had benefited him so greatly in Master's cottage.</p> + +<p>The artists were having their evening meal when Mary arrived and beat +heavily upon the door. They were summoned, the body of the goose was +brought from the linhay, Mary became coroner and sat upon the defunct +with due solemnity. There was no question about its identity. The name +of the bird which had been done to death by the dangerous dog was Old +Sal beyond all argument.</p> + +<p>"Aw now, bain't it a pity, a cruel pity, poor Old Sal!" wailed Mary, and +would not be comforted until the artist produced his purse and said he +was willing to pay, while his wife hovered in attendance to see that he +did not pay too much. "He was a booty, the best mother on Dartmoor, and +he laid eggs, my dear. Aw ees, a butiful lot o' eggs. He was always +a-laying of 'em. And now he'm dead, and wun't lay no more, and wun't +never be a mother again. Hurts I cruel to see him lying there. Would +rather see Peter lying there than him."</p> + +<p>"I understand the market price of geese is eightpence a pound," said the +artist nervously, awed by the gaunt presence of Mary and her patriarchal +staff. "If you will have the bird weighed I will pay you, as I cannot +deny that my dog killed it."</p> + +<p>At that Mary gave an exceeding bitter cry. Eightpence a pound for Old +Sal! That was the market price, she admitted, but Old Sal had been +unique, a paragon among web-footed creatures, a model for other geese to +imitate if they could, the original goose of which all others were +indifferent copies, the very excellence and quintessence of ganders. It +was impossible to estimate the value of Old Sal in mere cash, although +she was willing to make that attempt. It was the perfection of Old Sal's +moral character and domestic attainments that Mary dwelt upon. He had +been all that a mother and an egg-layer should be. He was—— Words were +wanting to express what. He had been the leader of the flock, the +guiding star of the young, and the restraining influence of the foolish. +The loss was irreparable. Such geese appeared possibly once in a +century, and Mary would not live to see the like of her Old Sal again. +Then there were the mental and moral damages to be considered. Money +could not mend the evil which had been done, although money should +certainly be allowed to try. Mary suggested that the experiment might +commence with the transfer of five pounds.</p> + +<p>"This bird is in very poor condition. It is quite thin," said the +artist's wife.</p> + +<p>"Thin!" shouted Mary. "Aw, my dear, du'ye go under avore yew be struck +wi' lightning. He'm vull o' meat. Look at 'en, not a bone anywheres. +He'm as soft wi' fat as a bog be o' moss, and so cruel heavy I can't +hardly lift 'en. Yew don't know a goosie when yew sees one, my dear. +Never killed one in your life, I reckon. Aw now, never killed a goosie, +and ses Old Sal be thin! He was as good a mother as yew, my dear, and +when it comes to laying eggs—"</p> + +<p>The artist's wife thought it was time to "go under," or at all events to +disappear, as Mary was getting excited.</p> + +<p>At that point Betty Middleweek appeared and whispered to Mary; and at +the same time a little boy in quaint costume, with a head two sizes too +large, shuffled up the garden path, and stood staring at the defunct +goose with large vacant eyes. "He bain't your Old Sal after all," said +Betty. "He belongs to Mary Shakerley, and her little Charlie ha' come +for him. He saw the dog go after 'en, and he ran away mazed like to tell +his mother, but her had gone to Tavistock market, and ha' just come +home."</p> + +<p>"He've only got one eye," piped little Charlie in evidence.</p> + +<p>Mary examined the dead body. It was that of a one-eyed goose.</p> + +<p>"Aw now," she said in a disappointed fashion, "I reckon he bain't my Old +Sal after all."</p> + +<p>"I am willing to pay some one. Who is it to be?" asked the artist, who +wanted to get back to his food.</p> + +<p>"Please to pay little Charlie, sir," said Betty Middleweek. "Charlie, +come up to the gentleman."</p> + +<p>"Well, my lad, how much do you want for your goose? Eightpence a pound, +is it?"</p> + +<p>"Dear life!" cried Mary. "He hain't worth eightpence a pound. Look at +'en! He'm a proper old goosie, wi'out a bit o' meat on his bones, and +the feathers fair dropping out o' his skin wi' age. He'd ha' scared the +dog off if he'd been a young bird, or got away from 'en. My Old Sal +would ha' tored any dog to pieces. Don't ye pay eightpence a pound. He +hain't worth it. He never laid no eggs, I reckon, and he warn't no good +for a mother. He'd ha' died purty soon if that dog o' yours hadn't +killed 'en."</p> + +<p>"You seem to have altered your opinions rather suddenly," said the +artist.</p> + +<p>"Well, I bain't a one-eyed old gander," said Mary. "I knows what goosies +ought to be to fetch eightpence a pound, and I can see he ain't got +enough meat on him to feed a heckimal. Aw, my dear life, if I can't tell +a goosie when I sees him who can?" And off went Mary, striking her big +stick noisily on the ground, wiping her nose on the back of her hand, +and muttering an epitaph upon the still missing Old Sal, who, she +supposed, had been carried off by some evil beast and devoured in the +secret places of the moor.</p> + +<p>It was dark by this time, and the Ebenezer love-feast was over, so far +as the eating and drinking and prayer-meeting were concerned. The god of +good cheer had been worshipped, and now the goddess of common wayside +love was receiving incense. Autumn invariably discovers those hardy +perennials of the hedges and ditches—lovers—leaning against gates as +if they were tied there. The fields and the moor are too wet to sprawl +on, so at the end of October the gate season sets in, and continues +until spring dries the grass. The gates are nothing like so damp as the +hedges, and are much softer than boundary walls, although the latter are +not without their patrons. Lovers are orthodox folk, who never depart +from their true religion, or seek to subtract any clause from their +creed. The young girl knows that her mother was courted against a gate, +and that her grandmother was courted against a gate, so she is quite +ready to be courted against a gate. It must be difficult to feel the +necessary ardour, when several degrees of frost are nipping their noses, +and a regular Dartmoor wind whirls up and down the lanes; but these +gate-leaners manage it somehow.</p> + +<p>Peter was having a pleasant day. He had followed up his success at +Master's expense with a little bout at Mary's, and it was with a feeling +of unalloyed satisfaction with himself that he started for home, +returning thanks after his own manner to the god who presides over +beer-houses. The benign influence of malted liquors was over him, +stimulating his progress, rendering him heedless of the dark, and +impervious to the cold. It was an unpleasant night, not frosty, but +choked with clouds, and filled with raw mist. Peter had passed several +gates, most of them occupied by couples finishing the day in a devout +fashion, but he had said nothing, not even the customary "good-night," +because it was not lawful to speak to people when thus privily engaged. +Couples are supposed to be invisible while courting, and with the full +knowledge of this point of etiquette they usually conduct themselves as +if they were. Peter got up upon the moor, where the wind twisted his +beard about as if it had been a furze-bush, and made his way beside one +of the boundary walls which denoted some commoner's field. It was the +usual Dartmoor wall, composed of blocks of granite placed one above the +other in an irregular pattern without mud or method, each stone kept in +place by the weight of those above it; a wall which a boy could have +pulled down quickly one stone at a time, but if unmolested would stand +and defy the storms for ever. It was a long wall, and there were three +gates in it, but no lovers against them; at least not against the first +two. But as Peter approached the last, which was well out on the moor +where nobody but himself would be likely to pass that night, he heard +voices, or rather one voice, speaking loudly, either in anger or in +passion, and he recognised that it was Pendoggat who was speaking.</p> + +<p>Peter crept up stealthily, keeping close beside the wall, which was just +about the height of his nose. When near the gate he went on his hands +and knees. The voice had ceased, but he heard kisses, and various other +sounds which suggested that if Pendoggat was upon the other side of the +wall there was probably a woman with him. Peter crawled closer, lifted +himself, placed the grimy tips of his fingers upon the top stones, which +were loose and rocking, and peeped over. There was a certain amount of +light upon the high moor, enough of a weird ghostly sort of +phosphorescence for him to see the guilty couple, Pendoggat and +Thomasine. They were quite near, upon the peat, beside one of the +granite gate-posts, and directly underneath Peter's nose. The little man +grinned to see such sport. The moral side of the affair did not present +itself before his barbaric mind. It was the spectacular part which +appealed to him. He decided to remain there, and play the part of +Peeping Tom.</p> + +<p>Had Pendoggat been sensible, which was not possible, as sense and +passion do not run together, he must have known that the discovery of +his liaison with Thomasine could only be a matter of time. The greatest +genius that ever lived would find it beyond him to conduct an illicit +love-affair in a Dartmoor parish without being found out in the long +run. He had employed every ordinary caution. It was not in the least +likely that any one would be crossing beside that wall after dark; but +the least likely things are those which happen, not only in Dartmoor +parishes, but elsewhere.</p> + +<p>Peter had not stood there long when very ordinary things occurred, all +of them unfortunate for him. To begin with, he developed a violent +attack of hiccups which could not be restrained. Then the stone to which +he was holding kept on rocking and giving forth grating noises. The wind +was also blowing pretty strongly; and what with the wind externally and +the hiccups within Peter was soon in a bad way. He made up his mind to +beat a retreat, but his decision came rather too late. He felt a hiccup +approaching more violent than its predecessors; he compressed his lips +and held his breath, hoping to strangle it; but Nature was not to be +cheated; his lips were forced asunder, the hiccup came, its sound went +out into the moor, and at the same moment Peter slipped, grabbed at the +stone, and sent it bowling upon the peat on the other side of the wall. +He gave a squeal like a frightened rabbit, and with another parting +hiccup turned and ran.</p> + +<p>He did not get far before Pendoggat caught him. Peter was a stumpy +little creature with no idea of running; and he was captured at the end +of the wall, and received a blow upon the head which nearly stunned him. +Pendoggat stood over him, half mad with fury, striking at him again and +again; while Peter made quaint noises, half passion and half pain.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the clouds parted westward, and Pendoggat could see Ger Tor +outlined against a liverish patch of night sky. By the same light he saw +Peter; and his madness departed, and he became a coward, when he caught +a glimpse of the little man's malignant eyes. Peter was his enemy for +ever, and he knew it.</p> + +<p>Neither of them had spoken a word. Pendoggat had growled and spluttered; +Peter had choked and mumbled; the river far beneath roared because it +was full of rain. These were all incoherent noises. Pendoggat began to +slink away, as if he had received the beating, shivering and looking +back, but seeing nothing except a dull little heap beside the wall, +which seemed to have many hands, all of them scrabbling in the dirt. +Peter panted hard, as if he had been hunted across the moor by the whist +hounds, and had come there to take shelter; but all the time he went on +scraping up the clay, gathering it into a ball, spitting on it, moulding +it, and muttering madly from time to time: "You'm him! You'm him!"</p> + +<p>During those first few moments, after leaving that horrible little man +beneath the wall scrabbling with his hands, Pendoggat swore solemnly +that he would make Thomasine his wife, swore it to himself, to the God +that he believed in, and to her, if only nothing happened.</p> + +<p>Presently Peter went on towards his home; and in his arms was a +fantastic little thing of clay, a thing forked and armed like a human +being, a sort of doll. When he got back he cleared the hearthstone, blew +the peat into a red smoulder with his mouth, then took the doll, spoke +to it solemnly, placed it upon the hottest part of the hearth, and piled +the red embers round it. When Mary came in to call him to supper she +found Peter sitting in a kind of trance before the hearthstone, and +following his gaze she saw the quaint clay doll sitting upright in the +centre of the fire, with the red peat gathered into a fiery little hell +around it on every side.</p> + +<p>"Aw, Peter!" she gasped in a tremulous whisper, falling on her knees at +his side. "Who be the mommet, Peter? Who be the mommet?"</p> + +<p>"Varmer Pendoggat," said Peter.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h3> + +<h2>ABOUT PASTIMES</h2> + + +<p>One cannot help wondering how the early inhabitants of Dartmoor spent +their time. Possibly the men found plenty of work for their hands, while +the ladies talked of their babies, though they could hardly talk of +their clothes. Chapel teas and beer-houses were unknown, and the people +may have led a wandering existence, following their cattle and goats +from place to place, and merely erecting rough shelters at every pasture +ground. It is said that they appeared before the Roman agents, who came +to the Cassiterides, which no doubt included the Dartmoor region, to +procure the precious white metal, clad in black cloaks, with tunics +reaching to their feet, and girdles round their waist. A more unsuitable +costume for the moor could not have been devised, but it is probable +that they were then in holiday attire. They were simple, taciturn, +heavily-bearded men. Of their women nothing is known, because the +historians of those days did not trouble themselves about inferior +details, and ladies had not then commenced to brawl in the streets for +their rights. The numerous hut-circles about the moor were no doubt +built by these men, utilised more as temporary sheltering-places than +permanent homes, and were possibly regarded as common property. The +stone avenues may have been boundaries, and the circles are more likely +to be the remains of pounds than the ruins of temples. The lamp of +architecture had not then been lighted in Britain, and sun-worship is by +its very nature antagonistic to temples. So much is conjecture, and +cannot be anything else. Light is reached when we regard the great +mounds beside the rivers, and the huge stone slabs which span them; and +we know that prehistoric man was a miner, and that he objected to +getting his feet wet. These rivers are mere streams to-day, which any +one can wade across, and they could not have been larger when the +bridges were erected. We know also by the presence of these slabs of +granite, and various other stone remains, that the system of the corvée +must have been practised upon Dartmoor; a good custom which disappeared +centuries ago as an obligation on free people, but is still retained as +an obligation on prisoners in such penal establishments as Princetown. +The existence of rates for the maintenance of roads is a survival of the +corvée in a form of demand upon those who can afford to pay, and not a +few who cannot, for the upkeep of roads which many of them do not use; +the idea of the rate being that the householder pays a sum which shall +exempt him from the labours of the corvée, although without being given +the option of offering his labour in lieu of cash.</p> + +<p>We may safely conjecture that prehistoric men attended to their duties +of obligation as well as to their pastoral affairs; and made a little +profit at odd times in the form of tin which they bartered for salt, +vases, and domestic utensils, with the Roman agents, very much as +Brightly, who was their descendant, bartered his vases for rabbit-skins. +But what about their pastimes?</p> + +<p>History and tradition are alike silent on that point. They could not +have been making love to their wives all their spare time. There must +have been something to take the place of the beer-house, the chapel tea, +the sing-songs, the rough-and-ready carnival. If tradition does not +exactly speak it gives an echo. We listen to that echo, we put against +it our knowledge of human nature, which does not change, and to that we +add our experience of the desires, customs, and pastimes of the men who +have passed into their places and live upon what was their ground; and +then we get near the truth, possibly at the very heart of it. Their +pastime was the shedding of blood. They fought together for the mere +pleasure of inflicting wounds upon each other. They tortured inoffensive +creatures because they were strong, the animals were weak, and the sight +of suffering gave them a kind of pleasure. Since that barbaric age more +than a thousand years of Christianity have done their civilising and +humane work; have taught until there can be surely nothing left to +teach; have practised until the virtues would have been pretty well worn +out had they been practised less theoretically. And to-day one finds—</p> + +<p>There were notices posted all over the place, upon walls and doors and +gate-posts, little bills announcing a great pigeon- and rabbit-shoot, +with money prizes for the three most successful competitors; the sport +to conclude with a big feed at the inn at so much a head, drinks being +extra. These shoots are among the most ordinary features of village life +upon Dartmoor, and they are usually organised by the landlord of +licensed premises, because at the conclusion of the sporting event the +men gather together for the feed in a state of feverish excitement and +soon drink themselves mad. That sort of thing means a handsome profit +for the landlord. The men's passions are gratified, the victualler's +pockets are filled, so every one is satisfied, and shoots do not lose in +popularity year by year.</p> + +<p>The event was held in a field upon the side of the moor, and all +sportsmen of the district were gathered together, with a few women, and +as many children as could possibly get there. It was a great time for +the small boys; better than a Sunday-school tea or chapel anniversary; +no self-control was required of them at the shoot, they could let +themselves go, and release every one of the seven little devils in them. +Farmer Chegwidden was there, completely restored to health, though he +had an ugly black scar on the side of his head. He was half drunk before +proceedings commenced, because he said he could shoot better when in +that condition, Pendoggat was there, silent and gloomy, but handling his +gun as if he loved it. The old Master was there, tottering about with +two sticks, beaming upon every one, and wishing the young men good-luck; +and the landlord of the inn, who presided over the safe conveyance of +the victims from his barn to the place of massacre, jumped here and +there in a wild state of excitement, explaining the programme and +issuing instructions to competitors. The constable was there, dropping +fatness; and near him Pezzack, with grave and reverend aspect and new +clothes, stood and made the thing respectable with his blessing.</p> + +<p>Two others were there who looked singularly out of place, and stood +apart from the noisy crowd, both of them nervous and uncomfortable. They +were Boodles and old Weevil. Close to them were crates stuffed full of +pigeons, uttering from time to time little mournful notes, and bulging +sacks filled with healthy rabbits.</p> + +<p>"It is so silly," said Boodles, rather petulantly. "You will only be +ill. We had much better go away."</p> + +<p>"I must see it, darling—as much as I can bear. I am going to prepare a +petition about these things, and I want to be fair. I must see for +myself. It may not be so brutal as I believe it is."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is, and worse. I know I shall be ill," said Boodles.</p> + +<p>"Go home, little girl. There is no reason why you should stay."</p> + +<p>"I'm not going to leave you," declared Boodles bravely. "Only do let's +go further away from those poor things in the sacks. They keep on +heaving so."</p> + +<p>"I must see it all," said the old man stubbornly. "Look the other way."</p> + +<p>"I can't. It fascinates me," she said.</p> + +<p>"Willum!" yelled the landlord. "Come along, my lad. Pigeons first. Dra' +first blood, Willum."</p> + +<p>A young man stepped out, smiling in a watery fashion, handling his gun +nervously. The landlord plunged his hand into a crate, caught a pigeon +by the neck, and dragged it out. The trap was merely a basket with a +string fastened to it, and it was placed scarcely a dozen yards from the +shooter.</p> + +<p>"Kill 'en, Willum!" shouted the landlord as he pulled the string.</p> + +<p>Willum fired and missed. The bird flew straight at him, and with the +second shot he broke its wing. The pigeon fell on the grass, fluttering +helplessly, and Willum walked up to it with a solemn grin, gave it a +kick, then flung it aside to die at its leisure. The small boys pounced +upon it, and assisted its departure from the world.</p> + +<p>"Little devils," murmured Boodles, beginning to bite her handkerchief.</p> + +<p>"I think we are all devils here," said old Weevil.</p> + +<p>"This field is full of them. It is the field-day of the Brute, the +worship of the Brute, the deification of the Brute."</p> + +<p>The shoot proceeded, and the men began to get warmed up. Not a single +pigeon escaped, because those that got away from the field with the loss +of only a few feathers were bound to fall victims to the men who had +posted themselves all round with the idea of profiting by the +competitors' bad shots. The only man who was perfectly composed was +Pendoggat. He shot at the pigeons, and killed them, as if he had been +performing a religious duty. Chegwidden, on the other hand, shouted all +the time and fired like a madman. The little boys were kept hard at work +torturing the maimed birds to death, with much joyous and innocent +laughter.</p> + +<p>"How be ye, Master? Purty fine shooting, I reckon," cried an old crony, +hobbling up with a holiday air.</p> + +<p>"Butiful," said Master. "Us be too old vor't, I reckon."</p> + +<p>"Us bain't too old to enjoy it," said the old crony,</p> + +<p>"Sure 'nuff, man. Us bain't too old to enjoy it. 'Tis a brave sight to +see 'em shoot."</p> + +<p>Then there was a pause. The string had been pulled, the basket had +tumbled aside, but the pigeon would not stir. Possibly it had been +maimed in the crate, or by the rough hand which had dragged it out. +Everybody shouted wildly, waving arms and hats, but the bird did nothing +except peck at the grass to get a little food into its hungry body. The +landlord ran up and kicked it. The pigeon merely fell over, then hopped +a little way feebly, but still refusing to fly, so the landlord kicked +it again, shouting: "He be contrairy. There be no doing nought wi' 'en."</p> + +<p>"Tread on 'en, landlord," shouted a voice.</p> + +<p>"What be I to du?" asked the man whose turn it was to kill.</p> + +<p>"Shoot 'en on the ground. Shoot 'en, man! Don't let 'en get away. Kill +'en, man!" screamed the landlord.</p> + +<p>The competitor grinned contentedly, and at a distance of half-a-dozen +paces blandly riddled the creature with pellets. This was the funniest +thing which had happened yet, and the crowd could not stop laughing for +a long time.</p> + +<p>"Now the rabbits! Fetch out two or dree," shouted the landlord. "Kill +'en quick, lads!" The worthy soul was anxious to have the massacre over, +and start the real business of the day at the bar.</p> + +<p>With the rabbits fun began in earnest. All that had gone before was tame +in comparison, for pigeons die quickly, but rabbits continue to run +after being shot, and still provide excellent amusement, if the vital +parts are untouched. It was not shooting at all; not a particle of skill +was required, as the basket was close to the competitor, and he shot +immediately the animal began to run, and sometimes before; but it was +killing, it was a sort of bloodshed, and nothing more was asked for. +Hardly a rabbit was killed cleanly, as the moormen are, as a rule, +awkward with the gun. As the creatures invariably ran straight away from +the crowd, they were usually shot in the hinder parts, and then would +drag themselves on, until they were seized, either by the man who had +fired, or by the small boys, and carried back to be flung upon the heap +of bodies, some of them dead, and some not. Even feeble old Master +entered into the fun of the thing, and begged permission to break a +rabbit's neck with his own hands, so that he might still call himself a +sportsman.</p> + +<p>"Come away, daddy. I'm getting queer," said Boodles.</p> + +<p>Weevil woke from a sort of trance, and shook his head oddly, but said +nothing. Power of speech was not his just then. He had hitherto kept +himself scrupulously apart from such innocent village pleasures, afraid +to trust himself at them, but what he saw quite confirmed what he had +believed. It was not sport in any sense of the word. It was mere animal +passion and lust for blood. It was love of cruelty, not any ambition to +take a prize, which animated the competitors. It would have meant small +enjoyment for them had the pigeons been made of clay and the rabbits of +clockwork. Because the creatures they shot at could feel, could shed +blood, and were feeling pain, were shedding blood, the men were happy; +not only happy, but drunk with the passion, and half mad with the lust, +of their bloody game.</p> + +<p>Weevil looked about, fighting down his weakness, which was not then +altogether eccentric. He saw the transformed faces of the crowd. Not +only the competitors but the spectators had the faces that a London mob +of old might have presented, watching the hanging, drawing, and +quartering of criminals, and finding the spectacle very much to their +taste. They had become so excited as to be inarticulate. They could not +make their shoutings intelligible to one another. They were +gesticulating like so many Italian drunkards. Their boots were marked +with blood, and it was also upon their hands, and smeared upon their +faces. Blood was upon the ground too, with other matter more offensive. +The ghastly pile of pigeons and rabbits, which were supposed to be done +for, was not without motion. Sometimes it heaved; but there was no +sound. Two little boys were enjoying a rare game of tug-of-war with a +living rabbit. Another youngster was playfully poking out the eyes of a +fluttering pigeon. They would make good sportsmen when they grew up. A +tiny little fellow, nothing more than a baby, was begging a bigger boy +to instruct him in the art of killing rabbits. A little girl was +practising the deed upon her own account. The constable who had arrested +Brightly looked on and said it was "brave sport." There were other +things which Weevil saw, but he did not mention them afterwards, because +he tried to forget them; but the sight made him feel faint, not being a +sportsman, but a rather ignorant, somewhat foolish, and decidedly +eccentric old man.</p> + +<p>"I think I must go. Boodles," he said feebly.</p> + +<p>He turned away, and his eyes fell upon the village. There was a church, +and there was Ebenezer, and a meeting-house also. Surely so many +religious houses were hardly necessary in one small village. Church and +chapels dominated the place; and in those buildings a vast amount of +theory was preached concerning ancient literature, and a place of morbid +imagination called Hell, and a place of healthier imagination called +Heaven; and upon that field on the side of the moor the regular +worshippers at those buildings were enjoying themselves. There was a +failure somewhere, only Weevil had not the sense to find out where. High +above were the tors, and it was there, no doubt, that the early +inhabitants stood to worship Baal; and there possibly a vast amount of +theory was preached concerning the whole duty of man, and a twofold +future state; and then the men went down to fight and plunder. It seemed +to have been a theoretical religion then. It is a theoretical religion +now. Theories have swamped the world, submerging the practical side like +the lost Atlantis. It is not religion which compels men to cease from +doing murder. It is the fear of vengeance.</p> + +<p>Boodles and Weevil left the field, pale and miserable. When they were +outside the old man went away and was violently sick. They abandoned the +field in time, for the men were getting beyond control. When the rabbits +were slaughtered they sought for small birds and shot at them until +their cartridges were exhausted. Even Pendoggat had lost his +self-restraint, although he did not show it like the rest. The smell of +blood was in his nostrils, and he wanted to go on killing. He longed to +shoot at the men around him. The victims were all dead at last. The +happy children had seen to that, and went off home to get their hands +and faces washed, tired out with the day's fun. That clever painter of +human nature, Hogarth, missed something during his lifetime. He could +not have seen a rabbit-shoot in a Dartmoor village. Had he done so, +there might have been a fifth plate added to his Four Stages of Cruelty.</p> + +<p>"I must drink something," said Weevil, when he reached home. "You were +right, little maid. I ought not to have gone."</p> + +<p>"Haunted water, daddy?" suggested Boodles, with a wan little smile.</p> + +<p>"Yes, darling. I think I have earned it. But not badly haunted."</p> + +<p>"Just a gentle rapping, not groans and chain-rattling," she said, trying +to be merry, having no reason to feel unhappy, as she went for the +brandy bottle. That was how the water was to be haunted. Weevil was +practically a teetotaler, in a different sense from Farmer Chegwidden, +but he sometimes took a suspicion of brandy when he was run down, as +then.</p> + +<p>"Boodle-oodle," he said in a feeble way, after refreshing himself, "you +have seen the Brute rampant. What do you think of it?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think, daddy-man. It's no use when you can't do anything. I +just label it a queer puzzle, and put it away along with all the other +queer puzzles. And you would be much happier if you would do the same."</p> + +<p>"I cannot," he groaned. "I suppose those men were enjoying themselves, +but what right have they to an enjoyment which makes other people +suffer? I say they have no right. Animals have to be killed for food; +but what would be done to a butcher who slaughtered his beasts in the +middle of the street? Those men were not killing for any purpose apart +from the love of killing, and they were doing it publicly. They were +mad. They had the faces one sees in a bad dream. And now they have gone +to stuff themselves with food, and then they will swill liquor until +they are mad again."</p> + +<p>"Don't," said Boodles. "It's not fair on me. You will be giving me +umpy-umpy feelings, and I'm going to see Aubrey to-morrow, and it may be +the last time for ages, and I shall feel quite bad enough without having +your worries to carry as well. Let's light up, and draw the curtains, +and make believe that every one is as nice as we are, and that there are +no troubles or worries in the whole wide world."</p> + +<p>Old Weevil only moaned and shuffled about the room in a miserable +fashion. "I can't get rid of the Brute, darling. He sits upon my +shoulders and strangles me. Why should these people be outside the law +because they are commoners? One hundred years ago you might have seen +horrible deeds of cruelty in every London street. There are none to be +seen now, because townsfolk have become civilised, and law-makers have +recognised that what may please the few is distressing to the many. But +in these wild lonely places people may be fiends, and the law does not +touch them. It exists for the populous centres, not for the solitudes."</p> + +<p>"I'm going to get supper. Mind you are good when I come back," said the +little housewife quickly.</p> + +<p>"That is not all," raved the poor old man, still shuffling to and fro, +heedless that he was alone. "The cry of the animals goes up to Heaven. +There are the ponies and bullocks turned out upon the moor all winter, +in weather which would kill the hardiest man, if he was exposed to it, +in a few hours. They get no food. There is not a bit of grass for them. +Many of them are done to death by cruel weather and starvation. In +spring their carcases are found lying upon the moor."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h3> + +<h2>ABOUT AUTUMN IN FAIRYLAND</h2> + + +<p>The devil had passed through Tavy woods late that year, and in his path +blackberries were blasted, the bracken was scorched, and all the foliage +smouldered. He had trampled upon, and burnt, everything; the next time +he passed through he would breathe on them and they would rot away. At +last he would come with his big bellows; clear the wood out, and scatter +a lot of dusty frost about the place to make it look tidy. Directly he +was out of the way a busy little body in green would bustle into the +woods with a big basket of buds on her arm, and she would stick these +buds about upon the honeysuckles and the primroses, and then run away in +a snowstorm laughing. Nobody would notice her; she is too small and +shadowy, and yet observant folk would know she had been because the +plants which had received the buds would smarten up at once. Every one +loves the little green fairy, although she is often quite a plain +creature, and usually is afflicted with a dreadful cold. She beats the +devil and restores all that he has trampled and blown upon. She may +often be seen in April, sweeping up the remains of the hoar-frost and +attending to her buds, sneezing all the time. People call her Spring in +those days. Her cold is quite incurable, but fortunately it does not +kill her.</p> + +<p>Even in fairyland it is not always pretty. Were it so the pleasant place +would lose its charm, for it is the dull time which makes the gay time +glorious. There is no winter for the little people, just as there is no +winter for the flowers; and flowers and fairies are one and the same +thing. They go to sleep until the sun comes to wake them up, and tell +them it is time to dance and blossom as they did last year. There is a +winter, only they know nothing of it. That is why the little people are +so much happier than the big ones. When sorrow comes they simply go to +sleep. Bigger people are not allowed to do that.</p> + +<p>"You are going away, Aubrey," said Boodles. "You are going away."</p> + +<p>She was always saying it, and thinking it when she was not saying it, +and dreaming about it when she was not thinking of it. She was playing +with a toy upon her finger, a hoop of gold, a little ring which he had +given her, whose posy was the usual motto: "Love me and leave me not," +and its symbol the pale-blue forget-me-not. Lovers are fond of adding +poetry to poetry and piling sentiment upon sentiment.</p> + +<p>It was not exactly an engagement-ring, but a present, and a promise of +the full-flowered ring; just as the crown-buds upon the primroses were a +promise of the spring. Boodles was eighteen at last. How slowly the +years passed at that age! And the ring with the blue forget-me-nots was +a birthday gift, although it was given and received as something more, +and put upon a finger which meant much, and worn and fondled as if it +meant everything. The girl's radiant hair was up relentlessly, and her +frocks trailed for evermore. She was a baby no longer.</p> + +<p>It was not a happy walk because it was to be their last for a long time, +and they could not ramble there without treading upon and bruising some +poor little memory; just as the devil had trodden on the blackberries, +although the memories were not spoilt; they were the kisses of those +first days of first love, and they were immortal memories, birth-marks +upon their souls. They had grown up; their bodies were formed, although +their minds were not matured; but whatever happened those memories were +planted in Tavy woods perennially, and nothing could kill them. Tears +would only water them and make them grow more strongly. Their sweet wild +fragrance would cling eternally, because the odour was that of deep +first love; the one gift, the only gift, which passes direct from the +hands of the gods and has no dirt upon it.</p> + +<p>Somehow Aubrey had never appeared as a perfectly distinct personality to +Boodles. Her love was in a mist. He seemed to have come into her life in +a god-like sort of way, to have dropped upon her as a child like rain +from the clouds, saying: "You thought of me, and I have come." While she +went on thinking of him he would remain, but directly she ceased to +think he would vanish again. They had simply come together as children +and walked about; and now they were grown up children still walking +about; and they felt they would like to grow up a little more, then stop +growing, but still go on walking about. First love is a marvellous dose +of fern-seed. They were content to look at one another, and while two +young people remain in that state the gods can give them nothing. But +Boodles was going on with her song: "You are going away, Aubrey. You are +going away." There was a gate at the end of the wood, and it was +something more than the gate of the wood. It opened only one way.</p> + +<p>Aubrey loved the little girl. He was steadier than most young men and +less fickle than most. Even when he was away from Boodles he did not +forget her, and when they were together she absorbed him. She was so +fresh. He had never met any girl with a tithe of her wonderful +spring-like freshness, which suggested the sweet earth covered with +flowers and steaming after a shower of warm rain. Boodles seemed to him +to be composed of this warm earth, sunshine and rain, with the beauty +and sweetness of the flowers added. She had taken him when young, and +planted him in her warm little heart, and tended him so carefully that +he could not help growing there; and he could not be torn up, for that +would have lacerated the heart; the roots were down so deep; and he +might not bear transplanting. First love thinks such things, and it is +good for the lovers. Life gives them nothing else to equal it.</p> + +<p>Still Aubrey had his troubles. It was the last walk for some time. He +was disobeying his parents, and deceiving them. He had promised not to +walk with Boodles again. No boy could have been blessed with kinder +parents; but Mr. Bellamie, after his strange visit to old Weevil, and +subsequent discussion with his wife, conceived that it was his duty to +pull the reins. Aubrey had been allowed a free head long enough, and the +old gentleman was afraid he might get the bit between his teeth and run. +Boodles was a most delightful child in every way, but she knew nothing +about art, and what was far more serious she knew nothing of her +parents. Mr. Bellamie spoke plainly to his son; reminded him of the duty +he owed his family; told him he had been to see Weevil and that the +interview had not been satisfactory; mentioned that the old man either +knew nothing of the girl's origin, or had certain reasons for +withholding his knowledge; explained that to interfere with his son's +happiness was his last wish, and that to interfere with the happiness of +others was equally distasteful; and concluded by impressing upon Aubrey, +what was true enough, namely, that it was not kind to encourage a young +girl to fall in love with him when he could not possibly marry her. The +boy had been then sufficiently impressed to give the promise which he +was now breaking. He felt he could not help himself; he must see Boodles +again, and at least tell her that he would never dream of giving her up, +but that his parents were inclined to be nasty about it. Besides, it was +the little girl's birthday; or rather what Weevil was pleased to style +her birthday, as he could not possibly know the exact day of her birth. +Aubrey eased his conscience by reminding himself that he had forgotten +to urge the point with his father, and if he had done so the old +gentleman would certainly have consented to one more meeting. So he +bought the pretty ring for Boodles, met her, and the mischief was done +again.</p> + +<p>When the first stage of their walk was over, and they were getting +reasonable, and Boodles had ceased singing her plaintive: "You are going +away," Aubrey began to suggest that his father was not in alliance with +them; and poor Boodles sighed and wanted to know what evil she had done.</p> + +<p>"Nothing, darling. But he wants to know something about your parents."</p> + +<p>"I told him. I don't know anything."</p> + +<p>"But Weevil must know."</p> + +<p>Somehow that had not occurred to Boodles. Perhaps Weevil did know, and +for reasons of his own had kept the information from her.</p> + +<p>"I'll ask him," she promised. "But Mr. Bellamie has been to see daddy. +Why didn't he ask him?"</p> + +<p>"Weevil told him he is your grandfather."</p> + +<p>"You mean my old daddy-man is my grandfather?" cried Boodles, very much +astonished. "Why hasn't he told me then?"</p> + +<p>"Hasn't he?"</p> + +<p>"Never."</p> + +<p>Aubrey was too young to care; but he certainly felt suspicions about +Weevil, and thoughtlessly expressed them by saying: "I suppose he was +telling the truth."</p> + +<p>"Of course he was," said Boodles. "Old daddy couldn't tell a lie however +much he wanted to. It would hurt him so badly he would groan and grunt +for a week. What else did he tell your father?"</p> + +<p>"He didn't say. But, darling, you'll find out."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Aubrey," she said pathetically. "Do you care?"</p> + +<p>"Lovely little thing, of course I don't. Your parents must have been the +best and nicest people that ever lived, or you wouldn't have been so +sweet. But you see, darling, my people worry no end about name and +family and all that sort of rubbish, and if they think any one is not +what they call well-born they kick up no end of a smother."</p> + +<p>"Well-born," murmured Boodles. She was beginning to comprehend at last, +to recognise the existence of that grim thing called convention, and to +feel a sort of misty shadow creeping up the wood. She felt something on +one of her fingers, and it seemed to her that the pretty ring, which she +loved so much, was trying to work itself off. "Well-born," the child +murmured to herself. "Whatever does it mean?"</p> + +<p>This was what being eighteen meant. Boodles was learning things.</p> + +<p>"I must have had a father and mother," she said, though in a somewhat +dubious manner.</p> + +<p>Aubrey only hummed something unintelligible, and wished the cloud out of +her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Now I must find out all about them?"</p> + +<p>"I expect my people would like to know, dear," he said.</p> + +<p>"If I can't find out, Aubrey?" she went on, in a moist kind of way.</p> + +<p>"Then you will have to take mine," he said as lightly as he could.</p> + +<p>Boodles stopped, turned away, began to play with a golden frond of +bracken almost as bright as her hair, and began to cry as gently as an +April shower. She had been on the point of it all the afternoon; and she +persuaded herself it was all because Aubrey was going away, although she +knew that wasn't true. It was because she was finding out things.</p> + +<p>"Don't," she sobbed. "It's doing me good,"</p> + +<p>However, Aubrey took her in his arms and tried to pet her, and that did +her as much good as anything, although she went on crying.</p> + +<p>"Can't give me yours—you silly! They won't be given. They don't want me +to love you, they hate me, and your mother kissed me—she did—on my +mouth."</p> + +<p>"Mother is very fond of you, darling. She is really," Aubrey whispered +as quickly as he could. "She said you were perfect, and father agreed +with her, and said you would be all that a girl could be, if—if—"</p> + +<p>"Go on," murmured Boodles. "It won't hurt. I've got hold of you. I'm +taking all the starch out of your collar."</p> + +<p>"Never mind what he said."</p> + +<p>"We don't say good-bye until you have told me. I'll hang on to you. Stop +you, perhaps. Oh, Aubrey, you are going away—that's why I'm crying. +Your father said I should be a nice little girl, if—go on."</p> + +<p>"If you had a name," said Aubrey, with an effort.</p> + +<p>Boodles let him go and stepped back. She looked rather nice, with her +eyes in the rain, and her head in the sunshine.</p> + +<p>"What does that mean, Aubrey?" she said, almost fiercely.</p> + +<p>"Nothing whatever to me, darling. Don't be silly," he said tenderly. +"It's only father's nonsense. He thinks so much of his name because it's +a fossilised old concern which has been in the county since Noah. He +doesn't want me to marry you, only because he's afraid your people may +not have lived about here since Noah. If you went and told him you're a +Raleigh or a Cruwys he would lay his pedigree at your feet and ask you +to roll on it."</p> + +<p>"Not well-born. No name," said Boodles, aloud this time. "I think we +have been silly babies. I seem to have grown up all at once. Oh, Aubrey, +was it you and I who used to walk here—years ago?"</p> + +<p>He bent and took her face between his hands and kissed the pretty head.</p> + +<p>"We never bothered about names," sobbed Boodles.</p> + +<p>"We are not bothering now—at least I'm not. It's all the same to me, +darling."</p> + +<p>"It's not. It can't be. How silly I was not to see it before. If your +parents say I'm not—not your equal, you mustn't love me any more. You +must go away and forget me. But what am I to do? I can't forget you," +she said. "It's not like living in a town, where you see people always +passing—living as I do, on the moor, alone with a poor old man who +imagines horrors."</p> + +<p>"Listen, darling." Aubrey was only a boy, and he was nearly crying too. +"I'm not going to give you up. I'll tell you the whole truth. My people +wanted me not to see you again, but I shall tell them that things have +gone too far with us. They won't like it at first, but they must get to +like it. I shall write to you every week while I am away, and when I +come back I shall tell father we must be married."</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't, not without his consent. I shall go on loving you because I +cannot help it, but I won't marry you unless he tells me I may."</p> + +<p>"Well, I will make him," said Aubrey. "I know how to appeal to him. I +shall tell him I have loved you ever since you were a child, and we were +promised to each other then, and we have renewed the promise nearly +every year since."</p> + +<p>"Then he will say you were wicked to make love to the first little +red-headed girl you could find, and he will call me names for +encouraging you, and then the whole world will explode, and there will +be nothing left but lumps of rock and little bits of me," said Boodles, +mopping her eyes with his handkerchief. She was getting more cheerful. +She knew that Aubrey loved her, and as for her name perhaps it was not +such a bad one after all. At all events it was not yet time for the big +explosion. "I'm only crying because you are going away," she declared, +and this time she decided she meant it. "What a joke it would be if I +turned out something great. I would go to Mr. Bellamie and ask him for +his pedigree, and turn up my nose when I saw it, and say I was very +sorry, but I must really look for something better than his son, though +he has got a girl's face and is much prettier than I am. Oh, Aubrey," +she cried, with a sudden new passion. "You have always meant it? You +will be true to your little maid of the radiant head? I don't doubt you, +but love is another of the queer puzzles, all flaming one time, all dead +another, and only a little white dust to show for all the flame. The +dust may mean a burnt-out heart, and I think that is what would happen +if you gave me up."</p> + +<p>He satisfied her in the usual way, declaring that if they ever were +separated it would be by her action, not by his. She would have to +unfasten the lover's knot. Then they went on. It was getting late, and +the short day was already in the dimsies. They stood beside the gate, +saying good-bye, not in two words, but in the old method which never +grows musty. They passed on, the gate slammed, and they were outside; +only just outside, but already they were lost and could not have found +their way back; for the wand of the magician had been waved over "our +walk," and fairyland had gone away like smoke to the place where babies +come from.</p> + +<p>Weevil was sitting in the dark, mumbling and moaning, when Boodles came +in. He was in the seventh Hell of misery, as he had been for a walk and +discovered beneath a hedge a rusty iron trap with its jaws fastened upon +the leg of a rabbit. The creature had been caught days before, as +decomposition had set in, and as it was only just held by one leg it +must have suffered considerably. Such a sight is quite one of the common +objects of the country, therefore Weevil ought not to have been +perturbed; only in his case familiarity failed to breed indifference. He +sat down in the dark, and as soon as the child entered began to quaver +his usual grievance: "What right have they to make me suffer? Why may I +not go a walk without being tortured? What right have the brutes to +torment me so?"</p> + +<p>"Groaning and grunting again, poor old man," said Boodles cheerfully, +rather glad there was no light, as she did not want him to see she had +been crying. "You must laugh and be funny now, please, for I've come +home dreadful tired, and if you go on worrying I shall begin to groan +and grunt too. I'm ready to have my boots taken off."</p> + +<p>"Don't talk like that. Your throat sounds all lumpy," the old man +complained, getting up and groping towards her in the dark. "What have +you been doing—quarrelling?"</p> + +<p>Boodles made noises which were intended to express ridicule, and then +said miserably: "Saying good-bye."</p> + +<p>Weevil knelt upon the carpet and began to unlace the first boot he could +find, groaning and grunting again like a professional mourner.</p> + +<p>"Did it hurt, Boodle-oodle?" he asked tenderly.</p> + +<p>"Horrid," she sighed.</p> + +<p>"It made you cry?"</p> + +<p>"Ees."</p> + +<p>"That was the Brute, darling. I've warned you of him so often. He +doesn't let any of us escape. He shows me rabbits in traps, and he makes +you cry. I believe you are crying now."</p> + +<p>"Not much, daddy. Only a few little tears that were late for the big +weep," said Boodles, burrowing her face into a cool cushion.</p> + +<p>"I want you to laugh. You don't laugh so much now," he complained, +drawing the boot off carefully, and then feeling inside to make sure +that the foot had not come away too.</p> + +<p>"One day you said I laughed too much, and I wasn't to do it any more," +said a doleful voice.</p> + +<p>"Ah, but there was a reason for that," said the old man cunningly. "I +thought the Brute would be angry if he saw you laughing so much. That +was before I took him by the throat and flung him out of the house. He +hasn't been here since—not to worry you anyhow," he chuckled.</p> + +<p>"You must explain that, please, and a lot of other things besides," she +said hurriedly, sitting up and trying to locate the exact position of +his head.</p> + +<p>Old Weevil laughed in a silly sort of way. "It's a little personal +matter between the Brute and me," he chuckled.</p> + +<p>"But I come in. I'm the respondent, or whatever you call it. Now I must +hear all about it," she said.</p> + +<p>"You're not old enough. I shan't tell you anything until you are +twenty-one."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you will. I'm not a baby now. I am eighteen, and I feel +more—nearly eighty-one to-night. I've got one boot on still, and if you +won't answer I'll kick."</p> + +<p>The old man jumped playfully upon the threatening foot like a kitten +upon a ball of wool.</p> + +<p>"Daddy-man, I'm serious. I'm not laughing a bit. I believe there is +another cry coming on, and that will make you groan and grunt dreadful. +Is it true you are my grandfather?"</p> + +<p>The question was out with a rush, and murmuring: "There, I've done it," +Boodles put her face back into the cushion, breathing as quickly as any +agitated maid who has just received an unexpected offer of marriage.</p> + +<p>Whatever Weevil was doing she could not think. He appeared to be +scrabbling about the floor, playing with her foot. Both of them were +glad it was so dark.</p> + +<p>"Who told you that?" he said.</p> + +<p>"Aubrey. You told his father. Why haven't you ever told me?"</p> + +<p>"Boodle-oodle," he quavered, "let me take your other boot off."</p> + +<p>"The boot can wait. Don't be unkind, daddy," she pleaded. "I've been +worried dreadful to-day. Why did you tell Mr. Bellamie you are my +grandfather, if you're not?"</p> + +<p>"I am," cried old Weevil. "Of course I am. I have been your grandfather +for a long time, ever since you were born, but I wasn't going to tell +you until you were twenty-one."</p> + +<p>"Why not? Why ever shouldn't I know? Are you ashamed of me?"</p> + +<p>At that the old man began to throw himself about and make horrible faces +in the dark.</p> + +<p>"I expect you are," Boodles went on. "Mr. Bellamie is ashamed of me. He +says I'm not well-born, and I have no name. Aubrey told me this +afternoon."</p> + +<p>"The liar," cried old Weevil. Then he began to cackle in his own +grotesque way. He couldn't help being amused at the idea that he should +be calling Mr. Bellamie a liar. "How did he know? How did he find that +out?" he muttered. "Nobody could have told him. He must have guessed +it."</p> + +<p>"You are my grandfather," Boodles murmured. "Now you must tell me all +about my father and mother. I've got to let Mr. Bellamie know," she went +on innocently.</p> + +<p>"I told him. I told him the whole story," cried Weevil. "He sat in this +room for an hour, and I gave him the whole history. What a forgetful man +he must be. I will write it out and send it him."</p> + +<p>"Tell me," said Boodles. "How could you say that you picked me up on +your doorstep, and never knew where I had come from?"</p> + +<p>"It's a long story, my darling. I don't fancy I can remember it now." +The old man wondered where he had put that precious piece of paper.</p> + +<p>"Don't squeeze my foot so. Who was my mother? Do you really know who my +mother was?"</p> + +<p>"Tita, we called her that for short, Katherine, Mary—no, that's you. +I've got it all written down somewhere. I must tell her the same story. +Shall I light the lamp and find it?"</p> + +<p>"You must remember. Are you my mother's father?" she asked impatiently.</p> + +<p>"Wait a moment, Boodle-oodle. These sudden questions confuse me so. Mr. +Bellamie would know. I told him. Yes, it was your mother. Miss Lascelles +was her name, and I married her in Switzerland. We stayed at that hotel +where Gubbings wrote his history of the world, and we fell out of a boat +on Lake Geneva, and she was never heard of again."</p> + +<p>"Where was I?" cried Boodles, knowing that impatience would only perplex +him more.</p> + +<p>"You were not born, darling. It was a long time after that when you were +born, and your father was Canon Lascelles of Hendon."</p> + +<p>"Dear old man, don't be so agitated," she said, putting out a hand to +stroke his whiskers. "You are so puzzled you don't know what you are +saying. How could my mother be drowned before I was born?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, darling, you misunderstand me. It was my wife who disappeared +mysteriously, not your mother."</p> + +<p>"My mother was your daughter. That's one thing I want to know," said +perplexed Boodles.</p> + +<p>"Tita, we called her Tita for short," he said, glad of one fact of which +he was certain.</p> + +<p>"And my father, Canon Lascelles—really? A real canon, a man with a sort +of title?" she cried, with a little joyous gasp.</p> + +<p>"He's in British Honduras. I think that was the place—"</p> + +<p>"Alive! My father alive!" cried Boodles. "And you never told me before! +Why haven't I seen him? Why doesn't he write to me? Oh, I think you have +been cruel to me, telling me those wild stories of how I came to you, +keeping the truth from me all these years."</p> + +<p>Old Weevil sat at her feet, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. He was +protecting Boodles, giving her happiness, he thought; but when he heard +that cry it suggested to him that his false story might bring her in the +end more sorrow than the truth. He could not go back now that he had +gone so far. A lie is a rapid breeder of lies; and old Weevil, with his +lack of memory, and natural instinct for the truth, was a man singularly +ill-fitted for fictions. He had overlooked a great many things in his +wild desire to make the child happy. It had never occurred to him that +she would feel a natural love for her parents.</p> + +<p>"I wanted to be kind to you, Boodles," he quavered. "I kept the truth +from you because there were good reasons."</p> + +<p>"What were they?"</p> + +<p>"I can't tell you, darling," he answered truly. "You must not ask me," +he said firmly, because she had touched upon a mystery which his +inventive faculties were quite incapable of solving.</p> + +<p>"And my mother—where is she?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, she is dead," said Weevil cheerfully. He was not going to have any +trouble with the mother, and he was sorry he had not killed the father +too. "I told you she was drowned mysteriously."</p> + +<p>"That was your wife, my grandmother. You are not playing with me? You +are not deceiving me?" said Boodles pitifully.</p> + +<p>"I'm trying to tell you, only it is all mixed up. It happened so long +ago, and the Brute has worried me so much since that I don't seem able +to remember anything very clearly. Your mother went out of the hotel one +day, and never came back."</p> + +<p>"Where?"</p> + +<p>"Lausanne, the hotel where—"</p> + +<p>"But she may be alive still," interrupted the child.</p> + +<p>"Oh no, darling. Quite impossible. She was never heard of again, and it +was nearly thirty years ago."</p> + +<p>"Don't ramble. You are wandering off again. How could it be thirty years +ago, when I'm only just eighteen?"</p> + +<p>Weevil admitted the difficulty, and replied that he had been thinking +just then of his wife. She would keep mixing herself up with the girl's +mother.</p> + +<p>"Now I'm getting at it," said Boodles, with a kind of fierce +seriousness. "My mother is supposed to be dead. My father is in British +Honduras—"</p> + +<p>"British Guiana," corrected Weevil.</p> + +<p>"Are you sure?"</p> + +<p>"Almost certain. I looked it up on the map. I wish I had that piece of +paper," the poor old man muttered.</p> + +<p>"Well, it does not matter much for the present. You say my mother was +Miss Lascelles, and my father was Canon Lascelles; but if my mother was +your daughter her name would have been Weevil."</p> + +<p>"So it was, my dear," he cried, with a new inspiration, "at least it +would have been if—if—I mean, darling, my name is really Lascelles, +only I changed it to Weevil when I lost my fortune."</p> + +<p>"Why ever couldn't you have told me all this before? How is it that +Canon Lascelles had the same name as you? Was he a relation?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, darling, first cousin," he faltered, wondering if the story +resembled that which he had told to Mr. Bellamie.</p> + +<p>"So my name is really Lascelles?"</p> + +<p>"Titania Lascelles. But there are a lot of others. I was nearly +forgetting them. You have a whole string of names, but I can't remember +them now, except Katherine and Mary—ah, yes, and there was Fitzalan. I +never could understand why they called you Fitzalan. I've got them all +written down somewhere, and I'll read them to you presently. We called +you Tita after your mother, but I got into the way of calling you +Boodles, which means beautiful, and have never got out of it."</p> + +<p>"You told all this to Mr. Bellamie?" asked Boodles excitedly.</p> + +<p>"I think so. I tried to," said Weevil hopefully.</p> + +<p>"Then what does he mean by saying I am of low birth and have no name?" +she cried indignantly.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps he did not understand. Perhaps he hadn't grasped it. I tell a +story very badly, dear."</p> + +<p>That point could not be disputed, and the child seized upon it eagerly. +There was no telling what wild rambling statements her grandfather might +have poured into the ears of Aubrey's father. But she could tell him now +she was quite a well-born little dame, and had a splendid name which was +all her own, and she was really good enough for Aubrey after all. She +put her head back upon the cushion and began to laugh because she was +happy, the day was ending nicely, and she believed the story would end +nicely too. She had cried because Aubrey was going away and for no other +reason; at one time that afternoon she had not been sure of it, she had +almost been afraid that the tears had been brought on by Mr. Bellamie's +evil suggestions about her birth; but now she knew that she could hold +up her nose with the best of them. She was accustomed to Weevil's +eccentric language, his contradictions gave her no suspicions; she +swallowed the rambling story whole and wanted more. There were so many +questions to be asked and answered. She thought she would write to +Aubrey and sign herself Titania Lascelles with great flourishes.</p> + +<p>"I am glad to hear you laughing, Boodles," said Weevil tenderly.</p> + +<p>The poor old man was far from the laughing mood. He was indeed getting +frightened at what he had done, and was wondering how he could carry it +on, and how the story would end. Left to himself he would not have told +the child anything; but she had caught him in an unguarded moment with a +direct question, and he had been forced to answer without time to +prepare himself by another rehearsal in private. He had hardly expected +her to take things so seriously, forgetting how much the story meant to +her, so utterly obsessed was his mind with the one great idea, which was +her preservation from the Brute. Love blinds every one. The young it +dazzles, like the sun low down on the horizon, so that they see no +faults. Into the eyes of the old it flings dust to prevent them from +seeing the end of the road.</p> + +<p>"Now we must light the lamp and have supper," he said drearily, gently +removing the child's other boot and pressing her warm little foot in his +cold loving hand.</p> + +<p>"I don't want lamps or suppers," she sighed. "What is that light, over +in the corner?"</p> + +<p>"I think it is the moon shining in between the curtains."</p> + +<p>"The wind has got up. It's howling. I don't care, for I've got a name. +I'm not Boodles Blank any more. I'm tired and happy."</p> + +<p>"I have given you a little happiness. Boodles?" he quavered.</p> + +<p>"Heavensfull. You have always been a funny old daddy-man, and now that +you are my grand-daddy-man you are funnier than ever. Fancy keeping me +in the dark all the time! To-morrow you must tell me everything. What +was my mother like? Go on. Tell me a lot about my mother."</p> + +<p>"I don't know, Boodles—I mean I can't think to-night."</p> + +<p>Weevil had left her, and was tumbling about the room, knocking himself +against things and groaning. He was beginning to understand that his +efforts to destroy the Brute might only end by investing him with new +powers. But the child was happy, and that was everything; she was +singing to herself, and laughing, and thinking of her mother; not the +mother who had tied her up in fern and flung her at his door, but the +mother who existed only in his fantastic brain. Suppose Mr. Bellamie had +found it out. But that was impossible, for nobody knew except that +unknown mother and himself. He was doing what was right. His little maid +was perfectly happy then. Sufficient for that day was the happiness +thereof. There was just one trouble remaining—the problem of Mr. +Bellamie's incredulity. Why had he not accepted the story which she was +so ready to believe? Eccentric manner and contradictory statements did +not explain everything. Mr. Bellamie had no right to put the whole story +aside just because it had been badly told.</p> + +<p>"I can tell you, Boodles. I have just found it out," he cried out of the +darkness with a miserable sort of triumph. "There has been a lot of +scandal about you, which I have never troubled to answer, and Mr. +Bellamie has heard it, and finds it easier to believe than what I told +him. There is the Brute again. He makes people prefer scandal to the +truth. Nobody knows how you came to me, and so they invented a story to +suit them. Everybody knows that story, and as I have not denied it Mr. +Bellamie believes it is true. I think I'll write to him to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"How did I come to you?" asked Boodles.</p> + +<p>"It's a long story," he faltered. "I can't tell you now because I am +feeling so tired. I shall have to think about it all night," he +muttered.</p> + +<p>"Why did you make up that queer story about finding me one night at your +door?"</p> + +<p>"That is true. Your father chose that way of sending you to me," he said +lamely. "I kept the truth from you because I was afraid you might not +want to stay with me if you knew everything. Your father wished you to +be kept in ignorance. I was going to tell you on your twenty-first +birthday."</p> + +<p>"You needn't have told me you thought I was a poor woman's child," she +said reproachfully.</p> + +<p>"I am very sorry, darling. I won't do it again," the poor old creature +promised.</p> + +<p>Boodles jumped up, pattered to the window, and flung aside the curtains. +The room was flooded at once with moonlight, and she could feel the wind +coming through the chinks. Weevil looked up patiently, and she saw his +weary old eyes and wrinkled face, ghastly in that light. It struck her +he was looking very worn and ill.</p> + +<p>"You are dreadful tired," she said very tenderly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Boodles, the noise of the wind makes me feel very tired."</p> + +<p>"I am not Boodles now. That was my baby-name. I am Tita. And the +others—Katherine, Mary—what are the rest?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, dear. I will try and think to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"I won't tease you, but there is so much I want to know. Poor great big +old grand-daddy-man, you look quite dead."</p> + +<p>He shuffled towards her, put his arms round her, and began to make +noises as if he was in pain. "I am tired and weak. That is all, darling, +and the rabbit in the trap made me sick. I am weak and old and very +tired, and I know I have done no good in my life. Shut it out, my +maid—shut it out."</p> + +<p>It was the prospect which he wanted shut out. They could see the bare +stretch of moor, upon it the moon shining, and over it the wind rushing. +There is nothing more dreary than a windy moonlit night upon the moor, +filled with its own emptiness of sound, suggestive of wild motion and +yet motionless, covered with light that is not light.</p> + +<p>"It is like a lonely life," said Weevil bitterly.</p> + +<p>Boodles dropped the curtains and tried to laugh. She did not like the +look on the old man's face.</p> + +<p>"The lonely life has gone," she said. "Now we will have some light."</p> + +<p>Weevil shuffled after her, muttering to himself: "You have done it, +Abel-Cain. You must keep it up. You must hold the Brute off her somehow, +or she may have to go out, into the windy moonlight, into the lonely +life."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h3> + +<h2>ABOUT THE GOOD RIGHT HAND OF FELLOWSHIP</h2> + + +<p>One of the creeping-things to be crushed at the forthcoming Assizes was +Brightly. Ju had been already stamped out of existence, and it was meet +and right that the little man should follow her example, and be placed +behind some stone walls where it would be impossible for him to drag +lusty farmers from their horses and half-murder them for the sake of +their clothes. Brightly had not long to wait in prison. Exeter put on +the full panoply of the law during the first week of November; scarlet +and gold were flourished; trumpeters and a special preacher brayed; +bells clanged, the small grocer and the candle-maker were summoned to +serve on the jury, to fail not at their peril, lawyers buzzed +everywhere, and a lot of money was spent just because Brightly and a few +poor yokels had misconducted themselves. It was a curious sort of net, +this Assize net; it was constructed and cast in such a manner that it +permitted a lot of coarse fish and golden carp to escape through its +meshes, while all the little tadpoles and mud-grubbers were caught and +held.</p> + +<p>One of the coarse fish to swim into the judicial circuit was Pendoggat. +He came to Exeter, partly that he might spend a portion of the capital +of the Nickel Mining Company, and partly that he might visit the +Guildhall to see sinners punished. Pendoggat had a keen sense of justice +and a certain amount of dull humour. The Assizes represented to him a +foreshadowing of the fiery pleasures of Hell—they were a pleasure to +his mind because he was secure from them—and it amused him to think +that another man was going to suffer for his wrongdoing. The idea that +he was a sinner had never occurred to him. He had stripped Chegwidden, +and flung him into the furze, because the wind had swept upon him, +urging him to persecute the unconscious man, and he had obeyed. He had +not robbed Chegwidden, nor had he stolen his clothes; and that was the +principal charge against Brightly. If he had stood up in court, and +confessed that he had dragged the farmer from his horse and stolen his +clothes, he would have been telling a lie, which would have been painful +to him. Brightly was not charged with finding Chegwidden unconscious, +stripping the clothes from him, and throwing them down a wheal. Had that +been the charge against him Pendoggat would probably have recognised +that the purveyor of rabbit-skins was a good Christian, who had learnt +the great principles of the gospel, and was willing to sacrifice himself +for another. The mind of Pendoggat when it turned towards theology +became incomprehensible.</p> + +<p>The weather was changing into winter and there was a smell of snow upon +the moor. Pendoggat had played his game, and so far as he could see had +won it. The success was not brilliant, because the people of Bromley had +proved to be a stingy set, and the amount of money subscribed for the +mining venture did not reach three hundred pounds. The chairman of the +company, Pezzack's retired grocer-uncle, who had after repeated failures +at last discovered how to spell the word committee, was continually +writing to know when the first consignment of ore was to be placed on +the market, and, what was of far greater importance, when the first +dividend might be expected. Pendoggat as frequently replied, through the +agency of Pezzack, that operations could not be commenced until spring, +as the climate of Dartmoor was not the same as that of Bromley; but the +grocer could not understand, and went on writing. He appeared to think +that nickel was like the inferior American and disreputable +margarine—which in his business had been labelled respectively prime +Cheddar and best butter—and would not keep. The little grocer deserved +to lose his money, though he was eminently respectable. His position +proved it, as only men of assured respectability can make enough money +to retire and purchase a little suburban villa, with such modern +improvements as walls one brick thick, roofs of thin plaster, and +defective drainage. His front doorstep was whitened daily. His parlour +window was heavily curtained, and in it were geraniums and ferns further +to attest respectability; and behind the curtains and floral display was +a chamber crowded with stately furniture. All was very beautiful in +front, and very dirty behind. The display in front was for the benefit +of the road. The negligence and dirt behind were only visible from the +railway. It was best butter according to the parlour window, and +disreputable margarine judging by the testimony of the back-yard.</p> + +<p>Queer objects of the country had come from all parts of Devon to assert +their intelligence as witnesses in the various trials. Peter was a +witness in the Brightly case, Peter who had comforted his system with +many a pint of beer, paid for with Chegwidden's money, and was then +enjoying himself at the expense of the country, although he had taken +the opportunity to get his railway fare from Mary. Peter was not only +travelling again, but he was principal witness, as he had discovered +Chegwidden lying unconscious and fully dressed upon the road; and Peter +did not underestimate his importance.</p> + +<p>Brightly had not been fortunate of late, but luck was to turn his way a +little at the trial. No doubt sentences upon small prisoners depend very +much upon the state of his lordship's liver. A bottle of corked wine, or +a burnt soup, may quite possibly mean another couple of months to the +man in the dock. Mercy is supposed to have its lodging somewhere in the +bowels, and if they are out of order, or offended by inferior cookery, +mercy may conceivably be out of order too. The judge upon this occasion +was in a robust state of health. His wine had not been corked, nor had +his soup been burnt, and he was quite in the mood to temper the panoply +of the law with a playful kind of mercy which presented counsel with +several somewhat obsolete jokes and one new pun. When Brightly appeared +another pun was instantly forthcoming upon his name. His lordship had at +once a kindly feeling for the prisoner who had contributed towards the +maintenance of his own reputation as a humorist; and he was soon saying +that it was absurd to suppose that such a poor creature could be guilty +of robbery with violence against the person of a strong man like Farmer +Chegwidden.</p> + +<p>A very able young barrister defended Brightly at the request of the +judge, a youngster recently called, who had every inducement to do his +best. That was Brightly's second bit of luck. The health of the judge +was perfect, and he had been allotted a strong advocate, although he +could not understand why the gentleman took such an interest in him and +tried so hard to get him off. The fat constable and the other witnesses +were given a melancholy time by the young barrister, who treated them +all very much as Pendoggat had treated Chegwidden. He stripped the lies +off them and left them shivering in the strangeness of the truth. Peter +was a difficult witness at first, but after a few minutes counsel could +probably have made him swear that when he had discovered Chegwidden the +farmer was undressing himself with a view to taking a bath.</p> + +<p>"In what condition was he when you found him lying upon the road?" asked +counsel.</p> + +<p>"Mazed," replied Peter. "Same as I be," he muttered.</p> + +<p>"Was he drunk?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Peter stoutly.</p> + +<p>"Do you know a drunken man when you see one?"</p> + +<p>Peter thought he did, but was not certain. They were common objects, and +as long as a man could proceed from one place to another, and shout +occasionally, he was, according to Peter, a fairly sober person.</p> + +<p>"Do you suppose he had fallen from his horse and stunned himself?"</p> + +<p>"Likely," said Peter. "He'm a cruel hard rider."</p> + +<p>"You have often seen him galloping over the moor, in what some people +might call a reckless way?"</p> + +<p>"Seen 'en often," said Peter.</p> + +<p>"Thursday evenings usually?" went on counsel, in a pleasant +conversational manner.</p> + +<p>Peter agreed that it was so.</p> + +<p>"You know, of course, that it is the farmer's habit on these evenings to +frequent some public-house; one night at Lydford, another at Brentor, +and so on? There's nothing remarkable about that, but still you are well +aware of it?"</p> + +<p>Peter was.</p> + +<p>"And you know what he goes there for? Everybody knows that. You know why +you go to a public-house. You go to get beer, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"I du," said Peter with some enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>"Sometimes there is a glass too much, and you are not quite sure of the +way home. That's only human nature. We all have our little failings. +When you have that glass too much you might ride 'cruel hard,' as you +express it, over the moor, without caring whether you had a spill or +not. Probably you would have a tumble. Chegwidden comes off pretty +often, I believe?"</p> + +<p>"More often that he used to du," mumbled Peter, not in the least knowing +where he was being led.</p> + +<p>"Well, that's natural enough. He's getting older and less confident. +Perhaps he drinks a bit harder too. A man can hardly find it easy to +gallop over the rough moor when he is very drunk. Don't you feel +surprised that Chegwidden has never hurt himself badly?"</p> + +<p>Peter was not flustered then. Counsel was half-sitting on the edge of +the table, talking so nicely that Peter began to regard him as an old +friend, and thought he would like to drink a few glasses with this +pleasant gentleman who, he fancied, had a distinctly convivial eye. +"'Tis just witchery," he said in a confidential manner, feeling he was +in some bar-room, and the judge might be the landlord about to draw the +beer. "He'm got a little charm to his watch-chain, and that makes 'en +fall easy like."</p> + +<p>"I suppose he hadn't got it on that night?"</p> + +<p>"Forgot 'en, likely," said Peter with some regret, knowing that had +Chegwidden been wearing the charm and chain he would have gained +possession of them.</p> + +<p>Counsel smiled at Peter, and the witness grinned back, with a feeling +that he was adding to his acquaintances. The next question followed +quite naturally—</p> + +<p>"I suppose Chegwidden was pretty far gone that night. Now I want you to +use your memory, and tell me if you have ever seen him more drunk than +he was that night?"</p> + +<p>"When us gets drunk us comes to a stop like," said Peter thoughtfully. +"Us gets no drunker," he explained to his new friend.</p> + +<p>"You think Farmer Chegwidden had reached that stage? He could hardly +have been more intoxicated than he was when you found him?"</p> + +<p>Peter admitted that the farmer's condition was unquestionably as his +friend had stated.</p> + +<p>"He was dead drunk?"</p> + +<p>"Mucky drunk," said Peter with a burst of confidence.</p> + +<p>"You were not astonished, as you know he is an habitual drunkard?"</p> + +<p>Peter was just going to agree, when he remembered he didn't know the +meaning of the word habitual.</p> + +<p>"He gets drunk frequently. Makes a habit of it," explained counsel.</p> + +<p>"He du," said Peter, in the emphatic manner which makes for good +evidence.</p> + +<p>"Why did you say just now he was not drunk when you found him?" asked +counsel smoothly.</p> + +<p>Peter's eyes were opened, and he discovered he was not in a bar-room, +but in the Guildhall between rows of unsympathetic faces, and his nice +young companion was not a friend at all; and he knew also he had been +giving evidence against a parishioner. It was useless after that to +proceed with the charge against Brightly in its original form; and his +advocate then attempted to show that he was equally innocent of theft.</p> + +<p>Here, however, he failed, and his lordship himself, who felt in the mood +to be merciful, could only point out that circumstantial evidence went +entirely against the prisoner. He didn't believe that Brightly, was a +bad character. A long experience upon the Bench had enabled him to +determine fairly accurately between the hardened criminal and the poor +man who succumbed to sudden temptation. It was a wild cold night, and +the prisoner in his wretched clothes had happened to pass that way, and +when he found the drunken and stunned farmer lying upon the road the +temptation to strip him of his clothing had been too strong. The +subsequent ill-treatment of the senseless man, no doubt to gratify some +old grudge, was the unpleasant feature of the case. It was not +altogether easy for him to believe that Brightly had worked +single-handed. He left the case to the small grocer and the candle-maker +with every confidence that they would bring in a verdict in accordance +with the evidence, and he hoped that their consciences would direct them +aright. The consciences did their work rapidly, Brightly was declared +guilty, and the learned judge found that he would not be doing his duty +to the country if he sentenced him to less than three months' +imprisonment with hard labour. The next case was called, and the police +began as usual to complain about the sentence, and to declare that it +was no use doing their duty when judges wouldn't do theirs. The prisoner +was removed weeping, asking the gentlemen if they wouldn't let him have +his little dog, and begging the warder to take his "duppence" and go out +to buy him some rat-poison.</p> + +<p>Brightly had indulged in several fits of play-acting since his +committal. He was a dull-witted man, and they could not make him +comprehend that he was a criminal of a particularly dangerous type, and +his little Ju a furious beast which it had been found necessary to +destroy. He was, indeed, so foolish that he failed to grasp the fact +that Ju was dead. He was always asking if he mightn't have her to talk +to. When they brought him food he would set a portion aside for Ju, and +beg the warder to see that she got it. When he sang his hymns he put out +his hand and patted the floor, thinking it was Ju. He did not want to go +to the wonderful dairy without his little dog. She would like the milk +and honey too. He would never have the heart to drive about in the +pony-cart, which was sure to come some day if he only waited long +enough, unless Ju was squatting upon the fern at the bottom or on the +seat beside him. It would be dreary Dartmoor indeed without tail-wagging +starving Ju. They could not make him understand that Ju was starving no +longer. Since his committal Brightly had failed to benefit from the +food, which was the best he had ever eaten in his life, though it was +prison fare. He was thinner because he could not feed upon the air and +the solitude, or smell the moor, and he was more blind because the +healing touch of the sun was off his eyes. He often thought of an +evening how beautifully the sun would be shining across Sourton Down, +and he wondered if the gentlemen would let him go, just to get a feel of +it for a few minutes. Sometimes he thought he could hear the Tavy +roaring, but it was nothing but the prison van rumbling in.</p> + +<p>After sentence Brightly became more foolish, and rambled about his +little dog worse than ever. The doctor certified he was totally +incapable of undergoing hard labour, and he was removed to the +infirmary, where kind people visited him and gave him tracts and hoped +he would see the wickedness of his ways before it was too late. At last +Brightly began to comprehend that he was a vagabond of the baser sort. +All the gentlemen had said so, and they would not have impressed it upon +him so frequently if it was untrue. It appeared that he had led a life +of vice from his earliest years. It had been wicked to walk about the +moor trading in rabbit-skins, and vile to live in a cave upon Belstone +Cleave; and he had never known it until then. There was so much that he +didn't know. He learnt a lot about literature in his confinement. A lady +read portions of the Bible to him, and Brightly found some of it +interesting, although he could not understand why the Hebrew gentlemen +were always fighting, and his teacher didn't seem able to explain it. +Another lady tried to teach him "Jerusalem the Golden," and he responded +as well as he could, but the words would not remain in his poor memory, +and he always gave a quaint rendering of his own when he tried to repeat +the lines. He had the same question for every one: might he have his +little dog and talk to her for a bit? At last the doctor made him +understand that Ju was dead, and after that Brightly changed. His soul +became rusty, as it were, and he did not respond to his teachers. He +accepted everything with the same patient spirit, but he showed +indifference. He became like a tortoise, and when people stroked his +shell he refused to put his head out. It was all owing to the same old +fault—he could not understand things. He comprehended that he was a +criminal, and it had been fully explained to him that criminals must be +kept in confinement because they constitute a danger to other people. +But he could not understand what Ju had done that she should be taken +away from him and killed. Apparently she too had been a criminal, and +much worse than himself; for he had only been sent to prison, while she +had been executed. That was what Brightly couldn't understand; but then +he was only a fool.</p> + +<p>Pendoggat left the court after sentence upon Brightly had been +pronounced, and began his homeward journey. The trial had pleased him, +and satisfied his sense of justice. He was hurrying back because there +was a service that evening and he was going to preach. Brightly would +make a good subject for his sermon, the man who was alone because he was +not fit to dwell with his kind, the man who had been caught in his sins +and punished for them. He had always tried to impress his listeners with +the fact that every man is sure to suffer for his sins some day; and he +believed what he said, and could not understand why people were so dull +as to think they would escape. Pendoggat had discovered long ago that +every man regards his neighbours as sinners and himself as a saint. He +behaved in exactly the same way himself. He would not be punished, +because he always made a point of repenting of his sins. He saved +himself by prayer and chapel attendances, and every day would insure his +soul against fire by reading the Bible. And yet he thought himself +different from other people, and was amazed when they had the effrontery +to declare that they too were saved, although neighbour This and +neighbour That ought to have known they were most assuredly and +everlastingly damned.</p> + +<p>The region of the Tavy was cold and clear; a great change from the +low-lying city on the Exe and Greedy where there had been mist and +drizzle. As Pendoggat rode up from Lydford he noticed white pools and +splashes upon the dark tower and roof of St. Michael's church upon its +mount, and his heart warmed at the cold sight. It was to him what the +note of the cuckoo is to many, a promise, not of spring, but of the wild +days when solitude increases and the bogs become blue glaciers. Winter +had come and there would soon be the usual November fall of snow. +Pendoggat prepared his discourse as he rode up. The night was coming +when no man could work, miners least of all. His was not a cold theology +by any means. It contained, indeed, little that was not red-hot. The +old-fashioned lake of fire, surrounded by attendants in a uniform of +tails and hoofs, armed with pitchforks to keep sinners sizzling and turn +them occasionally, was good enough for him. Every one would have to be +burnt some time, like the gorse in swaling-time, except himself.</p> + +<p>Ebenezer was crowded that evening. The week-day services were popular, +especially in winter, when the evenings were long, and there was no +money for the inn. Chapel upon the moor occupies much the same place in +the affections of the parishioners as the music-hall has obtained over +the minds of dwellers in big towns; and for much the same reason, +everybody likes to be entertained, and praying and hymn-singing are +essentially dramatic performances. A warm church or chapel is an +attractive place on a winter's evening, when it is dull at home, and +there is nothing doing outside. Middle-aged men will always speak +lovingly of their village church and its pleasant evening services. They +do not remember much about the prayers and hymns; but they have a very +clear and tender recollection of the golden-haired girl who used to sit +in the next pew but one.</p> + +<p>Pezzack did not come in until Pendoggat had finished his discourse. He +was a sort of missionary, carrying the gospel over many villages, and +his unfortunate habit of tumbling from his bicycle kept many a +congregation waiting. He entered at last, with a bruised nose and tender +ear, and took possession of the reading-desk which his friend and +partner had been keeping warm for him; and then in his usual ridiculous +fashion he undid Pendoggat's good work by preaching of a pleasant land +on the other side of this world of woe. Eli had always been an optimist, +and now that he was happily married his lack of a proper religious +pessimism became more strongly marked than ever. He would never make a +really popular minister while he insisted upon looking at the bright +side of things. Many of his listeners thought him frivolous when he +spoke of happiness after death. They couldn't think wherever he got his +strange ideas from. It seemed as if Pezzack wanted to deprive them of +that glowing hell which they had learnt to love at their mother's knee.</p> + +<p>The congregation melted away quickly to the echo of Eli's blessing, and +the friends found themselves alone, to put out the lamps, lock the +chapel, and leave everything in order. The minister was elated; they had +enjoyed a "blessed hour;" the world was going very well just then; and +he longed to clasp Pendoggat by the hand and tell him what a good and +generous man he was. He stood near the door, and with the enthusiasm of +a minor prophet exclaimed: "'Ow beautiful is this place, Mr. Pendoggat!"</p> + +<p>A more hideous interior could hardly have been conceived, only the +minister was fortunate enough to know nothing about art. Temples of +Nonconformity on Dartmoor, as elsewhere, do not conform to any +recognised style of architecture, unless it be that of the wooden +made-in-Germany Noah's Ark; but Pezzack was able to regard the wet walls +and dreary benches through rose-tinted spectacles; or perhaps his +bruised eye lent a kind of glamour to the scene. It was certain, +however, that Pezzack had never yet seen men or things accurately. He +regarded Pendoggat as a saint, and the chapel as a place of beauty. His +eyes were apparently of as little use to him as his judgment. A blind +man might have discovered more with his finger-tips.</p> + +<p>"You'll never make a preacher, man," said Pendoggat, as the last light +went out. "I'd got them worked up, and then you come and let them down +again. Your preaching don't bring them to the sinner's bench. It makes +them sit tight and think they are saved."</p> + +<p>"I can't talk about 'ell. It don't come to me natural," said Eli in his +simple fashion.</p> + +<p>"Sinners ain't saved by kindness. We've got to scare them. If you don't +flog a biting horse he'll bite again. You're too soft with them. You +want to get manly."</p> + +<p>"I endeavour to do my duty," said Eli fervently. "But I can't talk to +them rough when I feel so 'appy."</p> + +<p>"Happy, are ye?" muttered Pendoggat, his eyes upon the ground.</p> + +<p>"My 'appiness is beyond words. I get up 'appy, and I go to bed 'appy, +and I eat 'appy. It's 'eaven on earth, Mr. Pendoggat, and when a man's +so 'appy he can't talk about 'ell. I owe it all to you, Mr. Pendoggat."</p> + +<p>"The happiness or hell?" said Pendoggat, with a flash of grim humour.</p> + +<p>"The wonderful and beautiful 'appiness. My wife and I pray for you +every night and morning. We are very comfortable in our little cottage, +and when, Mr. Pendoggat," he went on with enthusiasm, "when God sends +our first little olive-branch we shall 'ave all that our 'earts can +desire. Ah, Mr. Pendoggat, you don't know what a blessed thing it is to +be a father."</p> + +<p>"You don't either," said the other sharply.</p> + +<p>"I feel it coming upon me. I feel the pride and the glory and the honour +of it swelling up in my 'eart and making me 'appy with the world and all +that therein is. Amen. I can see myself walking about with it, saying: +'Open your eyes, my dear, and look at the proud and 'appy father of your +being.' 'Ow beautiful it all is, Mr. Pendoggat!"</p> + +<p>Pezzack spoke like a fool. Why such men should swell with pride when +they become putative or actual parents is one of the wonders of the +universe. Gratification is permissible enough, but not a sense of pride, +which implies they have done something marvellous. Pezzack was like a +hen cackling because she has laid an egg, and supposing she has +accomplished something which entitles her to a chief place among hens, +when she has only performed an ordinary function of Nature which she +could not possibly have prevented.</p> + +<p>"You're too soft," muttered Pendoggat, as they turned away from the +gloomy box-shaped chapel and began to ascend the silent road. It was a +clear night, the stars were large, and the wind was cold enough to +convey the idea of heat. There was enough light for them to see the +white track crossed ahead by another narrow road cut out of the black +moor. By morning there would be a greyness upon everything, and the +heather would be covered with frosted gossamers.</p> + +<p>Pezzack was blowing on his big red hands, and stumbling about as if he +had been Farmer Chegwidden. He had never learnt how to walk, and it was +getting late to learn. Pendoggat was carrying a huge black Bible, which +was almost as cumbersome as Mary's umbrella. He always took it to chapel +with him, because it was useful to shake at the doubters and weaker +vessels. Big books in sombre bindings generally terrify the young or +illiterate, whatever their contents; and a big Bible brandished at a +reading-desk suggests a sort of court of appeal to which the preacher is +ready to carry his hearers' difficulties.</p> + +<p>"I think we are going to get some snow," said Eli, falling back +naturally upon the state of the weather.</p> + +<p>"There is a bit on Brentor," said Pendoggat.</p> + +<p>"Then there will be some on Ger Tor. I must take my wife out to-morrow +to look at it. She does not know Dartmoor. It will be a little pleasure +for her."</p> + +<p>The Pezzacks were easily amused. The first sprinkle of snow on Ger Tor +was worth going out to see, and could be discussed during the long +evening.</p> + +<p>"It will mean the closing of the mine. There must be a lot of water in +it," suggested Eli in a nervous manner, although he was anticipating +things rather, seeing that the precious mine had never been opened.</p> + +<p>"Afraid you won't get your fifteen shillings a week, are ye?" said +Pendoggat, in what was for him a pleasant voice.</p> + +<p>"I don't think of that," lied Eli, stumbling along, with his hands +flapping like a pair of small wings. "I am in your 'ands, Mr. Pendoggat, +so I am safe. But my uncle writes every week and sends me a +mining-paper, and wants to know why we don't throw ourselves about a +bit. I think he means by that we ought to be at work. My uncle talks +slang, Mr. Pendoggat."</p> + +<p>"Tell him he's a fool," said Pendoggat curtly.</p> + +<p>"I 'ave," said Eli meekly. "At least I suggested it, but I think he +misunderstood me. He says that if we don't make a start he will come +down and make things 'um a bit. I am sorry my uncle uses such +expressions. They use funny phrases in Bromley, Mr. Pendoggat."</p> + +<p>"He can come down if he likes, and you can give him a pick and tell him +to mine for himself until the commoners catch him," said Pendoggat +pleasantly. "We've done with your uncle. He won't subscribe any more +money, and I reckon his friends won't either. We've done our part. We've +got the money, nothing like so much as we wanted, but still a good bit, +and they can have the nickel, or what they think is nickel, and they can +come here and work it till the Duchy asks them what they're after, or +till the commoners fling them into the Tavy. Write that to your uncle," +said Pendoggat, poking his victim in the ribs with his big Bible.</p> + +<p>The minister stopped, but his companion went on, so he had to follow, +stumbling after him very much as Brightly had followed upon that same +road begging for his "duppence."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean, Mr. Pendoggat? What do you mean?" he kept on saying.</p> + +<p>"You're a happy man," muttered Pendoggat like a mocking bird. "Got a +wife, hoping for a child, manager of a mining company, with a rich fool +of an uncle. You're a lucky man, Pezzack."</p> + +<p>"I'm a 'appy and fortunate man," gasped Eli.</p> + +<p>"Every one respects you. They think you're a poor preacher, but they +know you're honest. It's a fine thing to be honest. You'll be called to +a town some day, and have a big congregation to sit under you if you +keep honest."</p> + +<p>"I 'ope so. You're walking so fast I don't seem able to keep up with +you."</p> + +<p>"It's a cold night. Come on, and get warm. How would you feel if people +found out you weren't honest? I saw a man sentenced to-day—hard labour, +for robbery. How would you feel if you were sentenced for robbery? Gives +you a cold feeling, I reckon. Not much chance of a pulpit when you came +out. Prison makes a man stink for the rest of his life."</p> + +<p>"I can't keep up with you, Mr. Pendoggat, unless I run. I haven't enough +breath," panted Eli.</p> + +<p>Pendoggat put the Bible under his arm, turned, caught Eli by the wrist +and strode on, dragging the clumsy minister after him.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Pendoggat, I seem to think some'ow you don't 'ardly know what you +are a-doing of." Pezzack was confused and becoming uncertain of grammar.</p> + +<p>"You'd stand and freeze. Breathe this wind into you and walk like a man. +What would you think, I'm asking ye, if you were found guilty of robbery +and sent to prison? Tell me that."</p> + +<p>"I can't think no'ow," sobbed Eli, trying to believe that his dear +friend and brother had not gone mad.</p> + +<p>"Can't think," growled Pendoggat. "See down under! That's where the mine +is, your mine, Pezzack, your nickel mine."</p> + +<p>"You are 'urting my arm, Mr. Pendoggat, my rheumatic arm. Don't go on so +fast if you kindly please, for I don't seem able to do it. Yonder ain't +my mine, Mr. Pendoggat. It's yours, but I called it mine because you +told me to."</p> + +<p>"Your uncle thinks it's yours. So do his friends. All the business has +gone through you. What do they think of me? Who do they think I am?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Pendoggat, I told them you are the manager."</p> + +<p>"Your man. Your paid servant. Does it pinch here, Pezzack? 'Tis a bit up +here, and the moor's rough."</p> + +<p>"Your 'and pinches, the good right 'and of fellowship," panted Eli.</p> + +<p>"Don't the words pinch? Suppose the mine fails, where are you? Your +uncle will be down on you, and he'll cast you over. You won't see any of +his savings, and there's a wife to keep, and children coming, but you're +a happy man. We're all happy on a frosty night like this. Come on!"</p> + +<p>"What are you a-saying? I don't seem to get hold of it. Let me stop, Mr. +Pendoggat. I want to wipe the sweat off my face."</p> + +<p>"Let it bide there. My name don't appear in the mining business. The +thing is yours from start to finish, and I'm your man. There will be +none more against you if the mine fails, and I'm thrown out of a job. +I've got the cash, Pezzack, every penny of it down to the Barton in +notes. When are we going to start on the new chapel, minister? We're +going to build a new chapel, the finest on the moor. We can't start till +the spring. You told your uncle that? The snow's coming. It's in the air +now, and I reckon 'tis falling thick on the high tors. We can't build +the chapel and get out the nickel while the snow lasts."</p> + +<p>Pendoggat was walking at a furious pace, devouring the keen wind, his +head bent forward, chin upon his chest, lurching from side to side, +dragging the minister like a parent hauling a refractory child.</p> + +<p>"He 'ave lost his senses. He don't know what he's doing with me," Eli +panted, becoming for the first time indirect.</p> + +<p>"We're getting near the top. There will be a fine wind. Do you good, +Pezzack. Make a man of you. What do you think of the nickel down under? +Pretty good stuff, ain't it? Had it analysed yet? Found out what it's +worth a ton? Got permission from the Duchy? I reckon you've done all +that. You're a fine business man. You know a good sample of nickel when +you see it."</p> + +<p>"I left it all to you, Mr. Pendoggat. You know all about it."</p> + +<p>Pezzack tried to say more, something about his feet and rheumatic arm +and the perspiration which blinded him, but he had no more breath. +Pendoggat's fingers were like a handcuff about his wrist.</p> + +<p>"Suppose it ain't nickel at all. I never heard of any on Dartmoor. +They'll be down on you, Pezzack, for the money, howling at ye like so +many wolves, and if you can't pay there's prison. What are you going to +say for yourself? You can't drag me into it. If I tell you there ain't a +penn'orth of nickel down under you can't touch me. If you had proof +against me you couldn't use it, for your own sake. You'd have to keep +your mouth shut, for the sake of your wife and the family what's coming. +It's a fine thing to have a wife, and a fine thing to be expecting a +child, but it's a better thing to be sure of your position. It ain't +wise to marry when you're in debt, and when you've got a wife, and are +depending upon a man for your living, you can't make an enemy of that +man. I reckon we're on top. Bide here a bit and rest yourself."</p> + +<p>They were on the summit of one of the big rounded hills. The heather was +stiff with frost and seemed to grate against their boots. The weather +had changed completely while they had been coming up from the chapel. +Already the stars were covered over with dense clouds which were +dropping snowflakes. There was nothing in sight, and the only sound was +the eternal roar of the Tavy in the distance. Helmen Barton was below. +The house was invisible, but the smell of its peat fire ascended. +Pendoggat was breathing noisily through his nose, while Pezzack stood +before him utterly exhausted, his weak knees trembling and knocking +against each other, and his mouth open like a dog.</p> + +<p>"Why have you done this to me, Mr. Pendoggat?" he gasped at length.</p> + +<p>"To make a man of you. If I have a puppy I make a dog out of him with a +whip. When I get hold of a weak man I try to knock the weakness out of +him."</p> + +<p>"Was it because I didn't talk proper about 'ell?" sobbed the frightened +minister.</p> + +<p>"Come on," cried Pendoggat roughly. "Let's have a bout, man. It's a fine +night for it. Put out your arms. I'll be the making of you yet. Here's +to get your blood warm."</p> + +<p>He raised his Bible and brought it down on Pezzack's head, crushing his +hat in.</p> + +<p>Eli stumbled aside, crying out: "Oh, Mr. Pendoggat, you don't know what +you're doing. 'Itting me with the 'oly word. Let me go home, Mr. +Pendoggat. My wife is waiting for me."</p> + +<p>Pendoggat was too far gone to listen. He followed the wretched man, +hitting at him with the big book, driving him along the top of the hill +with resounding blows. Eli could not escape; he was unable to run, and +he was dazed; he kept on stumbling and bleating, until another good blow +on the head settled his business and sent him sprawling into the +heather.</p> + +<p>"Get up, man," shouted Pendoggat. "Get up and make a bout of it;" but +Eli went on lying flat, sobbing and panting, and trying to pray for his +persecutor.</p> + +<p>"Get up, or I'll walk on ye with my nailed boots."</p> + +<p>Eli shambled up slowly like some strange quadruped, found his awkward +feet, and stood swaying and moaning before his tormentor, convinced that +he was in the hands of a madman, and terribly afraid of losing his life. +Pendoggat stood grim and silent, his head down, the Bible tucked +reverently beneath his arm, the snow whitening his shoulders. It had +become darker in the last few minutes, the clouds were pressing lower, +and the sound of the Tavy was more distant than it had been.</p> + +<p>"'Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give +you rest,'" quoted Pendoggat slowly. "'Tis a cheering text for a whist +winter's night."</p> + +<p>He had finished amusing himself, and now that he was cool again his mind +reverted naturally to his religion.</p> + +<p>Eli could not say anything. It was as much as he could do to stand +upright. His clay-like right hand was pressed to his forehead. He was +afraid he would fall down a great many times going home.</p> + +<p>"Shake," said Pendoggat in a friendly way. "Give me the good right hand +of fellowship, minister."</p> + +<p>Eli heard him, comprehended the meaning of the words, and hesitated, +partly from inability to act, and partly from unwillingness to respond. +He felt he might fall down if he removed the hand from his dazed head. +He smiled in a stupid fashion and managed to say: "You 'ave been cruel +to me, Mr. Pendoggat. You 'ave used me like a beast."</p> + +<p>Pendoggat stepped forward, caught the big cold hand in his, pulled it +roughly from the minister's forehead, and shook it heartily. Not content +with that, he dragged the poor dazed wretch nearer, threw an arm about +his neck, and kissed him on the cheek. Perhaps it was the influence of +his Spanish blood which suggested the act. Possibly it was a genuine +wave of sorrow and repentance. He did not know himself; but the +frightened Maggot only groaned and sobbed, and had no caresses to give +in return.</p> + +<p>"'How good and joyful a thing it is, brethren, to dwell together in +unity,'" quoted Pendoggat, with the utmost reverence.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h3> + +<h2>ABOUT THE PASSOVER OF THE BRUTE</h2> + + +<p>Mary soon forgave her brother for his failure over the electric light +business, and they became as good friends as ever, except when Peter +demanded sums of money for services which Mary could not remember he had +rendered. Peter had a trick of benefiting himself, and charging the cost +to his sister. They were settled for the winter; Peter had turfed up the +chinks in the walls, adding a solid plaster of clay; had repaired the +thatch of gorse where it had rotted, laying on big stones to prevent the +removal of any portion by the gales; and had cut the winter supply of +fern. He sent in the bill to Mary, and she had taken it to Master, and +Master had put on silver spectacles and golden wisdom and revised the +costs so thoroughly, that Peter had to complain he had not received the +price of the tobacco smoked during the work of restoration.</p> + +<p>Mary still mourned for Old Sal, knowing she would never see "the like o' +he again," while Peter cooked his mommet and cursed Pendoggat. Peter was +a weak little creature, who could only revenge himself by deeds of +witchcraft. He was not muscular like his sister, who would have stood up +to any man on Dartmoor, and made some of them sorry for themselves +before she had done with them. Mary believed in witchcraft, because she +was to a certain extent religious; she had been baptised, for instance, +and that was an act of witchcraft pure and simple, as it was intended to +protect the child from being overlooked by the devil; but, if any man +had insulted her, she would not have made a mommet of him, or driven a +nail into his footprint; she would have taken her stick, "as big as two +spears and a dag," and whacked him well with it.</p> + +<p>The prospect of winter encouraged Peter to turn his mind towards +literary pursuits. There were days of storm and long evenings to be +occupied; and the little savage considered he might fill those hours +with work for which his talents seemed to qualify him, and possibly +bequeath to posterity some abiding monument of his genius. Peter had a +weekly paper and studied it well. He gathered from it that people still +wrote books; apparently every one wrote thern, though only about one in +every hundred was published. Most people had the manuscripts of their +books put away in cupboards, linhays, and old teapots, waiting the +favourable moment to bring them forth and astonish the world. This was +something of a revelation to Peter. Where was his book! Why had he +remained so long a mute inglorious scholar? Possibly the commoners who +met him in daily intercourse had their books completed and stored away +safely in their barns, and he was certainly as learned as any of them. +Peter went off to Master, and opened to him the secret of his mind.</p> + +<p>Master was entirely sympathetic. He gave it as his opinion that any one +could write a book. When the art of forming letters of the alphabet had +been acquired, nothing indeed remained, except pen, ink, and paper; and, +as he reminded Peter, Mother Cobley sold ink at one penny the bottle, +while pen and paper could be obtained from the same source for an +additional twopence. Genius could therefore startle the world at +threepence a head.</p> + +<p>Peter was profoundly interested. He indicated the big tomes, which +Master kept always lying beside him: a copy of the <i>Arcadia</i>, a Bible +dictionary, a volume of Shakespeare, and a few books of poetry, most of +them presents from a former rector long deceased, and suggested that +Master was accountable for the lot. The old man beamed through his +spectacles, coughed uneasily, and generally assumed that attitude of +modesty which is said to be one of the most marked traits of literary +men.</p> + +<p>"You can spell turnips," Master reminded.</p> + +<p>"Sure 'nuff," said Peter. "I can spell harder words than he. I can spell +hyacinth, and he'm a proper little brute."</p> + +<p>He proceeded to spell the word, making only three mistakes. Master +advised him to confine himself for the present to more simple language, +and went on to ask what was the style and subject of Peter's proposed +undertaking.</p> + +<p>"I wants yew to tell me," was the answer.</p> + +<p>Master had an idea that genius ought to be inspired from within and not +from without, but he merely answered: "Nothing's no trouble, varmer," +and suggested that Peter should compose a diary. "'Tis what a man does +every day," he explained. "How he gets up, and how he goes to bed, and +how he yets his dinner, and how his belly feels."</p> + +<p>Peter considered that the idea was brilliant. Such an item as how he +drank his beer would certainly prove entertaining, and might very well +be original.</p> + +<p>"Then he ses things about other volk, and about the weather," Master +went on. "He puts down all he can think of, so long as it be decent. +Mun't put down anything that bain't decent 'cause that would shock +volks."</p> + +<p>"Nothing 'bout Varmer Pendoggat and Chegwidden's maid?" the other +suggested, in rather a disappointed voice.</p> + +<p>"Hark ye, Peter," said Master decidedly, "you had best bide quiet about +that. Volks wun't tak' your word against his, and if he purty nigh +murders ye no one wun't try to stop 'en. A man bain't guilty till he be +found out, and Varmer Pendoggat ain't been found out."</p> + +<p>"He can't touch I. Mary wun't let 'en, and I've made a mommet of 'en +tu," said the little man.</p> + +<p>"Made a mommet, ha' ye? Aw, man, that be an awful thing to du. It be +calling in the devil to work for ye, and the devil wun't work wi'out +pay, man. He'll come sure 'nuff, and say to yew: 'I wants your soul, +Peter. I've a bought 'en wi' that mommet what yew made.' I be main cruel +sorry for yew, Peter."</p> + +<p>"It be done now," said Peter gloomily.</p> + +<p>Master wagged his head until his silver spectacles dropped off his nose, +added a little wisdom, then returned to his subject.</p> + +<p>"Yew mun write things what you wun't be ashamed to let folk read. When +'tis a wet day yew ses so, and when it be fine you ses it be butiful. +When yew gets thoughts yew puts 'em all down."</p> + +<p>"What du'ye mean?" asked the aspirant.</p> + +<p>"Why, you think as how it be a proper feeling when you'm good, and yew +ses so. That be a thought."</p> + +<p>"S'pose yew bain't feeling good?" suggested Peter quite naturally.</p> + +<p>"Then yew writes about what it feels like to be bad," explained Master. +"Yew puts it down this sort o' way: 'I feels bad to-day. I don't mean I +feels bad in my body, for that be purty middling, but I feels bad in my +soul. It be a cruel pity, and I hopes as how I wun't feel so bad +to-morrow.' All them be thoughts, Peter; and that be the way books are +written."</p> + +<p>"Thank ye kindly, master. It be proper easy," said Peter.</p> + +<p>"You'm welcome, varmer. Nothing's no trouble."</p> + +<p>Peter bought the articles necessary for fame, and went home. Mary was +forking manure, pausing only to spit on her hands; but she stopped for +another reason when Peter told her he was going to keep a diary.</p> + +<p>"What be yew talking about?" she cried, amazed at such folly. "Us ha' +got one as 'tis. What du us want wi' another?"</p> + +<p>Peter had to explain that the business of his diary had nothing to do +with such base commerce as cream and butter, but consisted in recording +the actions of a blameless life upon a pennyworth of paper for the +instruction and edification of those who should come after them. Mary +grasped her fork, and told him he was mazed.</p> + +<p>Peter was not sure that Mary had spoken falsely when he came to test his +'prentice hand. In theory the art of writing was so simple, and +consisted in nothing more difficult than setting down what he would +otherwise have spoken, adding those gems of thought with which his mind +was occasionally enriched under the ennobling influence of moderate +beer. But nothing appeared upon the sheet of paper except dirt. Even the +simplest art requires practice. Not every man can milk a cow at the +first attempt. After much labour he recorded the statement: "This be a +buke, and when 'tis dun 'twill be a dairy. All volks write bukes, and it +bain't easy till you'm yused to it." There he stopped for the day. As +soon as he left the paper all sorts of ideas crowded into his mind, and +he hurried back to put them down, but directly he took up the pen his +mind was a blank again. The ideas had been swept away like butterflies +on a windy day. Mary called him "a proper old vule," and her thought was +probably quite as good as any that were likely to occur to him. "'Tis +bravish times us lives in. Us mun keep up wi' em," was Peter's answer.</p> + +<p>The next day he tried again, but the difficulties remained. Peter +managed to place on record such imperishable facts as there was snow and +more would come likely, and he had got up later than usual, and he and +Mary were tolerably well, and the fare for the day was turnips and +bacon—he wanted to drag in turnips because he could spell the word, and +he added a note to inform posterity that he had taught Master how to do +so—but nothing came in the way of thoughts, and without them Peter was +persuaded his book could not properly be regarded as belonging to the +best order of literature. At the end of his second day of creation Peter +began to entertain a certain feeling of respect, if not of admiration, +for those who made a living with the pen; but on the third day +inspiration touched his brain, and he became a literary soul. The old +gentleman who shared his house, so called out of courtesy, as it +contained only one room, was making more noise than usual, as if the +cold had got into his chest. The diarist kept looking up to peer at +Grandfather's worn features, wondering what was wrong, and at last the +great idea came to him. "Dalled if Gran'vaither bain't a telling to I," +he exclaimed; and then he got up and went cautiously across the room, +which was the same thing as going from one side of the house to the +other, his boots rustling in the fern which covered the floor.</p> + +<p>"Be'ye alright, Gran'vaither?" he asked, lapping the old fellow's chest +with great respect. He was accustomed to chat with the clock, when +alone, as another man higher in the scale of civilisation might have +talked to his dog. Peter noticed that it was getting dark around him, +although it was still early in the afternoon.</p> + +<p>"I be cruel sick," a voice answered.</p> + +<p>Peter cried out and began to shiver. He stared at the window, the panes +of which were no longer white, but blue. Something was taking place +outside, not a storm, as the moor was unusually silent, and there seemed +to be no wind. Peter tried to collect his thoughts into a form suitable +for publication. He shivered his way to the other side of the room and +wrote laboriously: "Gran'vaither be telling to I. Ses he be cruel sick." +Then he had another attack of shivers.</p> + +<p>"Who was that a telling to I?" he shouted, the noise of his voice making +him bolder.</p> + +<p>"'Twas me," came the answer at once; and Peter gulped like a dying fish, +but managed to put it down in the diary.</p> + +<p>"Who be ye?" he called.</p> + +<p>"Old Gran'vaither."</p> + +<p>Peter stood in the fern, biting his fingers and sweating. He was +trembling too much to write any more. So Grandfather was a living +creature after all. He had always supposed that the clock had a sort of +existence, not the same as his own, but the kind of life owned by the +pixies, and now he was sure of it.</p> + +<p>"Why didn't ye tell to I avore?" he asked reproachfully.</p> + +<p>Grandfather appeared to regard the question as impertinent, as he gave +no answer.</p> + +<p>"Yew was making creepy noises last night. I heard ye," Peter went on, +waxing bold. "Seemed as if yew was trying to crawl out o' your own +belly."</p> + +<p>"I was trying to talk," the clock explained.</p> + +<p>Peter had some more shivers. It seemed natural enough to hear old +Grandfather talking, and he tried to persuade himself it was not the +voice which frightened him, but the queer blue light that seemed to be +filling the hut. He remembered that pixies always go about with blue +lanterns, and he began to believe that the surrounding moor was crowded +with the little people out for a frolic at his expense. Then he thought +he would go for Mary, but remembered she had gone to Lewside Cottage +with dairy produce. That reminded him of the diary. What a wonderful +work he would make of it now!</p> + +<p>"Gran'vaither," he called.</p> + +<p>"Here I be," said the voice.</p> + +<p>"I knows yew be there," said Peter, somewhat sharply. The old gentleman +was not so intellectual as he could have wished. "I wants to know how +yew be telling to I?"</p> + +<p>"Same as yew," said Grandfather.</p> + +<p>"Yew ain't got no tongue."</p> + +<p>"I've got a pendulum," said the clock, with a malevolent sort of titter.</p> + +<p>"Yew'm sick?" asked Peter.</p> + +<p>"I be that. 'Tis your doing," came the answer.</p> + +<p>"I've looked after ye fine, Gran'vaither," said Peter crossly.</p> + +<p>"'Tis that there thing on the hearthstone makes me sick," said the +voice.</p> + +<p>"That be a mommet," said Peter.</p> + +<p>"I know 'tis. A mommet of Farmer Pendoggat."</p> + +<p>"What du'ye know 'bout Varmer Pendoggat?" asked Peter suspiciously.</p> + +<p>"Heard you talk about 'en," Grandfather answered. "Don't ye play wi' +witchery, Peter. Smash the mommet up, and throw 'en away." The voice was +talking quickly and becoming hoarser. "Undo what you've done if you can, +and whatever you du don't ye put 'en in the fire again. If ye du I'll be +telling to ye all night and will scare ye proper. I wun't give ye any +sleep, Peter."</p> + +<p>"You'm an old vule, Gran'vaither," said Peter.</p> + +<p>"I'll get the pixies to fetch ye a crock o' gold if you leaves off +witching Pendoggat. I'll mak' 'em fetch ye sovereigns, brave golden +sovereigns, Peter."</p> + +<p>"Where will 'em put the gold?" cried Peter with the utmost greediness.</p> + +<p>"Bottom o' the well. Let the bucket down to-night, and when you pulls +'en up in the morning the gold will be in the bucket. If it ain't there +to-night, look the night after. But it wun't be no good looking, Peter, +if you ain't done what I told ye, and you mun put the broken bits o' +mommet by the well, so as the pixies can see 'em."</p> + +<p>"I'll du it," chuckled Peter.</p> + +<p>"Swear you'll do it?"</p> + +<p>"Sure 'nuff I'll du it. You'm a brave old Gran'vaither if yew can fetch +a crock o' gold into the well."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, Peter. I wun't be telling to you again just yet."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, Gran'vaither. You'm welcome. I hopes you'll soon be better."</p> + +<p>The voice did not come again, and Peter was left in the strange light +and eerie silence to recover, which he did slowly, with a feeling that +he had undergone a queer dream. It was not long before he was telling +himself he had imagined it all. Superstitious little savage as he was, +he could hardly believe that Grandfather had been chatting with him as +one man might have talked to another. As he went on thinking suspicious +features presented themselves to his mind. Grandfather's language had +not always been correct. He had not talked like a true Gubbings, but +more as a man of better education trying to bring himself down to his +listener's mode of speech. Then what interest could he feel in Pendoggat +that he should plead for the destruction of the mommet?</p> + +<p>Peter addressed a number of questions to Grandfather upon these +subjects, but the old clock had not another word to say. That was +another suspicious feature; why should the clock be unable to talk then +when it had chatted so freely a few minutes before? Peter rubbed his +eyes, declared he was mazed, lighted his lamp, and scribbled the +wonderful story in his diary until Mary came back.</p> + +<p>"Peter," she called at once. "Aw, man, come and look! Us be going to +judgment."</p> + +<p>Peter rose, overflowing with mysticism, but he too gasped when he got +outside and saw the moor and sky. Indigo-tinted clouds were rolling +slowly down Tavy Cleave, there was apparently no sky, and through rents +in the clouds they could see blocks of granite and patches of black moor +hanging as it were in space. In the direction of Ger Tor was a column of +dark mist rising from the river. On each side of this column the outlook +was clear for a little way before the clouds again blotted out +everything. Those clouds in front were beneath their feet, and they +could hear the roaring of the invisible river still further down. +Overhead there was nothing except a dense blue mist from which the +curious light, like the glow of pixy lanterns, seemed to be reflected.</p> + +<p>"I ha' never seen the like," said frightened Mary. "None o' the volks +ha' ever seen the like on't. Some of 'em be praying down under, and +wanting chapel opened. Old Betty Middleweek be scared so proper that +her's paying money what her owes. They ses it be judgment coming. There +be volks to the village a sotting wi' fingers in their ear-holes so as +they wun't hear trumpets. What shall us du if it be judgment, Peter?"</p> + +<p>"Us mun bide quiet, and go along wi' the rest. If 'tis judgment us wun't +have no burying expenses," said Peter.</p> + +<p>"I'd ha' gone in and asked Master if 'twas judgment, if I hadn't been so +mazed like. He'd ha' knowed. A brave cruel larned man be Master. What +happens to we if they blows on the trumpets?"</p> + +<p>"Us goes up to heaven in a whirlpool and has an awful doom," said Peter +hazily.</p> + +<p>"Us mun go up wi' vull bellies," said practical Mary, marching off to +blow at the fire.</p> + +<p>Peter followed, walking delicately, hoping that witchcraft would come to +an end so soon as he had procured the crock of gold. Inside the hut, +surrounded with comforting lamplight, he told his sister all about +Grandfather's loquacity. Mary was so astounded that she dropped a piece +of peat into the pot and placed a turnip on the fire. "Aw, Peter! Telled +to ye same as Master might?" she gasped.</p> + +<p>"Ah, told I to break the mommet and he'd give I gold."</p> + +<p>Mary sat down, as she could think better that way. She had always +regarded Grandfather as a sentient member of the family, but in her +wildest moments had never supposed he would arouse himself to preach +morality in their own tongue. Things were coming to a pretty pass when +clocks began to talk. She would have her geese lecturing her next. She +did not want any more men about the place, as one Peter was quite +enough. If Grandfather had learnt to talk he would probably proceed to +walk; and then he would be like any other man, and go to the village +with her brother, and return in the same condition, and be pestering her +continually for money. The renaissance of Grandfather was regarded by +Mary as a particularly bad sign; and for that reason she decided that it +was impossible and Peter had been dreaming.</p> + +<p>"You'm a liar," he answered in the vulgar tongue. "'Tis down in my +buke."</p> + +<p>This was sufficient evidence, and Mary could only wag her head at it. +She had a reverence for things that were written in books.</p> + +<p>"Be yew going to break the mommet?" she asked; and Peter replied that it +was his intention to make yet another clay doll, break it into +fragments, and commit the original doll, which was the only one capable +of working evil, to the fire as before. Thus he would earn the crock of +gold, and obtain vengeance upon Pendoggat also. Pixies were simple folk, +who could easily be hoodwinked by astute human beings; and he ventured +to propose that the mommet should be baked upon Mary's hearthstone in +future, so that Grandfather would see nothing of the operation which had +made him sick.</p> + +<p>Mary remained an agnostic. She could understand Grandfather when he +played impish pranks upon them, but when it came to bold brazen speech +she could not believe. Peter had been asleep and imagined it all. They +argued the matter until they nearly quarrelled, and then Mary said she +was going to look about her brother's residence to try and find out +whether any one had been playing a joke upon him. They went outside, and +were relieved to discover that a change had taken place in the weather. +Evidently judgment was not imminent, Betty Middleweek could cease paying +her debts, and the chapel could be closed again. The blue light had +faded, the clouds were higher, and had turned to ghostly grey.</p> + +<p>"Aw, Peter, 'tis nought but snow," said Mary cheerfully.</p> + +<p>"Snow never made Gran'vaither talk avore," Peter reminded her.</p> + +<p>Mary looked about her brother's little hut without seeing anything +unusual. Then she strode around the walls thereof, and her sharp eyes +soon perceived a branch of dry furze lying about a yard away from the +side of the cot. She asked Peter if he had dropped it there, and he +replied that it might have been there for days. "Wind would ha' took it +away," said Mary. "There was wind in the night, but ain't been none +since. That's been broke off from the linny."</p> + +<p>At the end of the hut was a small shed, its sides made of old +packing-cases, its roof and door composed of gorse twisted into hurdles. +The back wall of the cot, a contrivance of stones plastered together +with clay, was also the end wall of the linhay. Mary went into the +linhay, which was used by Peter as a place for storing peat. She soon +made a discovery, and called for the lantern. When it was brought she +pulled out a loose stone about the centre of the wall, and holding the +lantern close to the hole saw at once a black board which looked like +panelling, but was the back of the clock-case. Grandfather stood against +that wall; and in the middle of the plank was a hole which had been +bored recently.</p> + +<p>"Go'ye into the hut and ask Gran'vaither how he be," called Mary.</p> + +<p>Peter toddled off, got before the old clock, and inquired with +solicitude: "How be 'ye, Gran'vaither?"</p> + +<p>"Fine, and how be yew?" came the answer.</p> + +<p>"Ah," muttered Peter. "That be the way my old Gran'vaither ought to +tell."</p> + +<p>After that they soon stumbled upon the truth. It had been whispered +about the place that Peter was dabbling in witchcraft for Pendoggat's +detriment; and Annie Crocker had heard the whisper. To inform her master +was an act of ordinary enjoyment. He had sworn at her, professed +contempt for Peter and all his dolls, stated his intention of destroying +them, or at least of obtaining the legal benefit conferred by certain +ancient Acts of Parliament dealing with witches; but in his heart he was +horribly afraid. He spent hours watching the huts, and when he saw the +inhabitants move away he would go near, hoping to steal the clay doll +and destroy it; but Peter's door was always locked. At last he hit upon +the plan of frightening the superstitious little man by addressing him +through the medium of the clock. He thought he had succeeded. Perhaps he +would have done so had Mary's keen eyes not detected the scrap of gorse +which his departure had snapped from one of the hurdles which made the +door of the linhay. Pendoggat might be a strong man physically, able to +bully the weak, or bring a horse to its knees, but his mind was made of +rotten stuff, and it is the strong mind rather than the stalwart body +which saves a man when "Ephraim's Pinch" comes. Pendoggat's knees became +wobbly whenever he thought of Peter and his clay doll.</p> + +<p>When the blue mist had cleared off, snow began to fall in a business-like +way, and before the last light had been extinguished in the twin +villages the moor was buried. Peter thought he would watch beside the +well during the early part of the night, to see the little people +dragging up his crock of gold, for he had not altogether abandoned the +idea that it had been witchcraft and not Pendoggat which had conferred +upon Grandfather the gift of a tongue, but the snow made his plan +impossible. He and Mary sat together and talked in a subdued fashion. +Peter knitted a pair of stockings for his sister, while Mary mended her +brother's boots and hammered snow-nails into the soles. A new mommet had +been made, broken up, and its fragments were placed beside the well, +while the original doll baked resignedly upon Mary's hearthstone. +Pendoggat or pixies the savages were a match for either. It remained +calm upon the moor, but the snow continued most of the night with a +slight southerly drift, falling in the dense masses which people who +live upon mountains have to put up with.</p> + +<p>In the morning all was white and dazzling; the big tors had nearly +doubled in size, and the sides of Tavy Cleave were bulging as though +pregnant with little Tavy Cleaves. It was a glorious day, one of those +days when the ordinary healthy person wants to stand on his head or skip +about like a young unicorn. The sun was out, the sky was as blue as a +baby's eyes, and the clouds were like puffs of cigarette smoke. Peter +embraced himself, recorded in his work of creation that it was all very +good, then floundered outside and made for the well. He shovelled a foot +of snow from the cover, wound up the bucket, caught a glimpse of yellow +water, and then of something golden, more precious than water, air, or +sunshine, brave yellow pieces of gold, five in number, worth +one-hundred-and-twenty pints of beer apiece. They were lying at the +bottom of the bucket like a beautiful dream. Peter had come into a +fortune; his teeth informed him that the coins were genuine, his tongue +sent the glad tidings to Mary, his mind indulged in potent flights of +travel and dissipation. He had inherited twelve hundred pints of beer.</p> + +<p>"Aw, Peter," Mary was calling. "There ha' been witches abroad to-night."</p> + +<p>"They'm welcome," cried Peter.</p> + +<p>"Look ye here," Mary went on in a frightened voice. "Look ye here, will +ye? Here be a whist sight, I reckon."</p> + +<p>Mary was standing near the edge of the cleave, knee-deep in snow, +looking down. When Peter floundered up to her side she said nothing, but +pointed at the snow in front. Peter's hilarious countenance was changed, +and the five sovereigns in his hand became like so many pieces of ice. +The snow ahead was marked with footprints, not those of an animal, not +those of a man. The marks were those of a biped, cloven like a cow's +hoof but much larger, and they travelled in a perfectly straight line +across the moor, and behind them the snow was ruffled occasionally as by +a tail. Peter began to blubber like a frightened child.</p> + +<p>"'Tis him," he muttered.</p> + +<p>"Aw ees, 'tis him," said Mary, "Us shouldn't meddle wi' mommets and +such. 'Tis sure to bring 'en."</p> + +<p>"He must ha' come up over from Widdecombe in the snow," gasped Peter.</p> + +<p>"Going beyond?" asked Mary, with a motion of her head.</p> + +<p>"Ees," muttered Peter. "Us will see which way he took."</p> + +<p>"T'row the gold away, Peter. T'row 'en away," pleaded Mary.</p> + +<p>"I wun't," howled Peter. He wouldn't have parted with his six hundred +pints of beer for ten thousand devils.</p> + +<p>They floundered on beside the weird hoof-prints, never doubting who had +caused them. It was not the first visit that the devil, who, as Peter +had rightly observed, has his terrestrial country house at Widdecombe, +had paid to those parts. His last recorded visit had been to Topsham and +its neighbourhood half-a-century before, when he had frightened the +people so exceedingly that they dared not venture out of their houses +even in daylight. That affair had excited the curiosity of the whole +country, and although some of the wisest men of the time tried to find a +satisfactory solution of the problem they only ended by increasing the +mystery. The attractions of the west country have always proved +irresistible to his Satanic Majesty. From his country home at +Widdecombe-on-the-Moor he had sallied out repeatedly to fight men with +their own carnal weapons. He tried to hinder Francis Drake from building +his house with the stones of Buckland Abbey, and nobody at that time +wondered why he had taken the Abbey under his special protection, though +people have wondered since. It was the devil who, disguised as a simple +moorman, invited the ambitious parson and his clerk to supper, and then +led them into the sea off Dawlish. There can be no doubt about the truth +of that story, because the parson and clerk rocks are still to be seen +by any one. It was on Heathfield, near the Tavy, that the old +market-woman hid the hare that the devil was hunting in her basket, and +declared to the gentleman with the tail she had never seen the creature. +It was the devil who spoilt the miraculous qualities of St. Ludgvan's +well by very rudely spitting in the water; who jumped into the Lynher +with Parson Dando and his dogs; and it was the devil who was subdued +temporarily by Parson Flavel of Mullion; who was dismissed, again +temporarily, to the Red Sea by Parson Dodge of Talland because he would +insist upon pulling down the walls of the church as fast as they were +built; and who was routed from the house that he had built for his +friend the local cobbler in Lamorna Cove by famous Parson Corker of +Bosava. Mary and Peter knew these stories and plenty of others. They +didn't know that a canon authorising exorcism of the devil is still a +part of the law of the established Church, and that most people, however +highly educated, are little less superstitious than themselves.</p> + +<p>The hoof-prints went towards the village, regardless of obstacles. They +approached walls, and appeared again upon the other side without +disturbing the fresh snow between, a feat which argued either marvellous +jumping powers or the possession of wings. Peter and Mary followed them +in great fear, until they saw two men ahead engaged in the same +occupation, one of them making merry, the other of a sad countenance, +the merry man suggesting that a donkey had been that way, the other +declaring it was the devil. "Donkeys ain't got split hoofs," he stated; +while his companion indicated a spot where the snow was much ruffled and +said cheerfully: "'Tis where he swindged his tail."</p> + +<p>Nearer the village the white moor was dotted with black figures, all +intent upon the weird markings, none doubting who had caused them. The +visitant had not passed along the street, but had prowled his way across +back gardens, taking hedges and even cottages in his stride. Peter and +Mary went on, left the majority of villagers, who were lamenting +together as if the visitation was not altogether disagreeable to them, +and found themselves presently near Lewside Cottage. Boodles was walking +in the snow, hatless, her hands clasped together, her face white and +frightened, taking no notice of the hoof-prints which went through the +garden, but wandering as if she was trying to find her way somewhere, +and had lost herself, and was wondering if she would find any one who +would put her on the right road.</p> + +<p>"She'm mazed," said Peter. "Mebbe her saw him go through."</p> + +<p>"Aw, my dear, what be ye doing?" called Mary. "Nought on your feet, and +your stockings vull o' snow. He never come for yew, my dear. He'm a +gentleman, and wun't harm a purty maid. Be'ye mazed, my dear?"</p> + +<p>"Mary," murmured the child very softly, raising both hands to her +radiant head. "Come with me. I'm frightened."</p> + +<p>"Us wun't let 'en touch ye," cried Mary valiantly. "I'll tak' my gurt +stick to 'en if he tries."</p> + +<p>Boodles caught her big hand and held it tightly. She had not even +noticed the footprints. She did not know why all the villagers were out, +or what they were doing on the moor.</p> + +<p>"He won't wake," she said. "I have never known him sleep like this. I +called him, and he does not answer. I shook him, and he would not +move—and his eggs are hard-boiled by this time."</p> + +<p>"Bide here, Peter," said Mary shortly.</p> + +<p>Then the big strong hermaphrodite put a brawny arm about the soft +shivering little maid, and led her inside the cottage, and up the +stairs—how mournful they were, and how they creaked!—and into the +quiet little bedroom, with the snow sliding down the window-panes, and +the white light glaring upon the bed, where Abel Cain Weevil was lying +upon his back, and yet not his back, but its back, for the old man was +so very tired that he went on sleeping, though his eggs were hard-boiled +and his little girl was terrified. The Brute had passed over in the +night, not a very cruel Brute perhaps, and had placed his hand on the +old man's mouth and stopped his breathing; and the poor old liar liked +it so well he thought he wouldn't wake up again, but would go on +sleeping for a long time, so that he would forget the rabbit-traps, and +his petitions which nobody would sign, and his letters which had done no +good. He had forgotten everything just then, but not Boodles, surely not +his little maid, who was sobbing in Mary's savage and tender arms. He +could not have forgotten the radiant little girl, and he would go on +lying for her in his sleep if necessary, although he had been selfish +enough to go away in such a hurry, and leave her—to the lonely life.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h3> + +<h2>ABOUT WINTER IN REAL LIFE</h2> + + +<p>Old moormen said it was one of the worst winters they could remember, +not on account of the cold, but because of the gales and persistent +snow. The first fall soon melted, but not entirely; a big splash of +white remained on Ger Tor until a second fall came; and when that melted +the splash remained, asking for more, and in due time receiving it. +People found it hard to get about; some parts of the moor were +inaccessible; and the roads were deep in slush when they were not heaped +with drifts. It was a bad winter for men and animals; and it made many +of the old folk so disgusted with life that they took the opportunity +offered them by severe colds to get rid of it altogether.</p> + +<p>The villages above the Tavy appeared to be deserted during that dreary +time. It was a wonder how people hid themselves, for the street was +empty day after day, and a real human being crossing from one side to +the other was a sight to bring faces to the windows. One face was often +at a certain window, a frightened little white face, which had forgotten +how to laugh even when some old woman slipped up in the slush, and its +eyes would look first on one side, then on the other, generally without +seeing anything except the bare moor, which was sometimes black, and +sometimes white, and always dreary. Boodles was alone in Lewside +Cottage, her only companions the mice which she hated, and the eternal +winds which made her shiver and had plucked the roses from her cheeks +until hardly a pink petal remained. Boodles was feeling as much alone +without old Weevil as Brightly was feeling without Ju. Sometimes she +thought she might soon have to go out and tramp a portion of the world +like him, and claim her share of open air and space, which was all the +inheritance to which she was entitled.</p> + +<p>To lead a lonely life on Dartmoor is unwholesome at any age; and when +one is eighteen and a girl it is a punishment altogether too severe. +Boodles had got through the first days fairly well because she was +stunned, but when she began to wake up and comprehend how she was placed +the horror bred of loneliness and wild winds took hold upon her. The +first evil symptom was restlessness. She wandered about the cottage, not +doing anything, but feeling she must keep on the move to prevent herself +from screaming. She began to talk to herself, softly during the day as +if she was rather afraid some one might be listening, and towards +evening loudly, partly to assure herself she was safe, partly to drown +the tempestuous noises of the wind. Then she fell into the trick of +shuddering, of casting quick glances behind, and sometimes she would run +into a corner and hide her face, because there were queer shadows in the +room, and strange sounds upon the stairs, and the doors shook so, and +she seemed to hear a familiar shuffling and a tender voice murmuring: +"Boodle-oodle," and she would cover up all the mirrors, dreadfully +afraid of seeing a comic old face in them. Sometimes when the wind was +roaring its loudest over the moor she would rush up to her bedroom, lock +the door, and scream. These were foolish actions, but then she was only +eighteen.</p> + +<p>It was getting on towards Christmas, and at last there was another +moonlit night, full of wind and motion; and soon after Boodles had gone +to bed she heard other sounds which frightened her so much she could not +scream. She crept out of bed, got to the window, and looked out. A man +was trying the door, and when he found it secure he went to the windows. +The moonlight fell upon Pendoggat's head and shoulders. Boodles did not +know of a rumour suggesting that old Weevil had been a miser, and had +saved up a lot of money which was hidden in the cottage, but Pendoggat +had heard it. She got back to her bed and fainted with terror, but the +man failed to get in. The next day she went to see Mary, and told her +what had happened. Mary spat on her hands, which was one of her +primitive ways when she felt a desire to chastise any one, and picked up +her big stick, "I'll break every bone in his body," she shouted.</p> + +<p>Boodles comprehended what a friend and champion she had in this +creature, who had much of a woman's tenderness, and all of a man's +strength. To some it might have appeared ridiculous to hear Mary's +threats, but it was not so. She was fully as strong as Pendoggat, and +there was no cowardice in her.</p> + +<p>"Aw, my dear," she went on, "yew bain't the little maid what used to +come up for eggs and butter. Yew would come up over wi' red cheeks and +laughing cruel, and saying to I: 'One egg for luck, Mary,' and I'd give +it ye, my dear. If you'd asked I for two or dree I'd ha' given 'em. +You'm a white little maid, and as thin getting as thikky stick. Don't ye +ha' the decline, my dear. Aw now, don't ye. What will the butiful young +gentleman say when he sees you white and thin getting?"</p> + +<p>"Don't, Mary," cried Boodles, almost passionately; for she dared not +think of Aubrey as a lover. Their love-days had become so impossible and +unreal. She had written to him, but had said nothing of Weevil's death, +afraid he might think she was appealing to him for help; neither had she +signed herself Titania Lascelles, nor told him of her aristocratic +relations. The story had appeared unreal somehow the morning after, and +the old man's manner and audible whispers had aroused her suspicions. +She thought it would be best to wait a little before telling Aubrey.</p> + +<p>"What be yew going to du?" asked Mary, busy as ever, punching the dough +in her bread-pan.</p> + +<p>"I am going to try and hang on till spring, and then see if I can't make +a living by taking in boarders," said the child seriously. "Mr. Weevil +left a little money, and I have a tiny bit saved up. There will be just +enough to pay rent, and keep me, if I am very careful."</p> + +<p>"Butter and eggs and such ain't going to cost yew nought," said Mary +cheerily, though Peter would have groaned to hear her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, thank you, dear old Mary," said Boodles, her eyes glistening; while +the bread-maker went at the dough as if she hated it. "I shall do +splendidly," Boodles went on. "I have seen the landlord, and he will let +me stay on. Directly the fine weather comes I shall put a card in the +window, and I expect I shall get heaps of lodgers. I can cook quite +well, and I'm a good manager. I ought to be able to make enough one half +of the year to keep me the other half. Of course I shall only take +ladies."</p> + +<p>"Aw ees, don't ye tak' men, my dear. They'm all alike, and you'm a main +cruel purty maid, though yew ha' got white and thin. If that young +gentleman wi' the butiful face don't come and tak' ye, dalled if I wun't +be after 'en wi' my gurt stick," cried Mary, pummelling the dough again.</p> + +<p>"I asked you not to mention him," said Boodles miserably.</p> + +<p>"I bain't to talk about 'en," cried Mary scornfully. "And yew bain't to +think about 'en, I reckon. Aw, my dear, I've a gotten the heart of a +woman, and I knows fine what yew thinks about all day, and half the +night, though I mun't talk about it. I knows how yew puts out your arms +and cries for 'en. Yew don't want a gurt big house like rectory, and yew +don't want servants and railway travelling, but yew wants he, yew wants +to hold on to 'en, and know he'm yourn, and shut your purty eyes and +feel yew bain't lonesome—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mary!" the child broke in, with something like a scream.</p> + +<p>Mary left her pan and came and whitened the little girl's head with her +doughy fingers, lending the bright hair a premature greyness.</p> + +<p>"It's the loneliness," cried Boodles. "I thought it would not be so bad +when I got used to it, but it's worse every day. I have to run on the +moor, and make believe there is some one waiting for me when I get home. +It's dreadful to feel the solitude when I go in, to find things just as +I left them, to hear nothing except mice nibbling under the stairs; and +then I have to go and turn on my windy organ, and try and believe I am +amusing myself."</p> + +<p>"Aw, my dear, yew mustn't talk to I so larned like. You'm as larned as +Master," complained Mary.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you about my windy organ," Boodles went on, trying to force a +little sunshine through what threatened to be steady rain. "With the +wind, doors, and windows, I can play all sorts of marches. With my +bedroom window open, and the door shut, the wind plays sad music, a +funeral march; but when I shut my window, and open the one in the next +room, it is loud and lively, like a military march. If I open the +sitting-room window, and the one in the passage up-stairs, and shut all +the doors, it is splendid, Mary, a coronation march. I hear the +procession sweeping up-stairs, and the clapping of hands, and the crowd +going to and fro, murmuring ah-ah-ah. But the best of all is when I open +what was old daddy's bedroom window, and sit in my own room with the +door shut, for the wind plays a wedding-march then, and I can make it +loud or soft by opening and shutting my window. That is the march I play +every evening till I get the shivers."</p> + +<p>"She'm dafty getting," muttered Mary, understanding nothing of the +musical principle of the little girl's amusement. "Don't ye du it, my +dear," she went on. "'Twill just be making you mazed, and us will find +ye jumping at the walls like a bumbledor on a window."</p> + +<p>"I'll try and keep sensible, but there is Christmas, and January, and +February. Oh, Mary, I shall never do it," cried Boodles. "I shall be mad +before March, which is the proper time for madness."</p> + +<p>"Get another maid to come and bide wi' ye," Mary suggested.</p> + +<p>"How can I?"</p> + +<p>"Mebbe some old dame, who wants a home—" began Mary.</p> + +<p>"She would be an expense, and she might get drunk, rob me, beat me, +perhaps."</p> + +<p>"Her wouldn't," declared Mary, with a glance at her big stick.</p> + +<p>"I must go on being alone and making believe," said Boodles.</p> + +<p>"Won't the butiful young gentleman come and live wi' ye?" said poor +Mary, quite thinking she had found a splendid way out of the difficulty.</p> + +<p>"Silly old thing," sighed Boodles, actually smiling. Then she rose to +go, and Mary tramped heavily to her dairy. "Tak' eggs and butter wi' +ye," she called. "Aw, my dear, yew mun't starve, or you'll get decline. +'Tis cruel to go abroad on an empty stomach."</p> + +<p>"I'm not a snake," said Boodles; and at that moment Peter appeared in +search of thoughts, heard the conversation, agreed that it was indeed +cruel to go abroad on an empty stomach, and went to record the statement +in his diary, adding for the sake of a light touch the observation of +Boodles that she was not a snake, though Peter could not see the joke.</p> + +<p>Mary was a busy creature, but she found time that evening to stalk +across the moor and down to Helmen Barton, where she banged at the door +like the good champion Ethelred, hero of the Mad Trist, until the noise +of her stick upon the door "alarummed and reverberated" throughout the +hollow. When Annie appeared she was bidden to inform her master that if +he ventured again near Lewside Cottage, or dared to frighten "my little +maid," she, Mary, would come again with the stick in her hands, and use +his body as she had just used his door. When Mary had spoken she turned +to go, but the friendless woman called her, feeling perhaps that she too +needed a champion, and Mary turned back.</p> + +<p>"Come inside," said Annie in a strange voice, and Mary went, with the +statement that she could not remain as the cows were waiting to be +milked.</p> + +<p>"Been to Lewside Cottage, has he? He'm crazed for money. He'd rob the +little maid of her last penny, and pray for her whiles he was doing it," +said Annie bitterly.</p> + +<p>Mary said nothing, but her anger rose, and she spat noisily upon her +hands to get a good grip of the stick.</p> + +<p>"I've been wi' 'en twenty years, and don't know 'en yet I thought once +he was a man, but I know he bain't. If yew was to shake your fingers at +'en he'd run."</p> + +<p>"Yew ha' been drinking, woman," said Mary.</p> + +<p>"Ah, I've had a drop. There's nought else to live vor. Twenty years, +Mary Tavy, he've had me body and soul, twenty years I've been a slave to +'en, and now he've done wi' me."</p> + +<p>"What's that, woman?" cried Mary, lifting her long stick, and poking at +Annie's left hand and the gold ring worn upon it.</p> + +<p>"That!" cried Annie furiously. "It be a dirty thing, what any man can +buy, and any vule of a woman will wear. Ask 'en what it cost, Mary Tavy. +A few shilluns, I reckon, the price of a joint o' meat, the price of a +pair o' boots. And it ha' bought me for twenty years."</p> + +<p>"You'm drunk, woman."</p> + +<p>"Ah, purty fine. Wimmin du main dafty things when they'm drunk. Your +brother ha' made a mommet of 'en, and like a vule he went and broke it +for a bit o' dirty money."</p> + +<p>"It bain't broke," said Mary. "Peter made a new mommet, and broke that."</p> + +<p>"Glory be to God," cried Annie wildly, plucking out some grey hairs that +were falling upon her eyes. "I'll tell 'en. 'Twill work, Mary Tavy. The +devil who passed over last month will see to it. He never passed the +Barton. He didn't want his own. I never knowed a mommet fail when 'twas +made right."</p> + +<p>"Du'ye say he bain't your husband?" Mary muttered, looking at the grey +hairs in the woman's hand.</p> + +<p>"See beyond!" screamed Annie, losing all self-control, pulling Mary to +the kitchen window, pointing out. It was a dark cold kitchen, built of +granite, with concrete floor. There was nothing to be seen but the big +brake of furze, black and tangled, swaying slightly. It was a mighty +brake, twenty years untouched, and there were no flowers upon it. The +interior was a choked mass of dead growth.</p> + +<p>"Why don't ye burn 'en, woman?"</p> + +<p>"Ask 'en. It ain't going to be burnt yet—not yet, Mary Tavy." Annie's +voice had fallen to a hoarse whisper. She was half-drunk and half-mad. +Those twenty years were like twenty mountains piled upon her. "Look at +my white hairs, Mary Tavy. I'm getting a bit old like, and I'm for the +poorhouse, my dear. Annie Crocker, spinster—that's me. Twenty years +I've watched that vuzz before this window rocking to and fro, like a +cradle, my dear, rocking 'em to sleep. Yew know what 'tis to live wi' a +man. You'm a fool to first, and a vule always I reckon, but such a vule +to first that yew don't know' how to stop 'em coming. Yew think of love, +Mary Tavy, and you don't care—and there 'em be, my dear, two of 'em, in +the middle o' the vuzz."</p> + +<p>"Did'st du it?" muttered Mary, standing like a wooden image.</p> + +<p>"Me! I was young then, and I loved 'em. He took 'em from me when I was +weak and mazed. I had to go through it here alone, twice my dear, alone +wi' him, and he said they was dead, but I heard 'em cry, twice, my dear, +only I was that weak I couldn't move. 'Twas winter both times, and I lay +up over, and heard 'en walking on the stones of the court, and heard 'en +let the bucket down, and heard 'en dra' it up—and then I heard 'en +cursing o' the vuzz 'cause it pricked 'en, and his hands and face was +bloody wi' scratches when he come up. I mind it all, though I was +mazed—and I loved 'em, my dear."</p> + +<p>"Preaches in chapel tu," said Mary, a sense of inconsistency occurring +to her. "You'm a vule, woman, to tell to me like this."</p> + +<p>"I've ha' bitten my tongue for twenty years, and I'd ha' bitten it +another twenty if he'd used me right. Didn't your brother find 'en wi' +Chegwidden's maid? Don't I know he's been wi' she for months, and used +she as he've used me? Don't I know he wants to have she here, and turn +me out—and spend the price of a pair o' boots on a ring same as this, +and buy she wi' that for twenty years?"</p> + +<p>Mary turned away. It was already dark, the cows were not milked, and +would be lowing for her to ease their udders. Annie was beside herself. +The barrier of restraint had fallen, and the pent-up feelings of a +generation roared out, like the Tavy with its melted snow, sweeping away +everything which was not founded upon a rock.</p> + +<p>"Burn it down, woman," said Mary as she went.</p> + +<p>"Not till the mommet ha' done its work," screamed Annie. Then she +lighted the lantern, and went to the linhay for more cider.</p> + +<p>When lonely little Boodles got home she saw at once that the cottage had +been entered. The sitting-room window had been forced open, and its +catch was broken; but Pendoggat had got nothing for his pains. She had +hidden the money-box so cunningly that he had failed to find it; and she +was glad then that she had seen him prowling about the cottage the night +before. She got some screws and made the window fast. Then she cried and +had her supper. After that she went to her bed and sobbed again until +her head ached, and then she sat up and scolded herself severely; and as +the wind was blowing nicely she turned on the wedding march, and while +listening to it prattled to herself—</p> + +<p>"You mustn't break down, Boodles. It is much too early to do that, for +things have not begun to go really badly for you yet. There's enough +money to keep things going till summer, if you do without any new +clothes, and by the way you mustn't walk too much or you'll wear your +boots out, and next summer you will have a nice lot of old maids here +for their health, and make plenty of money out of them for your health. +I know you are only crying because it is so lonely, but still you +mustn't do it, for it makes you thin and white. You had better go and +study the cookery-book, and think of all the nice things you will make +for the old maids when you have caught them."</p> + +<p>Boodles never allowed herself to speak upon the subject which was always +in her mind, and she tried to persuade herself she was not thinking of +Aubrey and Weevil's wild story, although she did nothing else. While she +was talking of her prospects she was thinking of Aubrey, though she +would not admit it. She had tried once to put six puppies into a small +cupboard, but as often as she opened the door to put another puppy in +those already inside tumbled out. That was exactly the state her mind +was in. When she opened it to think of her prospects, Aubrey, Weevil's +story, and her unhappy origin, fell out sprawling at once, and were all +over the place before she could catch them again; and when she had +caught them she couldn't shut them up.</p> + +<p>It was absolutely necessary to find something to do, as regulating the +volume and sound of the wind by opening or shutting various windows and +doors, and turning on what sounded to her like marriage or martial +marches, was an unwholesome as well as a monotonous amusement. The child +roamed about the cottage with a lamp in her hand, trying to get away +from something which was not following. She could not sit down to sew, +for her eyes were aching, and she kept starting and pricking her finger. +She wandered at last with an idea into what had been Weevil's bedroom. +There was an old writing-table there, and she had lately discovered a +key with a label attached informing her that it would open the drawers +of that table. Boodles locked herself in, lighted two lamps, which was +an act of extravagance, but she felt protected somehow by a strong +light, and began to dig up the dust and ashes of the old man's early +life.</p> + +<p>Many people have literary stuff they are ashamed of hiding away under +lock and key, which they do not want, and yet do not destroy. Every one +has a secret drawer in which incriminating rubbish is preserved, +although it may be of an entirely innocent character. They are always +going to make a clean sweep, but go on putting it off until death can +wait no longer; and sorrowing relations open the drawer, glance at its +contents, and mutter hurriedly: "Burn it, and say nothing." To know the +real man it is only necessary to turn out his secret drawer when he is +dead.</p> + +<p>There was not much stored away in the old writing-table. Apparently +Weevil had destroyed all that was recent, and kept much that was old. +There was sufficient to show Boodles the truth; that the old man had +always been Weevil, that his story to her had been a series of lame +lies, that his origin had been a humble one. There were letters from +friends of his youth, queer missives suggesting jaunts to the Welsh +Harp, Hampstead, or Rosherville, and signed: "your old pal, George," or +"yours to the mustard-pot. Art." They were humorous letters, written in +slang, and they amused Boodles; but after reading them she could not +suppose that Weevil had been ever what one would call a gentleman. A +mass of such stuff she put aside for the kitchen fire; and then she came +upon another bundle, tightly fastened with string, which she cut, and +drawing a letter from the packet she opened it and read—</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<blockquote><p>"My own Dearest.</p> + + +<p>I was so very glad to get your letter and I know you are looking +forward to have one from me but I am so sorry Dearest you have had +such a bad cold. My Dear I hope to sit on your knees and have my +arm around your neck some day. I do love you you are my only +sweetheart now and I hope I am only yours. Many thanks for sending +me your photo which I should be very sorry to part with it. It +makes me feel delighted as I am looking forward to be in your Dear +arms some day. I am waiting for the time to pass so we shall be +together for ever. I sit by the fire cold nights and have my +thoughts in you my Dearest. I knit lace when I have no sewing to +do. It was very miserable last Sunday but I went to church in the +evening but I much rather would like to have been with you. I wish +I could reach you to give you a nice kiss. I am always dreaming +about you my Love and it is such miserable weather now I will stop +in haste with my best love and kisses to my Dear Boy from your +loving and true Minnie." +</p></blockquote> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>There was a fat bundle of such letters, written by the same illiterate +hand nearly fifty years before, and the foolish old man had kept the +rubbish, which had no doubt a sort of wild-flower fragrance once, and +had left them at his death. Minnie was evidently a servant girl, hardly +Miss Fitzalan of the amazing story, and if the young Weevil of those +days had meant it, and had not been indulging in a little back-stairs +flirtation, his birth was more humble than Boodles had supposed. He must +have meant it, she reasoned, or he would hardly have kept that +sentimental rubbish all his life.</p> + +<p>Another drawer came open, and the child breathed quickly. It was filled +with a parcel of books, and a label upon the topmost one bore the word +"Boodles." The truth was in that secret drawer, there could be no +romancing there, the question of her birth was to be settled once and +for all, she could read it in those books, then go and tell Mr. Bellamie +who she was. The girl's sad eyes softened when she perceived that the +heap of diaries was well thumbed. She did not know that the old man had +often read himself to sleep with one of them.</p> + +<p>The straw, by which she had been, mentally at least, supporting herself +since Weevil's death, was quickly snatched away. She saw then, what Mr. +Bellamie had seen at once, how that the simple old creature had sought +to secure her happiness with lies. The story of the diaries told her +little more. It was true she was a bastard; that she had been wrapped in +fern, and placed in the porch of the cottage, with a label round her +neck like a parcel from the grocer's; that the old man had known as much +about her parents as she knew herself. "She cannot be a commoner's +child," was written in one of the diaries. "I think she must be the +daughter of some domestic servant and a man of gentle birth. She would +not be what she is had her father been a labourer or a farmer."</p> + +<p>Then followed a list of the girls whom Weevil had suspected; but that +was of no interest to Boodles. The old man had nursed her himself. There +was a little book, <i>Hints to Mothers</i>, in the pile, and at the bottom of +the drawer was a scrap of the fern in which she had been wrapped, and +the horrible label which had been round her baby neck. She gazed, +dry-eyed and fascinated, forgetting her loneliness, her sorrow, +forgetting everything except that one overmastering thing, the awful +injury which had been done to her innocent little self. Now that she +knew the truth she would face it. The wind was playing a funeral march +just then.</p> + +<p>"I am an illegitimate child," said Boodles. She stepped before the +glass, uncovered it, screamed because she thought she had seen that +grotesque old face which servant girl Minnie had longed to kiss fifty +years back, recovered herself, and looked. "He said I should be perfect +if I had a name," she muttered. She was getting a fierce little +tiger-cat, and beginning to show her pretty teeth. "Why am I not a +humpback, or diseased in some way, or hideous, if I am an illegitimate +child? I am as good as any girl. People in Tavistock turn to look at me, +and I know they say: 'What a pretty girl!' Am I to say to every one: 'I +am an illegitimate child, and therefore I am as black as the devil +himself?' Why is a girl as black as the devil just because no clergyman +has jabbered some rubbish at her parents? Oh, Boodles, you pretty +love-child, don't stand it," she cried.</p> + +<p>She flung the towel over the glass, turned to the window, and cast it +open to receive the wind. "I am not frightened now. I am wild. Let us +have the coronation march, and let me go by while they shout at me, +'bastard.' What have I done? I know that the sins of the parents are +visited upon the children, but why should the children stand it? Must +they, poor little fools? They must endure disease, but not dishonour. I +am not going to stand it. I would go into God's presence, and clench my +fists, and say I will not stand it. He allowed me to be born. If +matrimony is what people say it is, a sort of sacrament, how is it that +children can be born without it?"</p> + +<p>The wind rushed into the room so violently that she had to shut the +window. The lamp-flames were leaping up the glasses. A different tune +began and made the tortured little girl less fierce.</p> + +<p>"I won't be wild any more," she said; but an idea had entered her brain, +and she gave it expression by murmuring again and again: "Nobody knows, +nobody knows. Only he knew, and he is dead."</p> + +<p>That was true enough. Only Weevil and her mother knew the truth about +her shameful origin. The mother had not been seen that night placing the +bundle of fern in the porch. She could not have been seen, as nobody in +the neighbourhood knew where Boodles really came from, and the fact that +the stories which they had invented about her were entirely false proved +their ignorance. Probably nobody knew that her mother had given birth to +a child. Boodles thought of that as she walked to and fro murmuring, +"Nobody knows." Old Weevil's death might prove to be a blessing in +disguise.</p> + +<p>"I will not stand it," she kept on saying. "I will not bear the +punishment of my father's sin. I will be a liar too—just once, and then +I will be truthful for ever. I will make up my own story, and it won't +be wild like his. I understand it all now. In this funny old world of +sheep-people one follows another, not because the one in front knows +anything, but just because he is in front; and when the leader laughs +the ones behind laugh too, and when the leader says 'how vile,' the ones +behind say 'how vile' too. I suppose we are all sheep-people, and I am +only different because I have black wool, and I am on the wrong side of +the hedge and can't get among the respectable white baa-baas. I won't +harm any of them. I will be wicked once, in self-defence, to get this +black wool off, and then I'll be a very good white respectable +sheep-person ever after. The truth is there," she said, nodding at the +little heap of books, "and the truth is going to be burnt."</p> + +<p>She gathered up the pile and cremated the lot in the kitchen fire. Then +she went to bed with a kind of happiness, because she knew that her +doubts were cleared away, and that her future depended upon her ability +to fight for herself. Her eyes were fully opened by this time because +she had left fairyland and got well out into the lane of real life. She +knew that "sheep-people" like the most excellent Bellamies, neatly bound +and edged in the very best style of respectability, must regard little +bastards as a sort of vermin, which it was only kind to tread upon or +sweep decorously out of the way. "I am only going to wriggle in +self-defence because they are hurting me," she murmured. "If they will +be nice to me I will stop wriggling at once and be good for ever. I +wouldn't make an effort if I was ugly or humpbacked. I would curl up and +die like a horrid spider. But I know I am really a nice girl and a +pretty girl; and if they will only give me the chance I will be a good +girl—wicked once, and then good, so very good. I expect you are much +better than most girls, Boodles, and you mustn't let them call you +beastly names," she said; and went off to sleep in quite a conceited +state of mind.</p> + +<p>In the morning there was a letter from Mr. Bellamie, not for Boodles, +but for the old man who was dead, and the girl opened it, not knowing +who it was from, and learnt a little more of the truth about herself. It +was lucky for old Weevil that he was well out of the way. He would +probably just as soon have been dead as called upon to answer that +letter, though it was kindly enough and delicately expressed and full of +artistic touches. Mr. Bellamie adopted a gentle cynicism which would +have been too subtle for Weevil's comprehension. He slapped him on the +shoulder as it were, chaffing him, reproving him mildly, and saying in +effect: "You old rogue, to think that you could fool me with your +fairy-tales." He professed to regard the matter as a joke, and then +becoming serious, suggested that Weevil would surely see the necessity +of keeping Boodles and Aubrey apart in the future. He didn't believe in +young men, and Aubrey was a mere boy, entangling themselves with an +engagement, and altogether apart from that Boodles, though a pretty and +charming girl, was not the partner that he would wish his son to choose. +Writing still more plainly, if Aubrey insisted upon marrying the girl it +would have to be without his consent. He could not receive Boodles at +his house while the mystery of her birth remained unexplained. There was +a mystery, he knew, as he had made inquiries. He did not credit what he +had been told, but the fact remained that Weevil had increased his +suspicions by withholding what he knew. The whole affair was +unsatisfactory, and the only satisfactory way out of it would be to keep +the young people definitely apart until they had found other interests. +Mr. Bellamie concluded by hoping that Weevil was not being troubled by +the wild weather and tempestuous winds.</p> + +<p>It would have been better for Boodles if she had not opened that letter. +For her it was the end of all things. Hardly knowing what she was doing, +she put on her hat, went out, down to the Tavy, and into the woods. It +was not "our walk," but the place where it had been. The big explosion +had cleared the walk away; and there was nothing except December damps +and mists, sodden ferns, and piles of half-melted snow. The once upon a +time stage was very far away then. It was the end of the story, and +there was no happy ever after, no merry dance of fairies to the tune of +a wedding march, no flowers nor sunshine. All the pleasant things had +gone to sleep, and those things which could not sleep were weeping. +Boodles fastened her arms about the trunk of a tree which she +recognised, and cried upon it; then she lay upon the fern which carried +a few memories and cried upon that; and felt her way to the river and +cried into that. She could not increase the moisture. The whole wood was +dripping and far more tear-productive than herself. The rivers and ferns +could not tell her that it was not the end of the story, but only the +end of a chapter; for she was merely eighteen, and the big desert of +life was beyond with a green oasis here and there. But fairyland was +closed. A big fence of brambles ran all round it, and there was a notice +board erected to the effect that Boodles would be prosecuted for +trespassing if she went inside, though all other children would be +welcome. There was the beech-tree where Aubrey and she had once spent an +afternoon carving two hearts skewered upon an arrow, though the hearts +looked rather like dumplings and the arrow resembled a spade. They had +done their best and made a failure. They had tried to tell a story, and +had muddled it all up just because they had been interrupted so often. +Why couldn't ogres leave them alone so that they could finish the story +properly?</p> + +<p>Boodles got back somehow to her home in the wintry solitude, and wrote +what she thought was a callous little note to Mr. Bellamie. Perhaps it +did not sound so very callous. Short compositions appeal as long ones +seldom do.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"Mr. Weevil is dead, and has been buried some time, and I am quite +alone. I am sorry I opened your letter. Please forgive me. I did not +know who it was from. I am going to try and make a living by letting +lodgings when the fine weather comes, and I shall be very grateful if +Mrs. Bellamie and you will recommend me. I am a good cook, and could +make people comfortable. Perhaps you had better not say I am only +eighteen, as people might not like to trust me. It is very cold up here, +and the wind is dreadful. I hope you and Mrs. Bellamie are quite well. I +promise you I will not write to Aubrey again."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h3> + +<h2>ABOUT THE PINCH</h2> + + +<p>Only well-to-do people, those who have many changes of raiment and can +afford to poke the fire expensively, are happy in the winter. For others +there are various degrees of the pinch; lack of fuel pinch, want of food +pinch, insufficient clothes pinch, or the pinch of desolation and +dreariness. To those who dwell in lonely places winter pays no dividends +in the way of amusement, and increases the expense of living at the rate +of fifty per cent. No wonder they tumble down in adoration when the sun +comes. The smutty god of coal, and the greasy deity of oil are served in +winter; there is the lesser divinity of peat also. Each brings round a +bag and demands a contribution; and those who cannot pay are pinched +remorselessly.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bellamie sat in her drawing-room, and the fire burnt expensively, +and she spread her fragile feet towards it, without worshipping because +it was too common, and around her were luxuries on the top of luxuries; +and yet she was being pinched. It was not the horrid little note, rather +blurred and blotted, lying upon her lap which was administering the +pinch directly, but the thoughts brought on by that note. Mrs. Bellamie +was opening her secret drawer and turning out the rubbish. She was +thinking of the past which had been almost forgotten until that small +voice had come from Dartmoor. She had only to turn to the window to see +the snow-capped tors. The small voice was crying there and saying: "I am +only eighteen, and I am going to try and make a living by letting +lodgings. I promise you I will not write to Aubrey again." Those words +were so many crabs, pinching horribly; and at the bottom of the secret +drawer was a story, not written, because the drawer was the lady's mind, +and the story was about a little girl whose father had fallen on evil +days; a very respectable father, and a proud gentleman who would not +confess to his friends that his position had become desperate, but his +family knew all about it for they had to be hungry, and a very hard +winter came, and the coal-god sent his bag round as usual and they had +nothing to put into it. The father said he didn't want a fire. It was +neither necessary nor healthy. He preferred to sit in his cold damp +study with a greatcoat on and a muffler round his neck, and shiver. As +long as there was a bit of cold mutton in the house he didn't care, and +he talked about his ancestors who had suffered privations on fields +where English battles had been won, and declared that people of leisure +had got into a disgraceful way of coddling themselves; but he kept on +coughing, and the little girl heard him and it made her miserable. At +last she decided to wrap her morals up, and put them away in the secret +drawer, and forget all about them until the time of adversity was over. +There was a big house close by, belonging to wealthy friends of theirs, +and it was shut up for the winter. After dark the little girl climbed +over the railing, found her way to the coal-shed, took out some big +lumps, and threw them one by one into her father's garden. It made her +dreadfully dirty, but she didn't care, for she had put on her oldest +clothes. The next day her father found a fire burning in his study, and +he didn't seem angry. Indeed, when the little girl looked in, to tell +him it was cold mutton time, he was sitting close to it as if he had +forgotten all about the ancestors who had been frozen upon battlefields. +She did the same wicked thing that night, and the night after; and her +father lost his cough and became cheerful again. This robbery of the +rich went on for some time, until one night the little girl slipped +while climbing the railing and cut her knee badly, which kept her in bed +for some days, while she heard her father grumbling because he had no +fire; but he didn't grumble for long, because fine weather came, and his +circumstances improved, and a young gentleman came along and said he +wanted to be a robber too, and went off with the little coal-thief. It +was all so long ago that Mrs. Bellamie found herself wondering if it had +ever happened; but there was still a small mark upon her knee which +seemed to suggest that she ought to have known a good deal about the +little girl who had stolen coals during the days of the great pinch.</p> + +<p>Some of the wintry mist from Dartmoor had got into the room, and had +settled between the lady and the fire, which suddenly became blurred and +looked like a scarlet waterfall. Part of the origin of the mist tickled +her cheek, and she put up her handkerchief to wipe it away; but the +voices went on talking. "I am only eighteen, and I am going to try and +make a living by letting lodgings," said the voice from the moor. +"Mother, I know I'm young, but I shall never change. I love her with my +whole heart." That was a voice from the sea. Mrs. Bellamie rose and went +to find her husband. She came upon him engrossed upon the +characteristics of Byzantine architecture.</p> + +<p>"How are you going to answer this?" she said, dropping the note before +him like a cold fall of snow.</p> + +<p>"Does it require any answer?" he said, looking up with a frown. "She +must struggle on. She is one out of millions struggling, and her case is +only more painful to us because we know of it. We will help her as much +as we can, indirectly."</p> + +<p>"I should like to go and see her. I want to have her here for +Christmas," said the lady.</p> + +<p>"It would be foolish," said Mr. Bellamie. "It would make her unsettled, +and more dissatisfied with her lot. She might also get to look upon this +house as her home."</p> + +<p>"I am miserable about her. I wish I had never kissed her. She has kissed +me every day since," said the lady. "She is always on my mind, and now," +she went on, glancing at the note, "I think of her alone, absolutely +alone, a child of eighteen, in a dreary cottage upon the moor, among +those savage people."</p> + +<p>"If you had seen that weird old man—" began her husband.</p> + +<p>"He is dead, I have seen her, and she haunts me."</p> + +<p>Perhaps Mrs. Bellamie would not have been haunted if she had never +stolen those coals. Adversity breeds charity, and tenderness is the +daughter of Dame Want. Love does not fly out of the window when poverty +comes in. Only the imp who masquerades as the true god does that. The +son of Venus gets between husband and wife and hugs them tighter to warm +himself.</p> + +<p>"I am a descendant of Richard Bellamie," said her husband, getting his +crest up like a proud cockatoo, "father of Alice, <i>quasi bella et +amabilis</i>, who was mother of Bishop Jewel of famous memory. You, my +dear, are a daughter of the Courtenays, <i>atavis editi re gibus</i>, and +royalty itself can boast of blood no better. Let the whole country +become Socialist, the Bellamies and Courtenays will stand aloof."</p> + +<p>Mr. Bellamie smiled to himself. There was a classical purity about his +utterance which stimulated his system like a glass of rare wine.</p> + +<p>"I know," said the lady. "I am referring to my feelings, nothing else." +She was still thinking of the coals, and it seemed to her that a certain +portion of her knee began to throb.</p> + +<p>"When it comes to affairs of the heart, even the Bellamies and +Courtenays are Socialists," she said archly.</p> + +<p>Mr. Bellamie did not reply directly to that. He loved his wife, and yet +he carried her off, when the days of coal-stealing had been +accomplished, as much for her name as anything else.</p> + +<p>"My dear, let me understand you," he said. "Do you want Aubrey to marry +this nameless girl?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know myself what I want," came the answer. "I only know it is +horrible to think of the poor brave child living alone and unprotected +on the moor. Suppose one of those rough men broke into her cottage?"</p> + +<p>This was melodrama, which is bad art, and Mr. Bellamie frowned at it, +and changed the subject by saying: "She has promised not to write to +Aubrey again."</p> + +<p>"While he has absolutely refused to give her up," his wife added. +"Directly he comes back he will go to her."</p> + +<p>"I can't think where Aubrey gets it from," Mr. Bellamie murmured. "The +blood is so entirely unpolluted—but no, in the eighteenth century there +was an unfortunate incident, Gretna Green and a chambermaid, or +something of the kind. Young men were particularly reckless in that +century. If it had not been for that incident Aubrey would never have +run after this girl."</p> + +<p>"I expect he would," she said.</p> + +<p>"Then he is tainted. This terrible new democracy has tarred him with its +brush," said her husband. "I suppose the end of it will be he will run +off with this girl and bring her back married."</p> + +<p>"There is not the slightest fear of that. The girl would not consent."</p> + +<p>"Not consent!" cried Mr. Bellamie. "Not consent to marry into our +family!"</p> + +<p>"My dear, there is such a thing as nobility of character, though we +don't see much of it, perhaps. I may be allowed to know something of my +sex, and I am certain this girl would never marry Aubrey without our +consent."</p> + +<p>"Why, then, she's a good girl. I'll do all that I can for her if she is +like that," said Mr. Bellamie cheerfully.</p> + +<p>"What do you suppose she is doing now? Sobbing herself to death," said +his wife.</p> + +<p>The full-blooded gentleman stirred uneasily. Bad art again. "You are +pleading for her, my dear. Most distinctly you are pleading for her. If +you are going to side with Aubrey I will give in, of course. I will +write to the secretary of the Socialists' League, if there is such a +thing, and beg humbly to be enrolled as a member, and I will also state +that if the name of Bellamie is too much for them I shall be pleased to +adopt that of Tomkins or Jenkins. I cannot permit pride to stand in my +way, seeing that my future daughter-in-law has no name at all, unless it +is the highly aristocratic one of Smith-Robinson, the father being Smith +and the mother Robinson." He spoke with some heat, employing the weapon +of cynicism as a perfectly legitimate form of art.</p> + +<p>"Surely you do not suggest she is an illegitimate child," said his wife, +with some horror.</p> + +<p>"I suggest nothing, my dear, because I know nothing. I have heard all +sorts of stories about her—probably lies, like those the old man told +me. Understand, please, I cannot see the girl," he went on quickly. "I +like her. She is <i>bella et amabilis</i>, and if I saw much of her, pity and +admiration might make a fool of me. You know me, my dear. I am not +heartless, as my words might suggest. I want Aubrey to do well, marry +well, rise in his profession. If I went to see the child in her cottage +the sight would make me miserable. When I left the old man, after he had +choked me with the wildest lot of lies you ever heard, I was sad enough +for tears. His heart was so good though his art was so bad. The play +upon words was unintentional," he added, with a frown.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bellamie said no more, but the coals continued to trouble her, and +at last the fire kindled, and she ordered a carriage and drove up on +Dartmoor without telling her husband. It was the week before Christmas, +and the road was sprinkled with carts passing up and down filled with +good things, and the men who drove them were filled with good things +too, which made them desire the centre of the road at any price. The +lady's carriage was often kept at a walking pace by these human slugs +with their fill of sloe-gin.</p> + +<p>Lewside Cottage was found with difficulty, most of the residents +appealed to declaring they had never heard of such a place, but the +driver found it at last, and brought the carriage up before the little +whitewashed house which looked very wet and dreary amid its wintry +surroundings. Mrs. Bellamie shivered as she got out and felt the wind +with a sharp edge of frost to it. Somebody else was shivering too, but +not with cold. Boodles watched from a corner of one of the windows, and +when the lady knocked she wanted to go and hide somewhere and pretend +she was miles away.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps she has come to tell me about old maids for lodgers," she +murmured. Then she ran down, opened the door, and straightway became +speechless.</p> + +<p>"I have come to see you, my dear," said the lady. The fact was obvious +enough to need no comment, but when people are embarrassed, and have to +say something, idiotic remarks serve as well as anything. Boodles tried +to reply that she perceived the visitor standing before her in the +flesh; but her tongue seemed to occupy the whole of her mouth, and she +could only smile and flush.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bellamie, finding the conversation left to herself, observed that +it was exceedingly cold, while poor Boodles was thinking how hot it was. +She knew that her note had brought Mrs. Bellamie, and she was dreadfully +afraid the lady was going to be charitable; open her purse and give her +half-a-sovereign, or call to the driver to bring in a hamper of food, or +perhaps of toys, for Boodles was feeling fearfully young and shy. "If +she gives me anything I shall stamp and scream," she thought.</p> + +<p>"Are you really living here alone?" said Mrs. Bellamie, which was quite +as foolish as her other remarks, as she could not possibly have expected +to see people of various sizes and complexions tumbling suddenly from +the cupboards. "How very dreary it must be for you—dear."</p> + +<p>The last word was not intended to escape. It was on the tip of the +lady's tongue, and rolled off before she could stop it. "Dear" alone +sounds much more tender without any possessive pronoun attached, and the +sound of it made Boodles attempt to swallow something that felt like a +lump of clay in her throat. She knew she would have to howl if that lump +got any higher and reached the tear mark. She felt that if she opened +her mouth she would begin to cry. It was such an awful and a pleasant +thing to have a visitor, and Aubrey's mother; and she was thinking +already how terrible it would be when the visitor went away.</p> + +<p>They went into the little sitting-room. Their breath seemed to fill it +with cold steam, for there was no fire, which was a bad thing for Mrs. +Bellamie, for she thought at once of the past coal-age and the +resemblance of that room to her father's study; and just then Boodles +began to cough. It was all over with Mrs. Bellamie. Her secret drawer +was wide open, and all that she ought to have been ashamed of was +revealed. She was listening again at a certain keyhole, feeling the cold +current of air upon her ear, and with it the gentle persistent noise of +her proud old father coughing because he hadn't got any fire. She was +getting on in life, but her spirit was the same. She would have gone +then, and climbed a railing, and stolen coal to give the poor girl a +fire.</p> + +<p>Boodles looked up with a smile, without in the least knowing that her +eyes were hungry for a caress. Mrs. Bellamie bent and kissed her, and +Boodles promptly wept.</p> + +<p>"My poor child, how can you sit here in the cold? Why don't you have +a fire?" said the lady, who seemed bent on saying foolish things that +day.</p> + +<p>"I—I am so glad to see you," sobbed Boodles, obtaining relief and the +use of her tongue. "I would have lighted a fire if I had known you were +coming. I only use the kitchen and my bedroom."</p> + +<p>"Would you like to show me over the cottage?" said the lady, becoming +more sensible.</p> + +<p>"It won't take long," said Boodles. "I am sorry for crying. This is +Thursday, isn't it? I lose track of the days rather, but the baker comes +Wednesdays and Saturdays, and he came yesterday, and it isn't Sunday, so +it must be Thursday. Well, I hadn't cried since Tuesday. Yesterday was a +day off."</p> + +<p>"You poor child," murmured Mrs. Bellamie.</p> + +<p>"Sometimes I think I ought to keep a record, a sort of rain-gauge," went +on Boodles in quite a lively fashion. It was a part of her idea. She was +playing her game of "not standing it," and after all she was telling the +truth so far. "Monday, three-hundred drops. Tuesday, +one-hundred-and-twenty-and-a-half drops. Wednesday, none. Thursday, not +over yet. It's like a prescription. I'm all right now, you made me feel +funny, as I've never had a civilised visitor before. It is very good of +you to come and discover me."</p> + +<p>Then she took the lady over the tiny house, from the kitchen to her +bedroom, taking pride in the fact that it was all very neat, and +apologising for the emptiness of the larder by saying that she was only +one small girl, and she was well able to live upon air, especially as +the wind of Dartmoor was notoriously fattening.</p> + +<p>"Eating is only one of the habits of civilisation," declared Boodles. +"So long as you live alone you never get hungry, but directly you go +among other people you want to eat. I have often seen two moormen meet +on the road. They didn't want anything while they were alone, but so +soon as they caught sight of one another they felt thirsty. May I get +you a cup of tea?"</p> + +<p>"Well, the sight of you has made me thirsty," said Mrs. Bellamie.</p> + +<p>Then they laughed together and felt better.</p> + +<p>"Look at this basket," said Boodles, pointing to a familiar battered +object covered with a scrap of oilcloth. "It belongs to a poor man who +is in prison now. I brought him here because the people were hunting +him, and the policeman came and took him for stealing some clothes, +though I'm sure he was innocent. Aubrey gave him half-a-crown on Goose +Fair Day, and perhaps he bought the clothes with that. Can you buy a +suit of clothes for half-a-crown? If you can't, I don't know how these +men live. I am keeping the basket for the poor thing, and when they let +him out I expect he will come for it."</p> + +<p>Boodles alluded to Brightly and his basket since they gave her the +opportunity of mentioning Aubrey. She wanted to see if the lady would +accept the opening, and explain the real object of her visit; but Mrs. +Bellamie, who was still respectable, only said that it was rather +shocking to think that Boodles had tried to protect a common thief, and +then she thought again of the coals, for the theft of which she had +never been punished until then. She ought to have been sent to prison +too, although she had done much more good than harm in stealing from a +wealthy man to give comfort to a poor one. It had made her tender and +soft-hearted also. She would never have felt so deeply for Boodles had +it not been for that little hiatus of poverty and crime. Rigid honesty +has its vices, and some sins have many virtues. Virtues are unpleasant +things to carry about in any quantity, like a pocketful of stones; but +little sins are cheery companions while they remain little. Mrs. +Bellamie was a much better woman for having been once a thief.</p> + +<p>"Is that clock right?" asked the lady. "I told the driver to come for me +at five."</p> + +<p>Boodles said she hadn't the least idea. There were two clocks, and each +told a different story, and she had nothing to check them by. She +thought it would be past four as it was getting so dark. She lighted the +lamp, and the lady noticed the little hands were getting rather red. +When the room was filled with light she noticed more; the girl was quite +thin, and she coughed a good deal; nearly all the colour had gone out of +her face, and there were lines under her eyes, lines that ought never to +be seen at eighteen; her mouth often quivered, and she would start at +every sound. Then Mrs. Bellamie heard the wind, and she started too.</p> + +<p>"My dear, you cannot, you must not, live here alone," she said, +shivering at the idea, and the atmosphere. "It would drive me mad. The +loneliness, the wind, and the horrible black moor."</p> + +<p>"I have got to put up with it. I have no friends," said Boodles at once. +"I don't know whether I shall pull through, as the worst time is ahead, +but I must try. You can't think what it is when the wind is really high. +Sometimes in the evenings I run about the place, and they chase me from +one room to another."</p> + +<p>"Not men?" cried the lady in horror.</p> + +<p>"Things, thoughts, I don't know what they are. The horrors that come +when one is always alone. Some nights I scream loud enough for you to +hear in Tavistock. I don't know why it should be a relief to scream, but +it is."</p> + +<p>"You must get away from here," said Mrs. Bellamie decidedly. "We will +arrange something for you. Would you take a position as governess, +companion to a lady—"</p> + +<p>"No," cried Boodles, as if the visitor had insulted her. "I am not going +to prison. I would rather lose my senses here than become a servant. If +I was companion to a lady I should take the dear old thing by the +shoulders and knock her head against the wall every time she ordered me +about. Why should I give up my liberty? You wouldn't. I have got a home +of my own, and with lodgers all summer I can keep going."</p> + +<p>"You cannot do it. You cannot possibly do it," said Mrs. Bellamie. "Will +you come and spend Christmas with us?" she asked impulsively. It was a +sudden quiver of the girl's mouth that compelled her to give the +invitation.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I should love it," cried Boodles. Then she added: "Does Mr. +Bellamie wish it?"</p> + +<p>The lady became confused, hesitated, and finally had to admit that her +husband had not authorised her to speak in his name.</p> + +<p>"Then I cannot come. It would have been a great pleasure to me, but of +course I couldn't come if he does not want me, and I shouldn't enjoy +myself in the least if I thought he had asked me out of charity," she +added rather scornfully.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bellamie only smiled and murmured: "Proud little cat."</p> + +<p>"Well, I suppose I must be," said Boodles. "Poverty and loneliness +sharpen one's feelings, you know. If I was a rich lady I would come and +stay at your house, whether Mr. Bellamie wanted me or not. I shouldn't +care. But as I am, poor and lonely, and pretty miserable too, I feel I +should want to bite and scratch if any one came to do me a favour. +Aubrey is not coming home for Christmas then?" she added quickly, and +the next instant was scolding herself for alluding to him again. "I mean +you wouldn't ask me if he was coming home."</p> + +<p>The lady asked abruptly for another cup of tea, not because she desired +it or intended to drink it, but because her son was the one subject she +wanted to avoid. That was the second time Boodles had made mention of +him, and the first time the lady had been worried by a pain in her knee, +and now she was haunted by the voice which had spoken so lovingly of the +little girl when it declared: "I will never give her up." That little +girl was standing with the lamplight on her hair, which was as radiant +as ever, and with a longing look in her eyes, which had become sad and +dreamy and altogether different from the eyes of fun and laughter which +she had worn on Goose Fair Day.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mrs. Bellamie, do say something," Boodles whispered.</p> + +<p>The lady began to choke. What could she say that the child would like to +hear?</p> + +<p>"You know I have given him up, at least my tongue has," the girl went +on. "But I want to know if he is going to give me up?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot tell you, my dear," the lady murmured, glancing at the clock.</p> + +<p>"I think you must know, for he told me he was going to speak to you and +his father. My life is quite miserable enough, and I don't want it made +worse. It will be much worse if he comes to see me when he returns, and +says he is the same as ever, and you are the same as ever. I promise I +won't see him again, if he leaves me alone, and I won't marry him +without your consent. Does he really love me, Mrs. Bellamie?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my dear," the lady whispered. "Do you think that is the carriage?"</p> + +<p>"It is only the wind. Well, I know he does, but I wanted to hear you say +it. What am I to do when he comes home? He will ask me to meet him, and +if I refuse he will come up here and want to kiss me. What am I to do? I +love him. I have loved him since I was a small child. I am not going to +tell him I don't love him to please you or any one. I have done a good +deal. I will not do that."</p> + +<p>"We will beg him not to come and trouble you," said the lady.</p> + +<p>"But if he does come?"</p> + +<p>"I think, my dear, it will be best for all of us if you ask him not to +come again."</p> + +<p>That was too much for the little girl. She could hardly be expected to +enter into an alliance with Aubrey's parents against herself. She began +to breathe quickly, and there was plenty of colour in her cheeks as she +replied: "I shall do nothing of the kind. How can you expect me to tell +him to go away, and leave me, when I love him? I have got little enough, +and only one thing that makes me happy, and you want me to deprive +myself of that one thing. If you can deprive me of it you may. But I am +not going to torture myself. I have made my promise, and that is all +that can be expected from me. Were you never in love when you were +eighteen?"</p> + +<p>The lady rather thought that at the susceptible age mentioned she fell +in love with every one, though the disease was only taken in a mild form +and was never dangerous. She had a distinct recollection of falling +violently in love with a choir boy, who sang like an angel and looked +like one, but she had never spoken to him because he was only the +baker's son. She had been rather more than twenty when Mr. Bellamie had +fallen in love with her blood, and she had been advised to fall in love +with his. She had been quite happy, she loved her husband in a restful +kind of way, but of the intense passion which lights up the whole +universe with one face and form she knew nothing; she hardly believed +that such love existed outside fairy-tales; and in her heart she thought +it scarcely decent. She had never kissed her husband before marrying +him, and she was very much shocked to think that her son had been +kissing Boodles. She would have been still more shocked had she seen +them together. She would have regarded their conduct as grossly immoral, +when it was actually the purest thing on earth. There is nothing cleaner +than a flame of fire.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bellamie tried to turn the conversation from her son. She was +uncomfortable and depressed. The surroundings and the atmosphere pinched +her, and she felt she would not have a proper sympathy for Boodles until +she was back in her luxurious drawing-room with a fire roaring shillings +and pence away up the chimney. She would feel inclined to cry for the +girl then, but at the present time, surrounded by winds and Weevil +furniture, she felt somewhat out of patience with her.</p> + +<p>"I came to see if I could do anything for you," she said. "But you are +so independent. If I found you a comfortable—"</p> + +<p>"Situation," suggested Boodles, when she hesitated.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you wouldn't accept it?"</p> + +<p>"I should not," said the girl, holding her head up. "The old man who is +dead spoilt me for being trodden on. Most girls who go into situations +have to grin and pretend they like it, but I should flare up. Thank you +all the same," she added stiffly.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bellamie looked at the little rebel again and wished she would be +more reasonable. It was a very different Boodles from the merry girl who +had come to tea with her in Tavistock. The girl looked years older, and +the babyish expression had gone for ever. Every month of that lonely +life would leave its mark upon her. December had written itself beneath +her eyes, and before long January would be signed upon her forehead, and +February perhaps would write upon her mind. Mrs. Bellamie saw the little +ring of forget-me-nots, and guessed who had given it her; and then she +began to wonder whether it was worth while fighting against Nature. Why +not let youth and love have their own sweet way, why not ignore the +accident of birth, which had made her a Courtenay and Boodles a blank, +why let pride straddle across the way to stop the youngsters from +getting into the happy land? Little could be gained from preventing +happiness, and much might be lost. That was the influence of the coals, +burning again, although the fire was dying lower; and then the influence +of prosperity and a restful life did their work, and suggested Boodles +in her drawing-room as Aubrey's wife, a pretty sight, a graceful +ornament; and outside the people talking, as they can talk when they +smell the carrion of scandal.</p> + +<p>"Have you no one to look after you?" she asked. "No guardians? Did +your—did Mr. Weevil leave no will?"</p> + +<p>"He left nothing, except the story of my birth," said Boodles. "I don't +know if he left any relations, but if there are any they are entitled to +what he left, as I am no connection of his. It would be dreadful for me +if there is any one, and they hear of his death."</p> + +<p>"You know the story of your birth then now?" Mrs. Bellamie suggested.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Boodles; "I do."</p> + +<p>She tossed her head and stood defiant. She was losing her temper, and +had already said what she had not intended to say. Having made up her +mind "not to stand it," she had prepared a simple story to tell to +Aubrey if he asked for it. Old Weevil had really been her grandfather, +and her parents had been obscure people of no better station than +himself. She was going to tell a lie, one thorough lie, and then be good +for ever. She was going to make herself legitimate, that and nothing +more, not a very serious crime, she was merely going to supply herself +with a couple of parents and a wedding-service, so that she should not +be in the position of Brightly and suffer for the sins of others. But +the sight of that cold lady was making Boodles mad. She did not know +that Mrs. Bellamie had really a tender feeling for her, and it was only +her artistic nature which prevented her from showing it. Boodles did not +understand the art which strives to repress all emotion. She did not +care about anything just then, being persuaded that both the Bellamies +were her enemies, and the lady had come with the idea of trying to make +her understand what a miserable little wretch she was, fitted for +nothing better than a situation where she would be trampled on. She felt +she wanted to disturb that tranquil surface, make the placid lady jump +and look frightened. Possibly her mind was not as sound as it should +have been. The solitude and the "windy organ," added to her own sorrows, +had already made a little mark. One of the first symptoms of insanity is +a desire to frighten others. So Boodles put her head back, and laughed a +little, and said rather scornfully: "I came upon some diaries that he +kept, and they told me all about myself. I will tell you, if you care to +hear."</p> + +<p>"I should like to know," said Mrs. Bellamie. "But I think that must be +the carriage."</p> + +<p>"It is," said Boodles, glancing out of the window and seeing +unaccustomed lights. "What I have to tell you won't take two minutes. +Mine is a very short story. Here it is. One night, eighteen years ago, +Mr. Weevil was sitting in this room when he heard a noise at the door. +He went out. Nobody was there, but at his feet he found a big bundle of +dry bracken. Inside it was a baby, and round its neck was a label on +which he read: 'Please take me in, or I shall be drowned to-morrow.' +What is the matter, Mrs. Bellamie?"</p> + +<p>Boodles had her wish. The lady was regarding her already with fear and +horror.</p> + +<p>"Don't tell me you were that child," she gasped.</p> + +<p>"Why, of course I was. I told you my story was a short one. I have told +it you already, for that is all I know about myself, and all Mr. Weevil +ever knew about me. But he always thought my father must have been a +gentleman."</p> + +<p>"The carriage is there, I think?"</p> + +<p>"So you see I am what is known as a bastard," Boodles went on, with a +laugh. "I don't know the names of my parents. I was thrown out because +they didn't want me, and if Mr. Weevil had not taken me in I should have +been treated like a kitten or a rat. I am sorry that he did take me in, +as I am alone in the world now."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bellamie stood in the doorway, trembling and agitated, her face +white and her eyes furious. The coals would not trouble her again. Good +Courtenay blood had washed them, and made them as white as her own +cheeks.</p> + +<p>"You let me kiss you," she murmured.</p> + +<p>"Probably I've poisoned you," said the poor child, almost raving.</p> + +<p>"My son has made love to you, kissed you, given you a ring."</p> + +<p>There was a light in the girl's eyes, unnaturally bright. "If you tried +to take this ring from me I would kill you." She was guarding it with a +shivering hand. "I know what I am, Mrs. Bellamie. I knew before that +look in your eyes told me. I know what a beastly little creature I am, +to have a gentleman for a father and some housemaid for a mother. I know +it was all my own fault. It must have been the wicked soul in me that +made them do what was wrong. I know I deserve to be punished for daring +to live. I am young, but I have learnt all that; and now you are +teaching me more—you are teaching me that if I had been left at your +door you would have sent me to my proper place."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bellamie was outside, and the driver was assisting her towards the +carriage, as it was too dark for her to see. Then the wheels jolted away +over the rough road, and down the long hill towards luxury and +respectability; and the unlit night pressed heavily upon the moor; and +Boodles was lying upon her bed, talking to the things unseen.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII</h3> + +<h2>ABOUT A HOUSE ON THE HIDDEN LANES</h2> + + +<p>Thomasine was sitting in the stone kitchen of Town Rising sewing and +trying to think; but the little skeletons of thought that did present +themselves were like bad dreams. She had given notice to the Chegwiddens +and would be leaving in a few days, not because she wanted to go, but +because it had become necessary. Town Rising was a moral place, where +nothing lower than drunkenness was permitted, and Thomasine was able to +comprehend how much better it was to resign than to be turned out. +Pendoggat had found a place for her, not a permanent one as he +explained, a place where she would receive no wages, where indeed a +premium would be required; there she would pay a certain debt to Nature, +and then he would come and take her away.</p> + +<p>Thomasine was making garments which she smuggled away when any one came +to the door. They were ridiculous garments which she could not possibly +have worn herself, but perhaps she was making doll's clothes for a +charity bazaar, although girls like Thomasine are not usually interested +in such things; or she might have been preparing a complete outfit for a +certain little person who had benefited her. Pixies of the Tavy are +famed for their generosity to servant maids who do their work properly; +and the girls have been known to make garments for their benefactors, +and spread them out in the kitchen before going to bed, so that the +little person could put them on in the night. But the clothes, small +though they were, would have been a few sizes too large for pixies, and +somewhat too roomy for dolls. Thomasine seemed to be wasting her time +and materials; and as a matter of fact she was, although she did not +know it because she knew nothing, except that she was not particularly +happy.</p> + +<p>She was trying to think of matrimony while she sewed. All that she knew +about it was that the clergyman mentioned a couple by name publicly +three Sundays running, and then they went to church, the girl in her +fair-clothes, and the man with a white tie which wouldn't fit his +collar, and the clergyman read something which made the man grin and the +girl respectable. Time was getting on, it was the dull month of +February, and the burden of maternity seemed to be much nearer than the +responsibilities of matrimony. Thomasine knew nothing of the place she +was going into except that her duties would be light, merely to look +after an old woman who would in return render her certain services at a +critical time. She did not even know where the place was, for Pendoggat +was not going to tell her until the last moment. She had seen young +Pugsley the previous Sunday, in a hard hat and a suit of new clothes, +the trousers turned up twice in order that a double portion of +respectability might rest upon him, with close-cropped head, and a +bundle of primroses pinned to his coat. He had stepped up, shaken her by +the hand in a friendly way, and told her he was going to be married at +Easter. He had got the promise of a cottage, and the ceremony would take +place early on Easter Monday, and they were going for their honeymoon to +St. Thomas's Fair. Thomasine went back crying, because Pugsley was a +good sort of young fellow, and it seemed to her she had missed +something, though it was not her fault. She had always wanted to be +respectable Mrs. Pugsley, only she had been taken away from the young +man, and told not to see him again, and farm-maids have to be obedient.</p> + +<p>Thomasine spent the remainder of her time sewing when she was not +occupied with household duties, and then the day came when she was to +leave. One of the farm-hands drove her to the station, with her box in +the cart behind, and her wages in her pocket. She knew by then where she +was going; into the loneliness of mid-Devon. She would much rather have +gone home, but that was impossible, for the pious cobbler, her father, +would have taken her by the shoulders, placed her outside the door, and +have turned the key upon her.</p> + +<p>If a map be taken, and one leg of a compass placed on the village of +Witheridge, the other leg may be extended to a circumference six miles +distant, and a wide circle be swept without encountering a railway or +cutting more than half-a-dozen good roads, and inside that circle there +is not a single town. It is almost unexplored territory, there are no +means of transit, and the inhabitants are rough and primitive. Distances +there seem great, for the miles are very long ones, and when a call is +made to some lonely house the visitor will often be pressed to stay the +night, as he would be in Canada or Australia. The map is well sprinkled +with names which suggest that the country is thickly populated, but it +is not. Many of the names are delusions, more suggestive of the past +than the present. A century ago hamlets occupied the sites now covered +by a name, but there is nothing left of them to-day except dreary ruins +of cob standing in a thicket of brambles or in what was once an +apple-orchard. What was formerly the name of a good-sized village is now +the title of a farm-house, or one small cottage which would not pay for +repairing and must therefore be destroyed when it becomes uninhabitable. +It is a sad land to wander through. It suggests a country at the end of +its tether which has almost abandoned the struggle for existence, a +poverty-stricken country which cannot face the strong-blooded flow of +food importations from foreign lands. Even the goods sold in the village +shops are of alien manufacture. A hundred little hamlets have given up +the struggle in the same number of years, and been wiped, not off the +map, but off the land. The country of Devon is like a rosy-cheeked apple +which is rotten inside.</p> + +<p>This region within the circle is densely wooded, and in parts fertile, +though the soil is the heavy dun clay which is difficult to work. It is +well-watered, and is only dying because there are no markets for its +produce and no railways to carry it. It is a country of lanes, so narrow +that only two persons can walk abreast along them, so dirty and ill-kept +as to be almost impassable in winter, so dark that it is sometimes +difficult to see, and so stuffy and filled with flies in hot weather +that any open space comes as a relief. These lanes twist everywhere, and +out of them branch more lanes of the same dirtiness and width; and if +they are followed a gate is sure to be reached; and there, in a dark +atmosphere, may be seen a low white house with a gloomy orchard on each +side, and behind a wilderness of garden, and in front a court containing +crumbling barns of cob and a foul pond; and on the other side of the +court the lane goes on into more gloomy depths, towards some other dull +and lonely dwelling-place in the rotten heart of Devon.</p> + +<p>The country would be less sad without these dreary houses which suggest +tragedies. Sometimes stories dealing with young women and very young +girls reach the newspapers, but not often; the lanes are so dark and +twisting, and the houses are so entirely hidden. It is possible to walk +along the lanes for miles and to see no human beings; only the ruins of +where they lived once, and the decaying houses where they live now. It +is like walking through a country of the past.</p> + +<p>Along one of these lanes Thomasine was taken in a rickety cart ploughing +through glue-like mud, and at one of the gates she alighted. There had +been a hamlet once where the brambles spread, and its name, which had +become the name of the one small house remaining, was Ashland, though +the map calls it something else. The tenant was an elderly woman who +appeared to find the greatest difficulty in suiting herself with a +servant, as she was changing them constantly. She was always having a +fresh one, all young girls, and they invariably looked ill when they +went away, which was a sure sign that the house was not healthy, and +that Mrs. Fuzzey's temper was a vile one. The woman had no near +neighbours, though there were, of course, people scattered round about, +but they saw nothing suspicious in the coming and going of so many +maids. No girl could be expected to stand more than a month or two of +Mrs. Fuzzey and her lonely house, especially as some of the girls she +engaged were rather smart and well dressed. No one suspected that the +mistress of dark little Ashland of the hidden lanes was there solely in +the way of business.</p> + +<p>"How be ye, my dear?" said the lady in an amiable fashion to her new +servant, client, or patient, or whatever she chose to regard her as, +when the driver after his customary joke: "Here's one that will stop vor +a month likely," had been dismissed. "You'm a lusty maid what won't give +much trouble, I reckon. You'm safe enough wi' me, my dear. Seems you ha' +come a bit early like. Well, most of 'em du. They get that scared of it +showing. Not this month wi' yew, I reckon. Be it early next?"</p> + +<p>"Ees," said Thomasine.</p> + +<p>"Well, my dear, I'll be a proper mother to ye. 'Twill du ye good to get +abroad a bit. Run out and pick up the eggs, and us will ha' tea. +Yonder's the hen-roost."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Fuzzey seemed a pleasant body, but it was all in the way of +business. She was a stout woman, with a big florid face, and crisp black +hair which suggested foreign extraction. She reared poultry +successfully, and was quite broken-hearted when a young chicken met an +evil fate and perished, which indicated the presence of a vein of +tenderness somewhere, in the region of the pocket probably, as she was +usually insensible to the suffering of human beings. Still she did not +look the sort of woman who might reasonably be expected to end her life +upon the scaffold, if success in business made her careless, or if any +of her patrons or clients ventured to risk their own safety by giving +information against her.</p> + +<p>Thomasine was not accustomed to stately interiors and fine furniture, +and yet she was astonished at the bareness of the interior of Ashland. +Had everything in the place been put up to auction less than five pounds +would possibly have bought the lot. There was nothing in the way of +luxury, not an article that was unnecessary, except the curtains that +hung across the windows for respectability's sake. It was not a home, +but a place of business. The mistress had the sense to know she might +require to leave in a hurry some day without being allowed time to pack +anything, and she saw no advantage in investing her savings in furniture +which she would have to leave behind.</p> + +<p>The garden was at the back, a dark garden, shadowed and gloomy, like an +Eastern cemetery. It made a sort of quadrangle, with the house at one +end, a jungle-like coppice with bracken and bramble undergrowth at the +other, and an orchard on each side; as an additional protection there +was a stone hedge round the three sides. There was only one entry and +that was from the house. There had been another, a gate leading in from +one of the orchards, but Mrs. Fuzzey had closed it up. She did not want +people trespassing in her garden.</p> + +<p>Near the hedge at the back, and in front of the dense coppice, was an +old well which had not been used for a long time as the water was +supposed to be polluted. It had been practically closed up when Mrs. +Fuzzey came into residence, but she had opened it for her own purposes. +The water supply of the house came from a well in the court, which was +fed either by a spring or by the river Yeo which passed close by. The +old well was very deep and contained a good deal of water with a scum on +it which fortunately could not be seen, and a smell to it which in hot +weather became rather pronounced, as it had not been cleared out for +ages and was filled with dead bodies of rats—and other things. But the +miasma carried no distance, and there was nobody to complain about it +except Mrs. Fuzzey, who didn't mind. Ashland was almost as much out of +the way as a farm upon the back blocks of Australia. Nobody ever entered +the garden except herself and her maid for the time being. It was in a +land where the sanitary inspector ceases from troubling. She did her own +gardening, planting her potatoes and onions, being a strong woman well +able to wield a spade. She had piled a lot of rocks about the well and +made quite a pleasant flower garden there. She was fond of flowers, and +in the warm weather would take out a chair and sit beside the well, +admiring the beauty of the various saxifrages, creepers, and trailing +plants which her efforts had induced to grow. She called it the Grotto. +She had penny novelettes sent her regularly, and would devour them +greedily as she sat in her garden, being very much addicted to romance +and sentiment when it was strong enough; and sometimes she thought it +would be agreeable to retire from business and have a husband and family +of her own. It was so very dull at Ashland though she was making money. +There never had been a Mr. Fuzzey, although she always gave herself the +courtesy title of Mrs.</p> + +<p>Thomasine got on very well with Mrs. Fuzzey and almost liked her. The +girl was taken round the garden and the Grotto was pointed out to her +with pride, although there was nothing to be seen except wet rocks, +sodden plants, and decayed woodwork; but she was informed it would be a +place of great beauty in the spring. Indoors there was cleaning to be +done, with cooking, dairy-work, and egg-packing. A tradesman's visit was +rare, and when one did come it was on foot along the narrow muddy lane, +his cart being left far behind at the corner of some road or bigger +lane. The evenings would have been fearfully dreary had Mrs. Fuzzey been +less entertaining. The lady made and drank sloe-gin in some quantity; +and she gave Thomasine a taste for it, with the result that sometimes +they laughed a good deal without apparent cause, and the elderly lady +became sentimental and embraced Thomasine, and declared that she loved +young women, which was natural enough seeing that she made her living +out of them. Then she would read selected portions from her latest +novelette and weep with emotion.</p> + +<p>"If ever I come to change my business I'll write bukes," she said one +night. "I'd like to sot down every day, and write about young volks +making love. I feels cruel soft to think on't. Lord love ye, my dear, +there bain't nothing like love. Volks may say what 'em likes, but 'tis +the only thing worth living vor. I've never had none, my dear, and I'd +like it cruel. You'm had plenty, I reckon. Most o' the maids what comes +here ha' had a proper butiful plenty on't, and some of 'em ha' talked +about it till my eyes was fair drapping. I cries easy," said Mrs. +Fuzzey.</p> + +<p>Thomasine admitted she had received her share, and rather more than she +had wanted.</p> + +<p>"Yew can't ha' tu much when it comes the way yew wants it," said the +lady. "I'm wonderful fond o' these little bukes 'cause 'em gives yew the +real thing. I can't abide 'em when they talks about butiful country, and +moons a shining, and such like, but when they gets their arms around +each other and starts smacking, then I sots down tight to 'en. I can +tak' plenty o' that trade. Sets me all of a quiver it du. I ses to +myself: 'Amelia'—that's me, my dear—'just think what some maids get +and yew don't.' Then I starts crying, my dear. I be a cruel tender +woman."</p> + +<p>The conversation was entirely one-sided, because Thomasine had never +learnt to talk.</p> + +<p>"If ever I got to write one o' these, I'd mind what the maids ha' told +me. I'd start wi' love, and I'd end wi' love. I'd ha' nought else. I'd +set 'em kissing on the first line, and I'd end 'em, my dear, I'd end 'em +proper, fair hugging, my dear," hiccupped Mrs. Fuzzey. The bottle of +sloe-gin was getting low, and her spirits were proportionally high. She +kissed Thomasine, breathed gin down her back, and lifted up her voice +again—</p> + +<p>"I loves maids, I du, I loves 'em proper. I loves children tu, innocent +little children. I loves 'em all, 'cept when they scream, and then I +can't abide 'em. I reckon, my dear, you wouldn't find a tenderer woman +than me anywheres. I tells myself sometimes I be tu soft, but I can't +help it, my dear."</p> + +<p>The old swine slobbered over the girl, half-drunk and half-acting, +giving her loud-sounding kisses; and Thomasine did not know that most of +the girls who had been placed under Mrs. Fuzzey's protection had been +used in the same way as long as they would stand it. People have many +peculiar ways of easing the conscience; some confess to a priest, some +perform charitable works; others, like Mrs. Fuzzey, assume they are +rather too good, though they may be vile. The old harridan posed as a +tender-hearted being in love with every living creature; and she had +read so many ridiculous love-tales and wept over them, and drunk so many +bottles of sloe-gin and wept over them, and listened with lamentations +to so many amatory details from the young women who had placed +themselves under her charge, that she had pretty well persuaded herself +she was a paragon of loving-kindness. Thomasine thought she was; but +then Thomasine knew nothing.</p> + +<p>It was rare to see a human being cross the court in front of Ashland. If +more than one person passed in a day it was a thing to talk about, and +sometimes a whole week went by bringing nobody. The policeman who was +supposed to patrol the district had possibly never heard of the place, +and had he been told to go there would have wanted a guide. Ashland was +more isolated at that time than most of the dead hamlets, because the +two farm-houses that stood nearest were empty and dropping to pieces.</p> + +<p>About half-a-mile beyond the court another dark little lane branched +off, and presently it divided into two dark little lanes like rivers of +mud flowing between deep banks. They were like the dark corridors of a +haunted house; and one of them led to the dead hamlet of Black Hound, +now one cob farm-house until lately occupied by Farmer Hookaway who had +shot himself the previous autumn; and the other finished up at the dead +hamlet of Yeast-beer, which was also one cob farm-house with the thatch +sliding off its roof, and this had been tenanted by Farmer Venhay, who +had not shot himself but had drowned his bankrupt body in the Yeo. It +was a pretty neighbourhood in summer, for the foxgloves were gorgeous, +so were the ferns, and the meadow-sweet, irises, ragged-robins and +orchids in the marshy fields; but it was sad somehow. It wanted +populating. There were too many ruins about, too many abandoned orchards +overrun with brambles, too many jagged walls of cob which represented a +name upon the map. Once upon a time the folk of Merry England had danced +and revelled there. Their few descendants took life tragically, and +sometimes put it off in the same way. There was no music for them to +dance to.</p> + +<p>The time passed quickly enough for Thomasine, too quickly because she +was frightened. She quite understood why she had become Mrs. Fuzzey's +assistant for the time being. She comprehended that it is the duty of +every girl to remain respectable, and in a vague way she had grasped the +code of morality as it is practised in certain places. It was necessary +for girls in her condition to go away and hide themselves, either at +home, if her parents would permit it, or if not in lodgings provided for +the purpose. She would never be seen, and would not have the doctor, +because it was not anything serious, generally measles, or a stubborn +cold. When everything was over she could appear again, and get strong +and well by taking outdoor exercise; and nobody ever knew what had +happened, unless the child, which was always born dead, had been +disposed of in a particularly clumsy fashion.</p> + +<p>As time went on Mrs. Fuzzey became irritable. She said Thomasine would +have to pay something extra if she was not quick about her business. Her +own affairs were by no means prospering, as she had not received any +applications to fill the position of general help when Thomasine had +vacated it. The truth of the matter was, as she explained bitterly, +girls in country districts were becoming enlightened and imbued with the +immoral spirit of the towns, which displayed articles of convenience in +the windows of shops professing to be hygienic and surgical drug stores. +These things had penetrated to the country, and a knowledge of them had +reached even the most out of the way districts. Every small chemist did +a large back-room business in such things, and many a girl was taking +the precaution of carrying one about in her handkerchief, or when going +to church between the leaves of her prayer-book. Mrs. Fuzzey had no +hesitation in denouncing the entire system as immoral, and one which +conduced towards the destruction of her business which she had built up +with so much care and secrecy. The lady had been finding her novelettes +dull reading lately. The love interest had not been nearly strong enough +for her taste, and she felt that her imagination could have supplied +many details that were wanting. In the meantime flowers were springing +in the garden, which was on low ground and entirely sheltered from every +wind; and one morning Mrs. Fuzzey came in to announce that the Grotto +would soon be beautiful, as the white arabis and purple aubrietia were +smothered with buds.</p> + +<p>Soon after that it happened with Thomasine after the manner of women, +and she gave birth to twins, both girls. Mrs. Fuzzey was kindness itself +while she attended the girl, but when the first had been followed by the +second she began to grumble and said she should require another +sovereign. She couldn't work for nothing, and she echoed Brightly's +frequently expressed complaint that trade was cruel dull. The infants +were removed, and then Thomasine gave birth to a third, a boy this time. +Mrs. Fuzzey became really angry, and wanted to know if this sort of +thing was likely to continue. She knew all about the legend current +around Chulmleigh, of the Countess of Devon who met a labourer carrying +a basketful of seven infants, which his wife had just given birth to, +down to the river that he might dispose of them like kittens, and she +thought it possible that Thomasine might be about to emulate that +woman's example. Mrs. Fuzzey was not prepared to deal with infants in +such quantity, and she stated she should require an additional five +pounds to cover extra work and risk.</p> + +<p>"Have ye purty nigh done?" she asked at length.</p> + +<p>"Ees," muttered Thomasine faintly.</p> + +<p>"About time, I reckon. Well, I'll step under and ha' a drop just to +quiet my nerves like."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Fuzzey had her drop, then attended to her professional duties, +which did not detain her long, had another drop, which kept her engaged +some time, and finally returned and asked the girl how she did.</p> + +<p>"Proper bad. I reckon I be dying," said Thomasine.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Fuzzey laughed her to scorn. "You'm as fresh as a trout. Come +through it fine, my dear. You can't say I bain't a tender woman," she +went on, the various "drops," and the knowledge that the unpleasant part +of her work was over, having rendered her amiable. "I know the trade, I +du, and I be so soft and gentle that you didn't feel hardly anything. +'Twas lucky for yew, my dear, they sent yew to me. Any old doctor might +ha' killed ye. I reckon I'm just about the handiest at the trade a +living, and cruel tender tu. Done a lot o' good in my time, I ha'. Saved +many a maid just like I've saved yew."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Fuzzey talked as if she regarded herself eminently qualified for +decorations and a pension.</p> + +<p>"'Tis a pity yew can't claim the bounty," she went on. "But there, it +bain't much, only a pound or two, though a little bit be a lot for poor +wimmin like yew and me, my dear. 'Twould help yew to pay me, for I can't +du all this extra work for nought, wi' times so bad, and maids not +coming reg'lar. I can't du it, my dear. Well, I reckon I'll go under and +ha' a drop."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Fuzzey lived on sloe-gin during such days, feeling she required it +to strengthen her nerve, or possibly to ease her abnormal conscience. +She finished the bottle before she appeared again.</p> + +<p>It remained as peaceful as ever about Ashland. Nobody passed that day, +or the day after; and the dark little lanes hidden away like caves were +full of mud and water as they always were at that season of the year.</p> + +<p>When Thomasine felt better she asked for the infants, and Mrs. Fuzzey, +who could not walk without lurching from side to side, cast up her eyes +and her hands, and wondered whatever the girl was talking about.</p> + +<p>"Having dree of 'em and thinking they'm alive, the purty little lambs. +They was proper booties, my dear. I could ha' kissed 'em I loved 'em so +cruel. I never did see babies I loved so much. I'd like to ha' nursed +the purty dears, given 'em baths, dressed 'em, made 'em look fine. But +what can ye du wi' dead babies, my dear, 'cept get 'em out o' the way?"</p> + +<p>"I heard 'em cry," said Thomasine.</p> + +<p>"Lord love ye, my dear, you'm that mazed yew could fancy anything. 'Twas +just the door creaking as I carried 'em out."</p> + +<p>"Where be 'em?" asked Thomasine.</p> + +<p>"Safe in the Grotto, my dear. There be a bit o' warm sunshine, and 'tis +butiful."</p> + +<p>"Was 'em all born dead?"</p> + +<p>"All dree," hiccupped Mrs. Fuzzey with the utmost cheerfulness. "'Tis a +good thing for yew. What would an unmarried girl du wi' dree babies?"</p> + +<p>Thomasine had not considered that point. She could not know that every +girl who had occupied that bed before her had asked much the same +questions, and had received exactly the same answers. She admitted that +it was a good thing, although she had to murmur: "I'd ha' liked to +cuddle 'em just once," which was a long speech for Thomasine.</p> + +<p>She was thankful her ordeal was over, though she wondered what Pendoggat +would say when he heard the children were dead. He had often told her +how he should love any child that was theirs. Still he could not refuse +to marry her now. She would have to get strong again as soon as she +could, because she knew he would be waiting for her.</p> + +<p>The next day Mrs. Fuzzey entered in excellent spirits and half-sober. +The sun was shining, she said, and the arabis and aubrietia were in +flower among the rocks, and "The Grotto be looking just butiful, my +dear."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV</h3> + +<h2>ABOUT BANKRUPTS</h2> + + +<p>Swaling-time had come, red patches of fire flickered every night on +Dartmoor, and the furze-prickles crackled in the flames. The annual war +between man and the prickly shrub was being waged, and the atmosphere +was always clouded and tainted with bitter smoke. Every one seemed to be +infected with the idea of furze destruction, from the granite-cracker +who as he went to his labours would push the match with which he had +just lighted his pipe into some thick brake, to the small boys who +begged or stole boxes of matches and went out after dark to make the +moor fiery. With those huge bonfires flaming it looked as if not a +particle of furze would survive; and yet when summer arrived there would +be apparently as much as ever; and not a bush would be killed; only +burnt to the ground, and the roots still living in the peat would soon +send forth green shoots.</p> + +<p>People who looked down into the hollow thought Helmen Barton a peaceful +place, but they were wrong; there was plenty of passion beneath the +surface, and at night often there was noise. It was dark down there; a +watcher on the top of the hill might have seen no light, though he could +hardly have failed to hear the noise, which was made by a drunken woman +railing at a silent man; at least the man appeared to be silent, as his +voice did not carry out of the hollow. Possibly he did nothing but +mumble.</p> + +<p>Annie was degenerating rapidly; cider satisfied her no longer; and she +went into the village to procure fiercer liquors. Pendoggat had become +more reserved, and there was craftiness in his every movement. He kept +his temper somehow and refused to answer the woman's taunts, which made +her scream louder. He could stand it; he was nearly ready to go; only +one little matter was detaining him, and when that was settled he could +let himself out in the night, walk down to Tavistock, and the first +train westward or eastward—he did not care which—would carry him away.</p> + +<p>Thomasine had left Mrs. Fuzzey's hospitable roof. Pendoggat had seen +her, and at once made the discovery that he loved her no longer. The +girl had changed so much; she seemed to have lost her blood, her +wonderful ripeness, her soft flesh, and her passion-provoking look. She +had become thin and quite unattractive. Pendoggat wondered how he could +ever have been so wildly in love with her, and he told her so, adding +that his conscience would not permit him to take her away with him, and +it would be nothing less than a grievous sin if he married her without +love. He admitted he had sinned occasionally in the past, and he did not +wish to add to the number of his transgressions. The wretched girl +implored him to make her a decent woman, as she called it, to keep his +promises, to remember all the oaths that he had sworn. People more than +suspected the truth; the Chegwiddens would not have her back and had +refused her a character; her father had greeted her with an austere +countenance, had opened his Bible and read for her benefit a damnatory +verse or two from the Revelations of St. John the Divine, and then had +shown her the way out, while her mother had locked the door behind her. +Her appearance suggested to them how she had been occupied during her +retirement. Measles wouldn't go down with them. She had left Ashland too +soon, but Mrs. Fuzzey would not keep her any longer. The old witch had +kissed and embraced her, had wheedled every penny of her wages out of +her, had declared that she loved her as she had never loved anybody else +in her life, and had then told her to get out. She had no place to go +to. She hung to Pendoggat, and implored him to remember what had passed +between them; but he naturally wanted to forget it. He told Thomasine +she was a sinful woman, and when she made a scene he lost his temper, +and reminded her that a girl could make a living on the streets of +Plymouth if she walked them long enough. Afterwards he had a feeling +that he had acted without charity, so he went to chapel and repented, +and was forgiven in the usual way. Still he decided he could have +nothing more to do with Thomasine. His conscience would not permit it.</p> + +<p>His thorn in the flesh was Annie, but he let her rave, thinking she +would be less dangerous while she barked. The little matter which +detained him at the Barton was a mercenary one. He could not leave the +furniture for strangers to seize or Annie to profit by. His beasts he +had sold already to two different persons, which was not a dishonest +act, but merely good business; it was for the two men to settle the +question of ownership when they came together. The furniture was not +worth much, but he could not leave the place without getting value for +it. So he sent for a dealer from Tavistock to come and make him an +offer, taking precautions to get Annie out of the way during the time of +his visit; but she heard of it, and instinct told her the truth again.</p> + +<p>One morning a letter came, Annie saw the name on the flap of the +envelope, and knew that it was from the dealer. Probably he had bought +what few chattels she possessed and had brought with her when she came +to live with Pendoggat. She was silent all the morning; it was a dark +day, there had been no sun for some time, and a spell of frost had set +in; it was black above and white below, a black unbroken sky and a white +sheet of frost. She shivered as she crept about the kitchen, listening +for the movements of the master. He did not speak to her; when she +passed he put his head lower than ever.</p> + +<p>Later in the day it became difficult to see on account of the smoke. +Swaling was going on all round, and there was a choking mist over the +Barton, even inside as if the house itself was smouldering. Pendoggat +could scarcely breathe. He had become horribly afraid of fire since +Peter made the mommet, which he had tried to purchase but had failed +because the little savage carried too many wits for him. He determined +to get away that night, obtaining what money he could from the mercenary +dealer as he went through Tavistock. The atmosphere was getting tainted +with things stronger than smoke. He had often wondered whether his +conscience would permit him to murder Annie, but he was beginning to +fear then she might attempt to murder him. He went out into the court +with a feeling that he was trying to escape from a burning building; and +Annie followed him without a sound. She saw him standing as if dazed, +peering into the smoke, clutching at his breast pocket where the capital +of the Nickel Mining Company was hidden in the form of notes. He did not +know which way to turn that he might escape from the multitude of little +clay dolls which seemed to him to be dancing upon the hills. Then he +remembered it was chapel evening. He could not go away until he had been +to Ebenezer to seek a blessing and absolution, to give Pezzack one more +grasp of the good right hand of fellowship, to remind the congregation +of the certainty of hell-fire. He did not see Annie until she came up +softly and touched him.</p> + +<p>"Where be ye going?" she said in a smooth manner, which suggested that +she still loved him.</p> + +<p>"Nowhere," he muttered, wishing the smoke would clear away and make an +opening for his escape.</p> + +<p>"That be a long way," she said, with pleasant humour. "'Tis where I've +been going the last twenty years. Reckon I be purty nigh there."</p> + +<p>He made no reply, only moved away, but she followed, saying: "How about +that letter yew had this morning?"</p> + +<p>"'Tis my business," he said.</p> + +<p>"Yew never did nought that warn't your business. You'm selling up the +home. That's what I ses. You'm going away. Who be going wi' ye?"</p> + +<p>"Nobody," he muttered.</p> + +<p>"Hark to 'en," said Annie in the same smooth voice. "He'm going nowhere +wi' nobody. I knows some one who be going wi' yew."</p> + +<p>"You're a liar."</p> + +<p>"Times I be. I've played a lie for twenty years, and mebbe it comes +nat'ral. I reckon I be telling the truth now. When you start some one +will be behind yew, and her wun't be dumb neither. Yew took me twenty +years ago, and you'm going to tak' me now."</p> + +<p>"I'm not going away," he said hoarsely. He was afraid of the woman while +she was soft and gentle. He had been so crafty and done nothing to +arouse her suspicions; at least he thought so; but he was acquainted +only with the bodily parts of women, not with their instincts and their +minds.</p> + +<p>"If one of us be a liar it bain't me," said Annie. "What be yew leaving +me? When a woman gets past forty her don't want clothes. Her can cover +herself wi' her grey hairs, and her don't want a roof over her and food. +Only young maids want such. Be I a liar, man?"</p> + +<p>"Get back into your kitchen," he muttered, still moving away, but she +steadily followed.</p> + +<p>"I've been in the kitchen twenty years, and I reckon I want a change," +she answered. "A wife bides in the kitchen 'cause her's willing, and a +servant 'cause her has to, but I bain't a wife and I bain't a servant, +though volks think I be the one, and yew think I be the other. Be ye +going, man? I've got a pair o' boots, a bit worn, but they'll du. Reckon +I'll get 'em on."</p> + +<p>"Get inside and keep your mouth shut," he said roughly.</p> + +<p>"I bain't going under. Dartmoor be a free place, and my tongue be my own +yet. Hit me, man. Pick up thikky stick and hit me wi' 'en. It wun't be +the first time you've hit some one weaker than yourself."</p> + +<p>Pendoggat was losing his temper and seeing red flames in the smoke, +though they were not there. If she continued in that soft voice he would +strike her, perhaps too hard, and silence her for ever. It was a pity he +had not done so before, only his conscience, or fear of the law, had +kept him from it. Now she was at his side, pulling at his arm, quite +gently, for she was sober and in full possession of her senses, and she +was pointing to a side of the Barton where the brake of furze stood, not +black, but shrouded in smoke and starched with frost, and she was saying +in an amiable voice: "You'm a vule, man. A woman bain't so easy beat. I +ses you'm a vule, man, as every man be a vule who gives a woman power +over 'en. I bain't a going to follow yew. I can get men to du it vor me. +You'm a murderer, man," she said in a caressing way.</p> + +<p>Pendoggat shrank away, not so much from her, as from her horrible words. +She had insulted him before, but never like that. It was true he had +committed indiscretions in the past, sins even, but he had always gone +to chapel with the big Bible under his arm, and he had always repented +in bitterness of spirit, and he had always been forgiven. It was time +indeed for him to break away from such a woman. He could not listen to +such vile language. A little more of it, and his conscience would permit +him to silence her. He began to walk towards the gate of the court, but +she was holding on to him and saying: "You'm in a cruel hurry, man, and +it bain't chapel time. Twenty years us ha' lived together as man and +wife, and now you'm in a hurry to go. Chegwidden's maid can bide 'cause +yew don't want she. I can bide 'cause I knows yew wun't get far avore +they fetch ye back to hear what I got to say about ye. Tak' thikky +stick," she said, picking it up from the lifting-stock and pushing it +into his hand. "Mebbe 'twill be a help to ye, mak' yew walk a bit +faster, and yew can keep policeman off wi' 'en."</p> + +<p>He grasped the stick, clenched his teeth, and struck her on the head, +across the ear; the first actual blow he had ever given her, and he was +only sorry that the stick was so light and small. She screamed once, not +so much in anger, as with pain. Her head went dizzy and her ear became +red-hot. After the scream she said nothing, but steadying herself went +back to the house, into the kitchen, and took down a bottle from the top +shelf; while he walked on mumbling towards the gate. The vile creature +deserved it because she had called him a murderer. It was not only +wicked of her but foolish, because she had no evidence against him, +beyond what was hidden in the furze; and those remains would incriminate +herself more strongly than him. She never attended to her religious +duties, while he was the light and foundation stone of Ebenezer, and +nobody could accept her word against his. Still it would be advisable, +if possible, to remove every trace of her guilt from that thick brake of +furze. To abandon her would be a sufficient punishment. He did not want +to get her into more trouble.</p> + +<p>Out of the smoke two figures advanced towards the Barton gate; a short +round man and a tall lean one. Pendoggat hesitated, and would have +turned back, for they were strangers, and he could not know what they +wanted him for, but he had been seen, one of the men called him by name, +and he could not find a way to escape. He went to them, and the stout +man became the retired grocer, uncle of Pezzack, chairman of the Nickel +Mining Company, while the other was his friend and a principal +shareholder. Neither showed friendliness and both were agitated. They +were running after their savings and didn't know where to find them. The +grocer would not shake hands, but stood struggling to find words. His +had not been a liberal education, and had not included lessons in +elocution.</p> + +<p>"It's what I call a dirty business," he shouted, then gasped and panted +with rage and fast walking, and repeated the expression, adding +blasphemy; while the lean man panted also, and stated that he too called +the scheme a dirty business, and added that he had come for satisfaction +and a full explanation.</p> + +<p>Pendoggat was himself again when confronted by these two wise men of +Bromley who had been meddling in matters which they didn't understand. +The entire company of shareholders would not have terrified him because +the nickel mine was Pezzack's affair, not his. People seemed to be in +the mood for accusing him of sins which had long ago ceased to weigh +upon his conscience. He remarked that he was at a loss to understand why +the gentlemen had brought their complaints to him.</p> + +<p>"What about that dirty mine?" shouted the grocer, although he did not +use the adjective dirty, but something less clean. "What about the +nickel that you said was going to make our fortunes?"</p> + +<p>"The minister tells me it is there. He's waiting for fine weather to +start," said Pendoggat.</p> + +<p>"The minister says he knows nothing about it. You put him up to the +scheme," said the lean man.</p> + +<p>Pendoggat shook his head and looked stupid. He did not seem able to +understand that.</p> + +<p>"You've got the money. Every penny of it, and we've come to make you +fork out," spluttered the grocer.</p> + +<p>Pendoggat could not understand that either.</p> + +<p>"I've been writing every week, and hearing nothing, except always going +to begin and never beginning," went on the fat grocer. "I've been +worrying till I couldn't sleep, and till there ain't hardly an ounce o' +flesh on my bones. I couldn't stand it no longer, and I says to my +friend here, I'm a going down to see what their little game is, and my +friend said he was coming too, and it's just about time we did come from +what my nephew Eli tells me. Says you found this here mine and put him +up to getting money to work it. Says he's given the money to you. Says +you've been like a madman, and pulled him up here one night, and pretty +near punched his blooming head off."</p> + +<p>Pendoggat made up his mind that the grocer was an untruthful and a +vulgar person. All that he said was: "I hope the minister hasn't been +telling you that."</p> + +<p>"Are you going to deny it?" cried the lean man.</p> + +<p>"I don't understand you, gentlemen," said Pendoggat. "I'll take you down +to the mine if you like. I don't know if nickel is to be found there. +The minister says there's plenty, and I believed him."</p> + +<p>The grocer was whirling round and round after the manner of a dancing +dervish and huzzing like a monstrous bee. He felt that he was losing his +savings, and that sort of knowledge makes a man dance. "What do he know +about nickel? He's a minister of the Gospel, not a dirty miner," he +howled.</p> + +<p>"Are you telling us the minister hasn't given you the money?" demanded +the other man, who made his living by buying cheap vegetables and +turning them out as high-class jam.</p> + +<p>"Pezzack never told you that, gentlemen. He's treated me fair enough, +and paid my wages regular as working manager, and I'm not going to think +he's put that tale on you," Pendoggat answered.</p> + +<p>"He did," shouted the grocer, but in a less fiery manner, because he was +impressed by the simple countryman. "He told us he'd given you every +penny."</p> + +<p>"I'll not believe it of him, not till he stands before me, and I hear +him say it."</p> + +<p>"If you ain't got the blooming oof, who has?" cried the vulgar little +chairman.</p> + +<p>"Judge for yourself," Pendoggat answered. "Here am I, a poor man, +scratching a bit of moor for my living, and pressed so hard that I've +just had to sell my beasts, and now I'm selling most of my furniture to +meet a debt. I've a letter in my pocket making me an offer, and you can +see it if you like. There's the minister living comfortable, and +married, gentlemen, married since this business started and since the +money came."</p> + +<p>"I always wondered what he had to marry on," the grocer muttered.</p> + +<p>"Go and ask him. Tell him I'll meet him face to face and answer him word +for word. I know nothing about mining. If you put a bit of nickel and a +bit of tin before me I couldn't tell one from the other. Stay a bit and +I'll come with you. It's near chapel time," said Pendoggat, righteous in +his indignation. "I'll meet him in the chapel and answer him there."</p> + +<p>"What about that sample you gave me when I came down before? Knocked it +off the wall, you did, before me, and that was nickel, for I had it +analysed, and paid the chap five bob for doing it."</p> + +<p>Pendoggat looked confused and did not have an answer ready. He kicked +his boot against the gatepost, and turned away, shaking his head.</p> + +<p>"Got him there," muttered the jam-maker.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll tell you," said Pendoggat roughly. "I wouldn't have said a +word if the minister had played fair, but if it's true he's gone against +me to save himself I'll tell you. He gave me that bit of stuff and told +me what I was to do with it. I didn't know what it was, and I don't know +now. I did what I was told to do, and got an extra ten shillings for +doing it."</p> + +<p>The grocer and his friend looked at one another, and the uncle muttered +something about the nephew which Eli would have wept to hear. Some one +had uttered particularly gross lies to him, and he had an idea Pendoggat +was telling the truth. The grocer and jam-maker were men easily deceived +by a smooth manner; and Pendoggat's story had impressed them far more +than Pezzack's, just because the countryman had a straightforward +confession, while the minister rambled and spoke foolishly.</p> + +<p>"Gave him ten bob for doing it," whispered the jam-maker, nudging the +grocer.</p> + +<p>"I'm ready to come with you, gentlemen," said Pendoggat.</p> + +<p>It was nearly dark, and by the time they reached the village the chapel +doors would be open. Pendoggat knew he must get away that night because +he was afraid of Annie. He had struck her at last, and she had been at +the liquor ever since. He could hear her screaming in the house; she +might get hold of his gun and blaze at him during the night. It was +going to be clear and frosty, a good night for a long walk, and the +notes were packed away in his pocket. There was only one duty +remaining—the unmasking of Pezzack, who apparently had been trying to +blacken his character. Annie would quiet down when she found herself +alone. She would not follow him, or give information against him; and if +she did the one thing he could outwit her, and if she did the other it +would go hard with her. "I'll come with you, gentlemen," he repeated. +"The soul that sinneth it shall die. That's a true saying, and it comes +from the true word."</p> + +<p>"What about my blooming money, though?" muttered the grocer; while his +friend was wondering whether an extra halfpenny on jam would recoup him +for his losses.</p> + +<p>They met no one as they crossed the smoky stretch of moor. It was going +to be a hard night, and already the peat felt as unyielding as granite. +The grocer slapped his arms across his unwieldy chest, and said it was +"a bit parky" in his vulgar way, and longed for his snug jerry-built +villa; while his friend agreed that Dartmoor was a place of horror and +great darkness, and wished himself back in his gas-scented factory +superintending the transformation of carrots into marmalade. They walked +in single file along a narrow pony track, Pendoggat leading with his +eyes upon his boots.</p> + +<p>Pezzack was in the chapel when the little party arrived. He was whiter +than ever, not altogether with cold, though Ebenezer was like a damp +cave by the sea, but with nervousness, with fear of his rotund uncle and +dread of the mysterious Pendoggat. He did not know even then whether +Pendoggat was his friend or his enemy. He could not explain the fit of +madness which had come upon the man that night they had left the chapel +together, and had made him use his wretched self so shamefully; but then +he could explain nothing, not even a simple text of Scripture. He could +only bleat and flounder, and tumble about hurting himself; but he was +still a happy man, he told himself. Partner Pendoggat was a rough +creature, almost a brute sometimes, but he would not desert him when the +pinch came.</p> + +<p>The visitors did not approve of Ebenezer, and expressed themselves to +that effect in disdainful whispers. It was altogether unlike the +comfortable tabernacle where the grocer thanked God he was not like +other men; and as for the jam-maker he was of the Anglican brood, a +sidesman of his church, a distributer of hymn-books, a collector of +alms, and all the ways of Nonconformity he utterly abhorred. He settled +himself in an Established Church attitude, in a corner with his head +lolling against the wall and his legs stretched out; while the grocer +adopted the devotional pose of Wesleyanism, sitting upright with his +hands folded across his watch-chain and his chin upon his chest.</p> + +<p>"Brother Pendoggat will lead in prayer," said Eli nervously.</p> + +<p>The grocer admitted afterwards that the prayer had been strong, and had +overlooked few of those weaknesses to which the flesh occasionally +succumbs. He especially admired the phrase alluding to honest and +respectable tradesmen who after leading a life of integrity in business +were able to retire with a blessing upon their labours and devote the +remainder of their lives to good works. He was surprised to find a +countryman with such a keen insight into human character. Pendoggat +prayed also for pastors and teachers, and especially for those shepherds +who led members of their flock astray; while Pezzack grew whiter, and +the grocer went on nodding his head like a ridiculous automaton. The +jam-maker had wrapped himself up in his greatcoat and gone to sleep, so +that he should not be defiled by listening to false doctrine. He was a +prosperous man and the handful of sovereigns he had lost in "Wheal +Pezzack" did not trouble him much. A few florid advertisements would +bring them back again.</p> + +<p>The service came to an end, and Pendoggat rose to address the meeting. +He asked the people to remain in their places for a few moments, and he +turned to Eli, who was still at the reading-desk, and said, with his +eyes upon the walls which were sweating moisture—</p> + +<p>"You called a meeting here last summer, minister. You said you had found +nickel on Dartmoor, and you wanted to start a company to work it."</p> + +<p>"No, no," cried Eli, beginning to flap his big hands as if he was +learning to fly. He had expected something was going to happen, but not +this. "That is not true, Mr. Pendoggat."</p> + +<p>"Let him talk," muttered the grocer. "Your time's coming."</p> + +<p>"I say you called a meeting, and I came to it," Pendoggat went on. +"There are folks here to-night who came to that meeting, and they will +remember what happened. You sent round a sample of nickel, and then I +got up and said there was no money in the scheme, and I said I would +have nothing to do with it, and I told the others they would be fools if +they invested anything in it. I ask any one here to get up and say +whether that is true or not."</p> + +<p>"It was your mine, Mr. Pendoggat. It was your scheme. Oh, Mr. Pendoggat, +'ow can you talk like this, and uncle listening?" cried the miserable +Eli.</p> + +<p>Up got the old farmer, who had been present at the meeting, and said in +his rambling way that Pendoggat had spoken nothing but the truth; and he +added, for the benefit of the visitors, what his uncle, who had been a +miner in the old days, had told him concerning the various wheals, and +the water in them, and the difficulty of working them on account of that +water. And when he had repeated his remarks, so that there might be no +misunderstanding, the grocer sent his elbow into the jam-maker's ribs, +and whispered in his deplorable phraseology that his nephew had been up +to a blooming lot o' dirty tricks and no error; while the jam-maker +awoke, with a curt remark about the increasing protuberance of his +wife's bones, and found himself in cold lamp-lighted Ebenezer, looking +at Eli's countenance which was beginning to exude moisture like the +stones of the walls.</p> + +<p>"Friends, uncle, and Mr. Pendoggat—" stammered the poor minister, +trying to be oratorical; but the grocer only muttered: "Stow your gab +and let the man talk."</p> + +<p>"After the meeting we stopped behind, and you told me you were going to +run the mine, and you asked me in this place if I would be your +manager," Pendoggat went on. "I said I would if there wasn't any risk, +and then you told me you could get the money from friends, from your +uncle in Bromley—"</p> + +<p>Eli cut him off with wailings. It was his peculiarity to be unable to +speak with coherence when he was excited. He could only gasp and +stammer: "It's not true. It's the other way about. I never 'ad nothing +to do with it. You are telling 'orrid, shameful lies, Mr. Pendoggat;" +but the grocer muttered audibly: "A dirty rascal," while the jam-maker +muttered something about penal servitude which made him smile.</p> + +<p>"You told me you had an uncle retired from business," said Pendoggat. "A +simple old chap you called him, an old fool who would believe anything."</p> + +<p>The grocer began to splutter like a squib, while his companion laughed +beneath his hand, pleased to hear his friend's weaknesses clearly +indicated; and Eli, losing all self-control, came tumbling from the desk +and sprawled at his relation's feet, sobbing like the weak fool he was, +and saying: "Oh, Mr. Pendoggat, 'ow can you talk so shameful? Oh, uncle, +I never did."</p> + +<p>The people behind were standing up and pressing forward, shocked to +discover that their minister had been standing on such feet of clay. +Pendoggat looked at his watch and smiled. He had judged Pezzack +accurately; the weak fool was in his hands. The grocer, scarlet to the +tip of his nose, caught his nephew by the neck, shook him, and, +forgetting everything but his own losses desecrated the chapel by his +mercenary shouts: "Where's my money, you rascal? Give me back my money, +every penny of it, or I'll turn you out of house and home, and make a +beggar of you."</p> + +<p>"I 'aven't got it, uncle. I never 'ad a penny of it. I 'anded it over as +fast as it come to Mr. Pendoggat, and he 'ave got it now."</p> + +<p>This was literally true, as the money was in Pendoggat's pocket, but the +grocer had formed his own impressions and these were entirely +unfavourable to Eli. He went on shaking his nephew, while the jam-maker +in moving his foot kicked the bankrupt, and found the operation so +soothing to his nerves that he repeated the act with intention.</p> + +<p>"I ain't got none o' the money. I gave it 'im, and he's been keeping +wife and me. I thought he was my friend. He've a shook me by the 'and +many a time, and we've been like brothers. I didn't never call you a +simple old chap, uncle. I love you and respect you. I've always tried to +do my duty, and my wife's expecting, uncle."</p> + +<p>"You married on my money. Don't tell me you didn't. 'Twas a trick of +yours to get married. If you don't pay it back, I'll turn you out, you +and your wife, into the street. I'll get a bit of my own back that way, +sure as I'm a Christian."</p> + +<p>"Ask Jeconiah," sobbed Eli. "I've 'ad no secrets from her. She'll tell +you I 'aven't touched a penny of your money 'cept what Mr. Pendoggat +gave us."</p> + +<p>The jam-maker kicked again, finding a softer spot, and muttered +something about one being as bad as the other, and that if he couldn't +find a more likely story he had better keep his mouth shut.</p> + +<p>Pendoggat stepped forward, took the wretched man by the shoulders, +making him shudder, and asked reproachfully: "Why did you tell these +gentlemen I have the money?"</p> + +<p>"God 'elp you, Mr. Pendoggat," moaned Eli. "You have used me for your +own ends, and now you turn against me. I don't understand it. 'Tis +cruelty that passes understanding. I will just wait and 'ope. If I am +not cleared now I shall be some day, I shall be when we stand together +before the judgment seat of God. There will be no money there, Mr. +Pendoggat, nothing that corrupteth or maketh a lie, only justice and +mercy, and I won't be the one to suffer then."</p> + +<p>Had the grocer been less angry he must have been impressed by his +nephew's earnestness. As it was he pushed him aside and said—</p> + +<p>"I'll get my own back. Pay us our money, or you go to prison. I'll give +you till to-morrow, and if I don't have it before evening I'll get a +warrant out."</p> + +<p>"Oh, 'elp me, Mr. Pendoggat. 'Elp me in the name of friendship, for my +poor wife's sake," sobbed Eli.</p> + +<p>"I'll forgive you," Pendoggat muttered. "I don't bear you any +ill-feeling. Here's my hand on it."</p> + +<p>But Eli wanted no more grasps of good fellowship. He buried his big +hands between his knees, and put his simple head down, and wept like a +child.</p> + +<p>The chapel emptied slowly, and the people stood about the road talking +of the great scandal. Some thought the minister innocent, but the +majority inclined towards his guilt. All agreed that it would be +advisable, for the sake of the chapel's reputation, to ask him to accept +another pulpit, which was a polite euphemism for telling him to go to +the dogs. They did not like Pendoggat, but they believed he had spoken +the truth when they remembered how strongly he had opposed the minister +when the scheme of the nickel mine was first suggested. The grocer and +jam-maker drove away in a rage and a small cart, to put up for the night +in Tavistock; and Pendoggat walked away by himself towards the +swaling-fires. His time had come. He had only to put a few things +together, and then depart through the frosty night to find a new home. +But before going he thought it best to make himself absolutely safe by +burning the brake of furze, and burying in some secret spot upon the +moor what had been hidden there.</p> + +<p>Before morning Pezzack had fled from his uncle's anger. Always a weak +man, he could not face the strong; and so he set the seal of guilt upon +himself by flight. He was going to work his way out to Canada, and when +he succeeded there, if he did, he would send for his wife. They could +think of no better plan. His wife went back to her parents, to become +their drudge as before, with the burden of a child to nurse added to her +lot. It was a dreary ending to their romance; there was no "happy ever +after" for them; but then they were both poor things, and the light of +imagination had never shone across their paths.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV</h3> + +<h2>ABOUT SWALING-FIRES</h2> + + +<p>Peter sat by his hearthstone and repeated with the monotony of a tolling +bell—</p> + +<p>"There be a lot o' volks in the world, and some be vulish, and some be +artful, but me, Peter, be artful."</p> + +<p>This was numbered one-hundred-and-seventy, and it was the latest gem +from his book of aphorisms; artful meaning in that connection clever, +the author having a tendency to use irregular forms of speech. Peter +read the thought aloud until most people would have found him tedious; +he recited it to every one; he had carried it to Master, and made the +old man commit it to memory. Master finally inscribed it, number and +all, in his presentation copy of Shakespeare, thinking the sentiment +well worthy of being incorporated with the work of the poet, and +declared that Peter's literary fame was assured. He added the +information that his old pupil was beyond question a philosopher, and +Peter agreed, then asked Master for his dictionary. It was an old book, +however, and the word was not given, at least not in its proper place, +under the letter F; so Peter failed at that time to discover his precise +position in the intellectual world.</p> + +<p>The diary was certainly advancing, as Peter was already in his second +pennyworth of paper, and his bottle of ink was on the ebb. Thoughts had +been coming so freely of late that interesting details of the daily life +were crowded out. He omitted such confidential details as Mary was +dunging the potato-patch, or he had just mended his trousers; he filled +his pages instead with ingenious reflections which he supposed, and not +without some justification, had possibly not occurred to the minds of +thinkers in the past. He neglected biography for philosophy, and the +fluency with which such aphorisms as "'Tis better to be happy than good" +came from his pen, merely confirmed his earlier impression that the +manufacture of literary works was child's play. He would not have +allowed that he had been assisted by collaboration, even if the meaning +of the word had been explained to him; although most of the sentiments +which adorned, or rather which blotted, his pages were distorted +versions of remarks which had fallen from the lips of Boodles. His work +was entirely original in one respect; the style of spelling was unique.</p> + +<p>Boodles did not know that she had developed into an inspiration, and the +poor child was certainly far too miserable to care. She came to Ger +Cottage every evening in the dimsies, stopped the night with Mary, and +went home in the morning. She followed Mary like a dog, knowing that the +strong creature would protect her. Her mind would have gone entirely had +she stayed at Lewside during those endless winter evenings and the long +nights. She owed her life, or at least her reason, to Mary. There was a +good heart under that strong creature's rough hide, a heart as soft and +tender as Boodles who clung to her. At first the child had refused to +leave Lewside Cottage, but when she screamed, "The shadows are getting +awful, Mary; they seem to bite me," the stalwart savage picked her up +like a baby, finding her much too light, and stalked over the moor deaf +to protest. She made up a little bed for Boodles in the corner of her +hut, and every night there was the strange sight of Mary bringing the +little girl a glass of hot milk to drink before going to sleep, and +singing quaint old ballads to her when she couldn't. Mary had got into +the way of asking Boodles for a kiss every night; she said it did her +good, and no doubt she spoke the truth. It seemed to give her something +she had missed.</p> + +<p>"But I am ugly now, Mary," said Boodles, in response to her nurse's +oft-repeated "purty dear."</p> + +<p>"That yew bain't," came the decided answer. "You'm butiful. I never saw +ye look nothing like so butiful as yew be now."</p> + +<p>"I feel hideous anyhow," said the child. "I don't believe I can look +pretty when I feel ugly."</p> + +<p>Peter overheard that, put his head on one side in philosophic +contemplation, and presently took his pen and wrote: "Bootiful maids +what feels ugly still be bootiful. It be contrairy like, but it be +true;" and the number of that thought was one-hundred-and-seventy-one.</p> + +<p>Mary was not far wrong, for Boodles was quite as attractive as ever. She +was more womanly, and had put pathos on her face with the little lines +and shadows which impelled love for very pity. Her eyes seemed to have +become larger, and her pale frightened face, under the radiant hair +which had not changed, was fascinating with its restless changes. There +was one thing left to her, and she called it everything. Each week the +cold weather went away for a few hours, and warm June came round with a +burst of flowers and sunshine, and her heart woke up and sang to her; +for Aubrey had not forgotten. He wrote to her, though she kept her +promise and did not write to him. Every week the question came: "Why +don't you write?" and sometimes she thought the letters were getting +colder, and then the stage sunshine was turned off and real thunder +rolled. He had written to his parents, but they had told him nothing. +They didn't even refer to her in their letters. It seemed to him as if +she was dead, and he was getting miserable. But she would not break her +promise and write; and if consent had been given she could not tell him +the truth, send him out of her life for ever, and end those wonderful +mornings when the postman came.</p> + +<p>Aubrey loved her still, that gave her everything, and while his love +lasted she was still on the green oasis, and could shut her eyes to the +desert, scarred with the bodies of those who had tried to cross it and +had fallen in the attempt, the bare desert of life without any sweet +water of love, which she would have to try and cross without a guide +when he came back and she had told him plainly what she was. She thought +it would kill her, for love cannot be removed without altering the +entire universe; for with love the sun goes, and the flowers go, and all +the pleasant nooks; and there is nothing left but the rocks, the moaning +of the sea, the fierce and ugly things, and faces that scowl but never +smile. The only perfect happiness is the birth of love; the only +absolute misery is the death of it; and it is such a tender growth that +one careless word may chill it into death.</p> + +<p>The three were sitting together in the lamplight, and Peter was giving +oral evidence of his inspiration, when there came a knock upon the door, +a thing almost without precedent after dark. Boodles shivered because +she hated sudden knocks which suggested unpleasant visitors and horrors, +while Mary turned from her work and went to the door. Annie was standing +there, or staggering rather, a black shawl round her head, her face +ghastly.</p> + +<p>"Please to come in," said Mary.</p> + +<p>Annie lurched in, and gazed about her wildly. She was sober enough to +know what she had come for. She stared at them, then upon the +hearthstone where the ceremonial of witchcraft was still being observed; +while Peter babbled of great thoughts like a running brook. The door was +open, and some of the smoke of the swaling-fires entered, and they could +hear the crackling of distant flames.</p> + +<p>"I reckon yew can tak' 'en off," said Annie hoarsely, pointing to the +hearthstone. "He've done his work. All Dartmoor be in flames, and the +Barton be in flame tu, I reckon. I flung the lamp into the kitchen and +set a match to 'en. Coming wi' me, Mary Tavy? Best come wi' me and see +the end on't."</p> + +<p>"What would I want to come wi' yew for, woman?" said Mary.</p> + +<p>"Where be the old goose yew was so fond of?"</p> + +<p>"My Old Sal. He be gone. Mebbe he got stugged, and some old fox come +along and took 'en," said Mary.</p> + +<p>"Stugged was he? I saw 'en stugged," Annie shouted. "Came across Barton +court, he did, and the man took 'en, and twisted the neck of 'en, and +flung 'en in the vuzz. 'He be Mary's Old Sal,' I ses, but he only +swore."</p> + +<p>Mary spat upon her hands.</p> + +<p>"He picked up a stick, and hit me on the ear, me, a free woman. I ses to +'en avore, 'If yew lifts your arm at me, Mary knows.'"</p> + +<p>"I be coming," said Mary.</p> + +<p>"Me tu," said Peter.</p> + +<p>There was much for Mary to avenge. Pendoggat had beaten her brother, had +terrified Boodles, to say nothing of his attempt to rob her, and now +Mary knew he had killed the old goose. She had never ceased to mourn for +Old Sal; and Pendoggat had destroyed the leader of her flock out of +sheer malice and cruelty. The spirit of the lawless Gubbings entered +into Mary as she picked up her staff and made for the door, while Peter +shambled after her, a philosopher no longer, but a savage like herself.</p> + +<p>But Boodles was crying: "Don't leave me, Mary. The shadows will get big +and thick and take hold of me."</p> + +<p>"Aw, don't ye be soft, maid," cried Annie.</p> + +<p>"Bide here, my dear. Us will lock ye in, and no one shan't touch ye," +said Mary.</p> + +<p>"He may come this way. I can't stay here, with the light of these fires +upon the window. I shall scream all the time."</p> + +<p>"Come along wi' us," said Mary. "Come between Peter and me, my dear. +Lord love ye, I'd break the head of any one what touched ye."</p> + +<p>Peter left the hut-circles last, securing both doors, and dropping the +keys in his baggy pocket. Then they set forth, the smoke over them, the +fires on each side, and the white frost like snow upon the ground.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Pendoggat gave a sigh of relief as he descended into the hollow of the +Barton and saw nobody, and heard nothing except the crackling of the +flames and the furze screaming as the fire rushed through it; for the +furze screams when it is burnt like a creature in torment. There was a +smell of fire about the house and the heavy stink of paraffin; and in +the kitchen he saw the broken lamp, but the fire had gone out; it could +not feed upon damp stones. Pendoggat smiled when he saw the kitchen. So +Annie was drunk again, which was what he had hoped for, as she was less +dangerous in that condition; she could only scream and tumble about, +hurting nobody but herself. She would not be able to follow him, and if +she picked up his gun she would be more likely to kill herself than him. +Probably she was lying in the linhay, or on her bed, hardly conscious, +groaning herself to sleep. Everything was in his favour; the whole night +was before him, and he had only to finish his work there, then escape +through the warm scented smoke. He was feeling sorry for the minister, +but the ordeal which Eli had just undergone might prove a blessing, +strengthen his character, make a man of him. Annie was not in the house. +Perhaps she had gone down to the Tavy to drown herself. Pendoggat shook +his head as that idea occurred to him. There could be no hope in the +future state for a suicide. Still it was better she should drown herself +than obstruct him; and after all she was getting on in years, she would +soon be homeless, and would naturally shrink from the workhouse. +Pendoggat was not going to judge her harshly, as that would not be +right, and she had looked after him well at one time. If she had not +been so foolish as to grow elderly, and have grey hairs, he might have +remained constant to her.</p> + +<p>He had destroyed everything in his secret drawer already, so he had only +to collect a few things, burn the furze and tidy up there. He fastened +up his things into a bundle before remembering that Annie had a bag +which was not likely to be of much use to her, so he went and fetched it +and packed his things in that. He brought the bag into the court, went +to the linhay for a spade, carried it to the edge of the furze, then +discovered he had no matches. He went back towards the house, but as he +crossed the court a figure came out of the smoke and laughed at him, the +figure of a white-faced woman who seemed pleased to see him; and behind +her towered another figure, tall and gaunt, the sort of figure which +might have made those weird footprints in the snow; and as the smoke +drifted upward there were two others in the background, a little girl +wrapped up in a big coat, and gnome-like Peter with big beard and +turned-up nose like an old man of the moor.</p> + +<p>Annie said nothing, but only laughed, as a woman will when she feels +satisfied. She staggered to one side, and Mary came forward. There was +no laughter on her wooden face, and no drunken stupor over her body. She +dropped the big stick and it clattered upon the stones of the court. The +swaling-fires were all round, and they gave light enough, a weird kind +of light which tinted the smoke and made the walls of the Barton red.</p> + +<p>"Aw, man," cried Mary. "You killed my Old Sal, and I be come to pay ye +vor't."</p> + +<p>Pendoggat went white when he heard that. He could not stand before the +wiry creature who seemed to represent no sex, but the cruel principle of +natural strength. The trap had snapped upon him and he felt its iron +teeth. He had caught others and enjoyed watching their struggles, and +now he was caught himself and others were enjoying his struggles. A few +yards cut him off from the moor, but there was no way out except by the +gate of the court, and Mary was before him. He wondered if Brightly had +felt like that when he was running for his liberty with the hand of +every man against him.</p> + +<p>"I never knew the old bird was yours," he muttered; and added: "I'll pay +you for him;" but Annie watched him, saw his face, and laughed louder.</p> + +<p>Mary made an ungainly movement, a sort of lurch as if to collect her +strength, then she caught him by the neck. He struggled free and she had +him round the body, twisting him like a willow-stick; a big hand came +upon his throat and he felt as if water was rushing over his head. He +could hear Annie's mad laughter and her jeering voice: "You'm a strong +man, they ses. Why don't ye get away? She'm only a woman. Why don't ye +throw her off, man?" He began to fight at that, struggling and hitting +wildly, but Mary had a certain science as well as strength. She knew an +animal's weak points. She struck at them with a fist like a lump of +granite, and when he retaliated by hitting her on the face her savage +blood seemed to rise before her eyes, and she drove him about the court +until his face was bloody. Boodles turned away then, and went to the +side of the house between the wall and the brake of furze, half-sick, +trying not to give way. She had never felt so horribly alone. Mary, her +friend and protector, was a wild beast of the moor, the savage principle +of the cruel Nature which was crushing her. The red light of the fire +fell upon her radiant head, which resembled it, as if she had been +intended to punish Pendoggat, and not Mary, because her head was like +fire just as his nature was like furze. All the time she could hear +Annie's furious laughter and her mocking voice: "Why don't ye stand up +to she, man? Tak' your stick and hit she on the head till she'm mazed. +Hit she on the ear, man, same as you hit me. Yew twisted the old +goosie's neck easy enough. Why don't ye du the like to she?"</p> + +<p>"Aw, man, I reckon I've paid ye," gasped Mary.</p> + +<p>"Two or dree more vor I," shouted little Peter, jumping about the court +in riotous joy.</p> + +<p>Mary was satisfied. She flung the man aside, still holding him by the +collar of the coat, which was an old one, as he was too miserly to buy a +better. The fabric parted at the seam, and as he fell the coat came +asunder and half remained in Mary's hand, the sleeve rending off with +the violence of her strength. It was the part containing the pocket +which was bulging, and when Mary threw it away Annie snatched it up and +tore out the contents, a letter or two, some papers, and the precious +roll of notes, which Pendoggat had played for with all his cunning, had +ruined the minister for, and finally had won; only Annie was too dazed +and mad to know what she was holding. She staggered to the furze, +holding the packet above her head, and flung it as far as she could; and +it fell in the centre and settled down there invisible among the frosted +prickles.</p> + +<p>Pendoggat watched as he stood half-dazed against the well, wiping the +blood from his face, and again thanked his stars which remained +propitious. His soul had been thrown into the furze, but he could regain +it. Annie's madness had saved him. Had she been more sane and sober she +might have discovered what it was she had taken. Nobody knew he had the +money even then. His punishment was over. He deserved it for being +perhaps unnecessarily hard upon the minister; and now he was not only a +free man, but the sin had been wiped away, because he had been punished +for it and had suffered for it. The disgrace was nothing, as he would +never be seen there again. He edged away towards the furze, and no one +stood in his way. He caught up the spade, which he had placed there, and +began to hack at the big bushes, trying to make a passage. The +swaling-fires above were dying down and the red light was fading from +the hollow.</p> + +<p>"Ah, go in there, man. Go in," muttered Annie, becoming quiet when she +saw what he was after.</p> + +<p>Pendoggat had lost his senses, as men will when their money is taken +from them. Had he waited a little, until Mary had gone, and he had got +rid of Annie for a time, he might have started for Tavistock presently +with nothing lost except honour which was of no value. But he could not +wait; he was dazed by Mary's blows; and all the time he fancied he saw +that precious packet which contained his future stuck in the furze; and +if he could not see it he knew it was there and he must get at it. He +went on hacking at the bushes, burrowing his way in, without feeling the +prickles; while Mary picked up her stick, turned to Peter, and said she +was going home. Then she looked for Boodles, but the girl was not there, +and when she started round Annie was not there either. She and Peter +were alone in the court, and the furze beyond was convulsed as though a +beast had fallen there and was trying to flounder its way out.</p> + +<p>"He'm mazed, sure 'nuff," said Peter, in a happy voice. The blows which +Pendoggat had dealt him were avenged. Peter forgot just then the power +of witchcraft which he had invoked by the arts that were in him. Neither +he nor Mary remembered the mommet, but Annie had not forgotten. She +thought of the little clay doll squatting in the glowing peat, and she +seemed to see the fantastic object shaking its head at her and saying: +"Who is on my side?" Annie went into the house for something, then +passed round the wall, and came upon Boodles standing at the other end +of the furze brake, rubbing the frost off the white grass stalks.</p> + +<p>"Is it all over?" asked the child.</p> + +<p>"Aw ees, it be done. You'm cold, my dear," whispered Annie hoarsely. +"Tak' this, my dear, and warm yourself. You've been out swaling, I +reckon."</p> + +<p>She pushed a box of matches into the girl's hand.</p> + +<p>"He wun't have it burnt just to spite me. Makes the kitchen so cruel +dark I can't see from one side to t'other. Now be the time, for he'm +mazed and can't stop us. Sot a match here, my dear."</p> + +<p>"It's so close to the house," said Boodles.</p> + +<p>"The house can't burn. 'Tis stone and slates. I don't want 'en to think +I did it," said Annie cunningly. "Quick, my dear. Mary be calling ye."</p> + +<p>Boodles loved swaling expeditions. In the past, furze-burning had been +almost her only outdoor pleasure; and, though she was unhappy then, she +was very young and the sense of enjoyment remained. That huge brake +would make the most glorious blaze she had ever seen. Dropping to her +knees she struck a match, hearing Annie gasp once, and then the fire +touched the tinder-like masses of dead growth, there was a splutter +caused by the frost, a flame darted up, then down, and up again higher; +and then there was a roar, and the brake before her became in an instant +like an open furnace and she jumped back to save her face and hair.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's splendid," she cried.</p> + +<p>Annie was leaning against the wall screaming, sheltering her face, +perhaps from the heat, perhaps from what she might see.</p> + +<p>"It's done. My God, it's done, and nothing can put it out."</p> + +<p>Somewhere in those flames a man's voice was shouting horribly. The fire +seemed to sweep through with the rapidity of light, but nothing else +could be heard except the roaring and the screaming and hissing as the +big bushes melted away. Mary came running round, and Annie screamed at +her—</p> + +<p>"I never done it. I never put the match to 'en."</p> + +<p>"Aw, my dear, what have ye done?"</p> + +<p>"I am swaling. Did you ever see such a blaze?" cried innocent Boodles.</p> + +<p>"Her don't know," screamed Annie. Then she staggered into the court and +fell fainting.</p> + +<p>"The man's in the vuzz," Mary shouted.</p> + +<p>All the sounds had ceased, and already the great flames were going out, +leaving a red smoulder of ashes and big scarlet stems. It seemed to be +getting very dark. Boodles did not realise what she had done, and Mary +said no more; but Peter shuffled round, understanding it all perfectly, +though not in the least ashamed.</p> + +<p>"'Twas just the mommet," he explained. "Her had to du it 'cause her +couldn't help it."</p> + +<p>Presently they trod over the fiery ground and dragged the body out, +without clothes, without hair, without sight; without money also, for +the roll of notes had melted away in one touch of those terrible flames. +He looked dead, but, like the furze which seemed to be annihilated, he +lived. The heart was beating in the man's body, and the roots were alive +in the glowing soil. Both would rise again, the one into a fierce +prickly shrub; the other into a man destined for the charity of others, +scarred, maimed, and blind. There was to be no escape for Pendoggat, no +new life for him. Boodles of the fiery head had fulfilled her destiny; +had burnt out one malignant moorland growth which had caught so many in +its thorns; and had rendered it harmless for ever.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI</h3> + +<h2>ABOUT 'DUPPENCE'</h2> + + +<p>Down the hill from St. Mary Tavy to Brentor came Brightly, most +irrepressible of unwanted things, his basket on his arm, feeding on air +and sunshine. It was early spring, there were pleasant odours and a fine +blue sky, all good and gratuitous. Brightly had been discharged from +prison as a man of no reputation, to be avoided by some and trampled on +by others. His one idea was to get back to business; rabbit-skins ought +to have accumulated, he thought, during' the months of his confinement; +there would be a rich harvest awaiting him, which might mean the pony +and cart at last, with prosperity and a potato-patch to cheer his +closing days. He went for his basket, and it was not until it was slung +upon his arm and he had bent himself into the old half-hoop shape to +carry it over the moor, that he comprehended its emptiness. Formerly his +stomach was empty and the basket was full; now both were empty; and the +crushing difficulty of starting afresh without capital was with him +again.</p> + +<p>Brightly determined to subsist for a little on charity, but he soon made +the discovery that Samaritanism was no longer included among the +Christian virtues. People refused to do business with him on a +benevolent basis. They slammed the doors in his face, and called him +unpleasant names. They reminded him he had been in prison, as if he had +forgotten it; and some of them added an opinion that he had got off far +too cheaply. Others said if he came there again they would set the dog +on him. Brightly soon became very hungry, and almost longed for the +comforts of prison. It had been no easy matter to make a sort of living +during those days when he thought himself honest. Now that he knew he +was a criminal it appeared impossible.</p> + +<p>Brightly was in danger of becoming an atheist. He stopped his +hymn-singing; verses descriptive of the wonderful dairy were no longer +found in his mouth, nor did he use the jingling refrain which concludes: +"Jesu, Master, us belongs to yew." What was the use of belonging to some +one who did nothing for him? Wise men have puzzled over that question, +so it was not surprising if it bewildered poor foolish Brightly. He had +been told in the prison that if he prayed for anything it would be +granted; and his informer had added it was obviously his duty to pray +for honesty. Brightly did nothing of the kind; he prayed for the pony +and cart, throwing himself heart and soul into the business, as he had +plenty of time. Instead of being a purveyor of rabbit-skins he became a +praying machine. He considered that if there was any truth in the theory +that prayers are answered, he ought to find the pony and cart awaiting +him at the door of the prison. He did see one as he came out, but it +could not have been intended for him, as the name upon the board was not +A. Brightly, and near it was a man looking like a sweep who would +probably have resisted Brightly's claims with every prospect of success. +His teacher would have said the prayer was not answered because it was +not a proper one, but that would not have helped Brightly in the least.</p> + +<p>The little man went down the hill sniffing at the sweet wind, but +conscious that it was not invigorating as it used to be. The truth of +the matter was he was getting tired of life. He had become feeble, his +cough was worse, and his eyes troubled him so much that he had to stop +often, take off his spectacles, and rub them. But he couldn't rub the +darkness away. The eyes were getting bigger than ever because he +strained them so, trying to find the road. Sometimes he found himself +sinking in a bog; his eyes had never played him such a trick before he +became a criminal. As he walked he would look back and whistle or say: +"Us will pitch presently." He was always forgetting that Ju had ceased +to exist; and when he sat down to rest he would talk to her or stroke +the heather beside him.</p> + +<p>He entered the village of Brentor, but trade remained "cruel dull," so +he gave it up and tramped along the road towards the church on the tor. +As he went an idea came to him. He must give up the old stretch and try +a new one. He might take the eastern side of the moor, Moreton to +Ashburton, with the villages between, taking in Widdecombe where the +devil dwelt. His old road had been dominated in a sense by St. Michael's +Church upon its mount, but the connection had proved of no service to +him, and the devil might be a better patron. He could get across to the +other side in two days, and perhaps he would find there some one who +would give him half-a-crown and set him up in business again.</p> + +<p>Brightly was not entirely without capital, for Boodles had given him +twopence with his basket, saying she was sorry it was so little, but she +too was poor. That was another blow to Brightly; the angel had her +limitations, and seemed to have lost her power of working wonders for +the time. She too looked ill and miserable, and when celestial beings +suffered what chance was there for him? Brightly was not going to invest +that twopence in the rabbit-skin business, nor did he regard it as the +nucleus round which the fund for his pony and cart would gather. He +wrapped it up in many changes of paper, vowing not to touch it until he +should require food. The time had almost come, he thought, when he +should want food, not to stimulate his body, but to cease its action +entirely. The twopence was set aside for his funeral as it were, or +rather for the rat-poison which would make the funeral necessary. It +amused Brightly to think that people would have to spend money upon him +when he was dead, though they refused to give him anything while he was +living.</p> + +<p>He left Brentor behind and went along the winding road; and the sun came +out so pleasantly he wondered if the gods or human beings would be +offended if he whistled. He decided to remain silent, as the constable +might be in hiding behind one of the furze-bushes, and he would be sent +back to prison for making obscene noises. He knew every yard of the +country, though he could see so little of it. Higher up was a big slab +of granite, flat and smooth like an altar-tomb, upon which he had often +sat and watched the tower of St. Michael's juggling with the big ball of +the setting sun. He went up there, and it was not until his boot touched +the flat stone that he discovered it was already occupied. A woman was +sitting on it. Brightly apologised most humbly for his intrusion, for +walking along the road, and for cumbering the face of the earth. He was +always meeting people, and he felt he had no right to do so.</p> + +<p>"You'm welcome," said the woman.</p> + +<p>Then Brightly opened his nearly useless eyes wider and found that she +was Thomasine, the young woman who had been so good to him and Ju, and +had fed them when they were starving, and helped them on the way to +Tavistock. He had always associated Thomasine with a well-stocked +kitchen and food in abundance. She had become mixed up in his mind with +Jerusalem, and he had thought of her as presiding over the milk and +honey, and ladling them out in large quantities at the back door to +hungry men and dogs. And there she was sitting on the big stone looking +miserable, with her clothes bedraggled and boots muddy. Brightly began +to think hard and to reason with himself. He was not the only miserable +creature after all; there were other human things belonging to the +neuter gender besides himself. Even the angel was miserable and had +confessed to poverty; and not a scrap of food surrounded the former Lady +Bountiful of Town Rising. Brightly was in Thomasine's debt, and he was +prepared to pay what he owed as well as he could. He was willing to +share his twopence with Thomasine; she should have an equal portion of +the rat-poison if she was hungry for it; and they could wash the meal +down with sweet water from the moor. As for Thomasine, the little +dried-up fragment which had once represented a mind responded to +Brightly's presence and she recognised a friend.</p> + +<p>"I be in trouble," she said.</p> + +<p>Brightly was glad to hear it, though he did not say so. It was good to +find a partner who would enter into an alliance with him against the fat +constable, the Bench of Magistrates, and all the wigs and ermine of +oppression. Here was another Ju, a human being this time, and perhaps +she too had been sentenced to be destroyed because she was savage, and +was trying to hide from the constable and the crowd. Brightly was +prepared to show her all sorts of secret places where she would be safe.</p> + +<p>"Be yew a criminal tu?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Thomasine was not sure, but thought she must be.</p> + +<p>"I be one. I be the worst criminal on Dartmoor," said Brightly, trying +to draw himself up and look conceited. He had never done any good in his +business, but as a criminal he was entitled to regard himself as a +complete success.</p> + +<p>"I ain't got no friends. My volks wun't ha' me to home, and I've lost my +character," said Thomasine.</p> + +<p>"I never had no friends, nor volks, nor yet character," said Brightly.</p> + +<p>"You'm the man what went to prison for robbing Varmer Chegwidden," she +said, using her memory with some success.</p> + +<p>"Dree months wi' hard labour," said Brightly proudly.</p> + +<p>"Yew never done it. I know who done it. 'Twas Varmer Pendoggat," she +said.</p> + +<p>"I thought mebbe I might ha' done it and never knowed," explained +Brightly. "Why didn't 'em tak' he then?"</p> + +<p>"No one knows 'cept me, and I only guesses. He was wi' I just avore I +heard master galloping over the moor, and he mun ha' passed master lying +in the road. 'Twas no good me speaking. They wouldn't ha' took my word, +and he'd ha' killed I if I'd spoke. 'Tis through he I be here now."</p> + +<p>Adversity had sharpened Thomasine's tongue. She could not remember when +she had last made such a lengthy speech.</p> + +<p>"Where be yew going?" asked Brightly.</p> + +<p>"Nowheres," said the girl. "Where be yew?"</p> + +<p>"Anywhere," said Brightly, which meant the same thing. "Shall us get +on?" he added.</p> + +<p>Thomasine accepted the invitation, rose from the stone, and they walked +on, up the road and the steep tor, and came out at last beside the +church with its tiny burying-place of granite and its weather-beaten +gravestones. They sat down to rest upon the edge of the precipice, and +Thomasine wanted to know why they had come there.</p> + +<p>"I wun't never be here again. I used to come up here to whistle and +sing, and now I be come to look out for the last time," said Brightly. +"I reckon I'll try t'other side o' the moor. Mebbe volks bain't so cruel +wicked there."</p> + +<p>"I reckon 'em be," said Thomasine.</p> + +<p>"Du ye reckon they'll know I be a criminal?"</p> + +<p>"Sure 'nuff. Policeman will tell 'em."</p> + +<p>"My cough be cruel bad got, and I can't hardly see. If I can't mak' a +living what be I to du?" asked Brightly.</p> + +<p>This was much too difficult a question for Thomasine, and she did not +attempt to answer it.</p> + +<p>"B'est hungry?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"I've ha' been hungry for years and years, 'cept when I was in prison, +and then I was hungry for air," said Brightly.</p> + +<p>"Got any money?"</p> + +<p>"Duppence."</p> + +<p>"I ain't got nothing," she said.</p> + +<p>"Shall us get on?" said the restless little man. He felt business +calling him, though he could do nothing with his empty basket.</p> + +<p>They went back the way they had come, through Brentor village, and +towards Lydford, Brightly walking on one side of the road and Thomasine +upon the other. The only remark the girl made was: "This bain't the way +to Plymouth;" and Brightly replied: "It bain't the place for yew." He +had some knowledge of the world, and knew that it could not be well for +a girl without home or friends or character to walk about the streets of +a big town.</p> + +<p>They stopped at Lydford, and Thomasine went to a cottage where people +dwelt whom she had known in the days of respectability, and they gave +her food which she brought out and shared with her companion. They went +to the foot of the cascade in the gorge and ate their meal to the +subdued murmur of the long white veil of water sliding down the face of +the precipice. They were alone in the gorge, where the Gubbingses had +once dwelt, as the place is deserted during the early months of the +year.</p> + +<p>"Have ye got a home?" asked Thomasine.</p> + +<p>"Ees, a proper old cave to Belstone Cleave."</p> + +<p>"What be I to du?" she murmured.</p> + +<p>"Come wi' I," said Brightly gallantly. "I be going home."</p> + +<p>The girl tried to think, but soon gave up in despair. She was barely +twenty-three, and her life seemed done already. Her parents had shut the +door upon her, and erased her name from the book of life—the family +Bible which retained the record of those who were respectable—not so +much because she had done wrong as because the man who had led her +astray would not marry her. It was quaint logic, but the world reasons +that way. She was ready to go with Brightly because he was friendly and +she required friendship badly; she hardly looked upon him as a man; he +was such a poor incomplete thing; if a man, without the power of sinning +like a man. She would go with him to the cave in the cleave, and cook +for him, if there was anything to be cooked, with the old frying-pan +with a bottom like a sieve.</p> + +<p>"Ees, I've got a butiful home," muttered ridiculous Brightly with pride.</p> + +<p>He was regarding Thomasine as the reincarnation of Ju. The little dog +had come back to him in the form of a woman. He could talk to her, tell +her trade was dull, and he was hungry; could whistle, and sing for her +amusement, and pat her gently when she rested upon the heather. She +could reply to him in a manner that was better than tail-wagging. Ju had +come to the cave gladly and found it homelike, so why not Thomasine? He +would not be called on to pay seven-and-sixpence a year for her; but on +the other hand she was so big, larger than himself in fact, and he was +afraid she would want a lot of food. Brightly became prouder every +minute. He had a woman of his own and "duppence" wrapped up in bits of +paper. He would not touch his hat to the next man he met on the road. He +would stare him in the face and say: "How be ye?" just as if he had been +a man himself.</p> + +<p>"Shall us get on?" he said again.</p> + +<p>They went on and reached windy Bridestowe that night. Brightly, who knew +every building upon that part of the moor, found a shelter for Thomasine +in a peat-linhay, and a resting-place for himself in a farmyard. They +started off early in the morning, and Brightly produced eggs with the +half-apologetic and half-proud explanation: "Us be criminals." He had +stolen them. Up to the time of his conviction he had never been a thief, +but since leaving prison he had felt it was necessary to live up to his +reputation as a desperate character, and so he took anything he could +find. Under the oil-cloth of his basket was a feathered fowl, and +Thomasine was informed there would be a good supper for her that +evening.</p> + +<p>"Yew stoled 'en?" exclaimed the girl.</p> + +<p>"Volks wun't give I nothing," said Brightly. "They ses 'you'm a thief,' +and 'tis no use being called a thief if yew bain't. Yew fed me and Ju +when us was starving, and now I be going to feed yew."</p> + +<p>They reached the cave, and Brightly produced all his possessions with +pride, explaining to his housekeeper that a fire must not be lighted +until after dark lest the commoners should see the smoke. The girl +shivered at the wretched prospect, but resigned herself; and that night +she told Brightly her story, and he told her all about his ambitions, +and about the pony and cart which would not come in spite of the vain +repetitions which he called prayers.</p> + +<p>Miserable days followed. The spell of fine weather ceased and frost +returned; with it a biting wind which swept across the moor and got into +the cave, the outside of which became a pretty piece of architecture +with icicles hanging from the rock to the ground like bars of cold steel +through which the prisoners gazed into the depths of the gorge. Brightly +had become a real criminal at last; and the basket, which had been the +symbol of honesty, was then a receiver of stolen goods. He sallied out +every day to rob fowl-houses and dairies; to gather articles of clothing +from hedges and furze-bushes where they had been put out to dry. His +eyes had been opened by necessity and justice; dishonesty was the only +way in business; had he practised it from the start he would have +obtained all those good things which he had always desired; the cottage +and potato-patch, the pony and cart; perhaps his asthma and blindness +would have been stayed as well. It would have been better for Brightly +had he died in prison; he was living too long, and had become a moral +failure, a complete failure now in every sense.</p> + +<p>One Sunday evening they crept out of their hole in the gorge and went to +Sticklepath. Thomasine wanted to hear the pure gospel preached again, +and she persuaded Brightly to come with her to the big chapel in the +middle of the village that he might have his frosted soul warmed by +listening to a realistic account of the place "down under" towards which +he was hurrying. A strange preacher arose in the pulpit, an old +white-bearded man near the end of his days, and he preached from the +text: "I have been young, and now am old, and yet saw I never the +righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging their bread." He seemed a pious +old man, although he could not have been observant, or perhaps he had +gone about with his eyes shut, as the psalmist must have done; but he +was eloquent, and his words thundered upon the congregation like +Dartmoor rain upon a tin roof.</p> + +<p>When they left the chapel Thomasine was weeping, and Brightly seemed to +have become quite blind. Still he could not understand things. He had +been righteous, as he had comprehended it, slipping into a church or +chapel as often as he dared, and singing "Jerusalem the Golden" at every +opportunity. Yet he had been forsaken and had begged his bread; Ju had +been taken from him; he had been cast into prison. Who could explain +these things? Perhaps he had not endured long enough; if he had held out +another year the pony and cart might have been brought to him driven by +the angel; but he could not hold out when people would not permit him to +do business, and when he was starving. It was too late then to go back +and tread the old road, for he had fallen at last, become dishonest in +act; and if he went on in his wicked ways the policeman would run him +down again; and if he reverted to honesty the poorhouse would claim him. +There was only one way out. He must buy a ticket for Jerusalem. It would +only cost twopence.</p> + +<p>They returned to the cave, and Thomasine went on crying. She said she +could stand it no longer. The moor was black with storm clouds, a thaw +had set in, and water was trickling everywhere. Brightly sat huddled up +and moaning. His eyes were nearly useless, and rheumatism racked his +poor limbs. He knew that the decree had been given against him, he had +been found guilty in the higher court, judgment had been signed against +"A. Brightly. Rabbit-skin merchant. Abode Nowhere."</p> + +<p>"Us mun get on," he said firmly.</p> + +<p>"I can't bide here," sobbed Thomasine.</p> + +<p>"Us will walk to-morrow," said Brightly.</p> + +<p>"I'll go to Plymouth," she said.</p> + +<p>"Live honest;" he begged. "Don't ye go to the dirty trade."</p> + +<p>"I wun't," she cried. "I'll live clean if they'll let me. No one knows +me there, and I'll get some job mebbe."</p> + +<p>"I ha' been young, and now I be getting old," said Brightly. "I ha' been +righteous tu, and I ha' begged, and I ha' prayed, and got nought."</p> + +<p>"What be yew going to du?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"I be coming wi' yew as far as Okehampton. I'll set ye on the road to +Plymouth."</p> + +<p>"Wun't ye come tu?"</p> + +<p>"'Twould kill me," said Brightly. "I be that blind I'd get run over, and +my asthma be got so cruel bad I wouldn't be able to breathe. I reckon +I'll stop on Dartmoor."</p> + +<p>"You'll live honest?" she said.</p> + +<p>"I wun't tak' what bain't mine no more," Brightly promised.</p> + +<p>In the morning they set out. It was raining, but they did not notice +that. They crossed the Taw river, passed through Belstone, and struck +into the lane which would bring them down to the Okehampton road. They +had not gone far before they came upon a pony and cart fastened to a +gate, belonging to the washerwoman, but the cart was empty and there was +no one in sight. It carried a lamp, and a board was at the side +revealing the owner's name, and the bottom was covered with fern. +Brightly brought his pinched face near the cart, stopped to regard this +revelation of his life-long dream, and then he succumbed to the great +temptation. He unfastened the pony, climbed into the cart, and drove in +majesty up the lane.</p> + +<p>"What be yew doing?" cried Thomasine in great fear. "It bain't yourn."</p> + +<p>Brightly did not hear her. He knew at last what it was like to jog along +the lane in a little pony-cart, and for five precious minutes he was in +dreamland. In that short space of time he completed the allotted span of +human existence. He was returning to the littlie cottage in the midst of +the potato-patch, after a day of successful work. The cart behind was +piled high with rabbit-skins, and in her own little corner Ju was +sitting, fat and content. Brightly put up his ridiculous head and +whistled "Jerusalem the Golden" for the last time. Then he got down, +tied up the pony to another gatepost, and tramped through the mud with +Thomasine.</p> + +<p>In the town they passed a window where a notice was displayed: "Men +wanted," and the girl drew his attention to it, but Brightly only +coughed. The dream had faded and he had returned to realism. Men were +wanted to dig foundations, build houses, work in stone, hairy-armed men +who could lift granite, not a poor creeping thing who had hardly the +strength to strangle a fluttering fowl.</p> + +<p>They went through the town, up the long hill on the other side, and near +a quarry of red stone they stopped.</p> + +<p>"It be the way to Plymouth," Brightly said.</p> + +<p>"Thankye kindly," said Thomasine. "Be yew going back?"</p> + +<p>"Ees; I be going back," he answered.</p> + +<p>"Be yew going far?"</p> + +<p>"A bit o' the way towards Meldon."</p> + +<p>"Yew ha' got no money," she said pityingly.</p> + +<p>"I ha' got duppence," he reminded her.</p> + +<p>"You'll live honest?" she said again.</p> + +<p>"It wun't be long. I ha' a sort o' choking feeling," he said, putting a +raw hand to his throat.</p> + +<p>"Be ye going down under?" Thomasine was looking over the hedge and +between the bare trees. Some way below, beside the river, she could just +see the workhouse.</p> + +<p>"I be a going to walk towards Meldon, and sot by the river. If the pains +get bad I'll fall in mebbe."</p> + +<p>"No," she cried. "Don't ye du that."</p> + +<p>"Us mun get on," said Brightly, mindful of business. "I wish ye +good-bye."</p> + +<p>They shook hands, and Thomasine began to cry again. She did not like the +idea of walking along a lonely road all the way to distant Plymouth. +"Thankye kindly," she sobbed.</p> + +<p>"You'm welcome," said Brightly.</p> + +<p>They parted, and the little man shuffled back to the town. Upon the +bridge which spans the Okement he stopped, and took out the little +packet which contained the "duppence." It was a wonderful sum of money, +after all, if it would procure for him admission to the celestial dairy, +where he could feast, and listen to, an organ playing, and see people +dancing; and perhaps Ju would be sitting at his feet, wagging her tail, +looking up, and enjoying it all too. It would be better than the wet +cave, better than the workhouse, better than going back to prison. He +would have to be quick, or they might discover how he had attempted to +steal the pony and cart. He seemed to have become quite blind suddenly, +and his heart was thumping against his side. He had to feel his way +along towards the chemist's, which was the ticket office where he could +obtain his twopenny pass into Palestine. There would be no stop on the +journey, and they would be certain to let him in. Already he seemed to +hear some one like Boodles saying: "Please to step inside, Mr. Brightly. +Have a drop o' milk, will ye?" And there was another Boodles coming +towards him with the pleasant words: "Be this your little dog, mister? +Her's been whining vor ye cruel."</p> + +<p>Brightly held the precious "duppence" for his fare tightly in his raw +hand. He was smiling as he entered the chemist's shop.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII</h3> + +<h2>ABOUT REGENERATION AND RENUNCIATION</h2> + + +<p>Sad-eyed little Boodles stood in the porch of Lewside Cottage holding a +letter which the postman had just left. She did not know who it was +from, nor did she care, as there was no foreign stamp on the envelope, +and the postmark was only unromantic Devonport. Aubrey had not written +for a month, and she knew the reason. His parents had told him the truth +about her, and he was so horrified that he couldn't even send her a line +on a naked postcard as a sort of farewell. Still it was better to have +no letter than a cruel one; if he could not write kindly she was glad he +didn't write at all.</p> + +<p>What was supposed to be spring had come round again, and something which +used to be the sun was shining, and the woods beside the Tavy were +carpeted with patches of blue and yellow which "once upon a time" had +been called bluebells and primroses. The ogre had done his work of +transformation thoroughly, leaving nothing unchanged. During those days +Boodles went about the house so quietly that she wondered sometimes if +she was much better than a shadow; she seemed to have lost the power of +making pleasant noises; and when she caught sight of herself in the +glass as she moved about her bedroom she would say: "There it is +again—the ghost!" She told her friends of the hut-circles that the +cottage was haunted, and Mary exclaimed: "Aw, my dear, I'll be round wi' +my big stick," while Peter rebuked his sister for her folly, pondered +the matter deeply, and at last told Boodles he should come in his own +good time to "exercise the ghost" with various spells. Peter had fallen +into the pernicious habit of using strange words, as he had purchased a +cheap dictionary, and made constant use of it. He was developing other +evil traits of authorship, having added to his ordinary costume of no +collar and leather apron a yard of flimsy material about his neck in the +form of a flowing tie. Master had told him philosophers wore such +things, and Peter was also contemplating the purchase of a pair of +spectacles, not because he required them, but Master declared that no +man could possibly appear philosophic unless he regarded men and matters +through gold-rimmed circles of glass. Every evening Peter approached +Boodles with the utterance: "I be coming. I be coming to-morrow to +exercise the ghost." She reminded him of the clock which he had been +going to clean for two years, and added: "I'm the ghost," which brought +upon her the fierce denunciation of Mary, who still maintained Boodles +to be the "most butiful maid that ever was," and now that her Old Sal +was no more the most perfect of all living creatures; while Peter went +away, not like his apostolic namesake to weep bitterly, but to indite +illegible aphorism number three-hundred-and-one dealing with the sad +truism that men of wisdom do not receive a proper tribute of respect +from the young and foolish.</p> + +<p>Boodles was afraid of her mysterious letter and did not open it for some +time. It might be from some relation of Weevil's, claiming what property +he had left; or from her unknown mother concerning the obligations upon +daughters to support their parents. At last she pulled the envelope +apart, glanced timidly at the signature, and her dread departed, or +became lost in astonishment, when the most extraordinary name caught her +eye: "yours faithfully, Yerbua Eimalleb."</p> + +<p>Boodles had a little fun left in her, not much, but enough to let her +laugh sometimes. She plunged into the letter, to discover that Miss +Eimalleb had only recently come to England, she wanted lodgings on +Dartmoor, and having heard of Miss Weevil she was writing to know if she +could accommodate her. "I believe you prefer old ladies," Boodles read. +"I am not old, indeed I am quite young, and shall be glad to be a +companion to you, but I am not well off, so I cannot come unless your +charges are very moderate. I have only about £80 a year left me by an +aunt, though my parents are still living."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you darling!" cried Boodles. Then she sat down and began to think. +Here was a young girl wanting to come and live with her, and willing to +pay; a girl to be her companion and friend, who would go about with her +everywhere, help her, comfort her, work with her—what a splendid +prospect it was! They would cling together like two sisters, and the +winds would not trouble, and the shadows would not terrify, any more; +and she could laugh at the windy moonlit nights. The gods were being +good to her at last, perhaps because she had been truthful and had not +told Mrs. Bellamie the lie she had invented. They had taken the great +thing from her because it was obviously impossible that she should have +it. Aubrey was gone from her for ever, but surely this was the next best +thing; a girl friend to live with her, perhaps to enter into partnership +with her. Boodles felt she could face the big desert with a friend to +help her, and a companion to depend upon. Love was not for her, but she +would have the next best thing, which is friendship.</p> + +<p>The letter was certainly a remarkable one, the writer's candour being no +less extraordinary than her name. It was obvious she was a foreigner, +but the signature gave Boodles no clue as to her nationality until she +recalled a certain book on Eastern travel which she had once read, where +a Persian name—or at least she thought it was Persian—very much like +Eimalleb had occurred.</p> + +<p>"I hope she's not a nigger," Boodles sighed, as her ethnical knowledge +was slight and she had no idea what a Persian girl would be like. +"Ethiopians have black faces, I'm sure. And she's certain to be a +heathen. What fun it will be! She will wake me at some unearthly hour +and say: 'Come on, Boodles, we must hurry up to the top of Gar Tor and +worship the sun.' I hope she won't have a lot of husbands, though," she +went on with a frown. "Don't they do that? Oh no, it's the men have a +lot of wives, and they are not Persians, but Mohammedans. I am sure +Persians worship fire. Persian cats do, I know. She will kneel before +the grate and say her prayers to the coals."</p> + +<p>Boodles was getting excited. The prospect of a companion was bringing +smiles to her face and colour to her cheeks. One young maid would be +decidedly more congenial to her than a covey of old ones. She would give +up her own bedroom to the Persian girl, and when the cottage was nicely +crammed with unquestionable old maids they could sleep together. She was +sure her friend wouldn't mind, because she seemed so nice.</p> + +<p>"She must be an impulsive, warm-hearted girl," Boodles murmured. +"Telling me, a perfect stranger, about her private affairs." Then she +plunged again into the letter, which was full of astonishing sentences. +"Could you meet me on Friday morning at eleven o'clock in Tavy woods?" +she read. "There is a gate at the Tavistock side and I would meet you +close to that. You are sure to know me, as it is not likely there will +be any one else about. I shall wear grey flannel and a plain straw hat. +I understand you are not elderly. I think you will like me."</p> + +<p>"I shall love you," cried Boodles with much decision, laughing joyously +at the concluding sentences. "She understands I am not elderly, but I +expect she will be astonished when she sees what a very young thing I +am. Perhaps I had better make myself look older, wear a rusty black +frock trimmed with lace, and a huge flat brooch at my throat, and a +bonnet—Boodles, a little black bonnet with a lot of shaking things on +it."</p> + +<p>She ran indoors, singing for the first time since Weevil's death, and +sat down to answer the wonderful letter as primly as she could. "I will +be at the gate of the wood Friday morning," she wrote. Shall I say +weather permitting or God willing? she thought. No, I shall be there +anyhow. "I will come whatever happens," she went on, in defiance of gods +and thunderbolts. "I am rather a small girl with lots of golden hair, +and like you I am quite young. I feel certain I shall like you." This +note she fastened up, and addressed to Miss Y. Eimalleb, again +exclaiming: "What a name!" at the Post Office, Devonport.</p> + +<p>When the fit of high spirits had exhausted itself she became unhappy +again. It was unfortunate that the foreign girl with the wonderful name +should have asked her to come to that gate where she and Aubrey had +parted for ever, the gate which was just outside fairyland. All that +childish nonsense was over, and the story had finished that day they +roamed about the wood, and the gate had closed with unnecessary noise +and violence behind them; but still it would be hard for her to wait +there, not for Aubrey, but for a stranger. Her new friend would be +coming from Tavistock, she supposed, meeting her halfway, just as Aubrey +had done. It was quite natural she should do so, but Boodles wished she +had appointed any other meeting-place. It cheered her a little to think +that the Bellamies had cast aside enough of their respectability to +recommend her, as she did not know how the young foreigner could have +heard of her except through them. "She cannot be quite a lady, or they +would never have sent her to me," was the girl's natural inference. +"Perhaps they think foreigners don't count. I do hope she will have a +nice English girl's face. If she is a nigger I shall scream and run +away."</p> + +<p>She carried the good news to Ger Cottage, but the savages both expressed +their disapproval. Peter, who had travelled to distant lands, such as +Exeter and Plymouth, told Boodles that foreigners, by which he meant +dwellers in the next parish, were fearful folk with no regard whatever +for strangers. Peter did not know anything about Persia, but when +Boodles talked about the East he supposed she meant that mythical land +of dragons and fairies called Somerset, which was the uttermost limit of +his horizon in that direction; and he declared that the folk there were +savage and unscrupulous, and spoke a language which no intelligent +person could understand. Peter implored Boodles to have nothing to do +with such people. While Mary, who had not travelled, except in one +memorable instance from Lydford to Tavistock, said regretfully: "It +bain't a maid yew wants, my dear, but the butiful young gentleman." Mary +was much too outspoken, and was always making Boodles wretched with her +blundering attempts at happy suggestions.</p> + +<p>When Peter was shown the astonishing signature, and had obtained the +mastery over it letter by letter, he nearly strangled himself with his +abnormal tie, and expressed an opinion that the stranger was coming from +absolutely unheard-of places, from the paint-clad aborigines of some +land beyond Somerset, although his geography did not extend beyond that +county.</p> + +<p>"Her's a heathen," he cried, without any regard for the fact that he was +himself no better. "Her will worship idols."</p> + +<p>"Aw, my dear, don't ye ha' nought to du wi' she," begged Mary.</p> + +<p>"I think Persians worship the sun," said Boodles doubtfully.</p> + +<p>"Aw, bain't 'em dafty?" said Mary scornfully, though she too was a +sun-worshipper without being aware of it.</p> + +<p>"Her will be a canister tu," said Peter lugubriously.</p> + +<p>"What be that?" asked Mary, who did not profess to know things.</p> + +<p>"Her will et she, and then mebbe her will come on and et we," explained +Peter, with needless apprehension, as the most ravenous cannibal would +certainly have turned vegetarian before feasting upon him.</p> + +<p>Boodles was always rude enough to correct Peter's most obvious errors, +though he was so much older than herself, and she did so then, with the +usual result that he went away muttering for his dictionary. He looked +up cannon-ball, and of course discovered that he had been quite right +and she was hopelessly in the wrong. Then he looked up canister, and +found that it was a box for holding tea; and when he turned to tea he +discovered it was sometimes made of beef, and beef was meat, and meat is +what human beings are composed of; and canister was, therefore, a box +for containing meat. He had been perfectly right, and the presumption of +young maids was intolerable.</p> + +<p>When Boodles got back to the village she saw the people standing about +the street in groups as if they were expecting some one of importance to +pass that way. She looked about but could see nothing; the people were +almost silent; they did not laugh and spoke only in whispers. She felt +as if some calamity was impending, so she hurried indoors and kept away +from the windows, as it was rather a bright day for her and she did not +want it spoilt; but presently a rumbling sound made her look out, and +soon she was shuddering. A black closed vehicle, like a hearse, passed, +drawn by two horses; and white-faced grey-haired Annie was seated beside +the driver; and then Boodles knew what the people were standing about +for. It was to see the vehicle go through on its way down to the +workhouse infirmary. Boodles went very white, drew back, and hid her +face in her hands. She thought Annie had turned her head and seen her at +the window.</p> + +<p>"Those flames will haunt me all my life," she whispered. "I shall see +them jumping about my bed, and hear them roaring—but it wasn't my +fault. He must have been a brute. How awful it would have been for me if +he had died there."</p> + +<p>Had she known all the evil that Pendoggat had done she would have felt +less guilty and less sorry. She could only comfort herself with the +knowledge that it had been Annie rather than herself who had started +those terrible and uncontrollable flames. She would not be troubled with +either of them again, apart from memory, for the workhouse had received +them; one would remain there, crippled and blind, the other would +doubtless go on into the world, and try to earn a livelihood for a few +years before returning there again in the twilight of her days.</p> + +<p>That night there was moonlight but no wind, and Boodles awoke in horror, +fancying she heard for the second time that rumbling beneath her window, +and screamed when she found and felt her body enveloped in flames. She +sprang up to discover that she had been frightened by her own glowing +hair. She was so sleepy before tumbling into bed that she had neglected +to plait it, and it was all over the sheets like fire. "I shall always +get these horrors while I am alone," she cried; and then she thought +again of the wonderful letter, and the foreign girl with the amazing +name whom she was to meet at the gate of the wood on Friday morning, and +an intense longing for that strange girl came over her, and she cried +aloud to the pale and equally lonely moon: "I hope she is nice. I will +pray for her to be nice. The very first thing I shall ask her will be if +I may sleep with her."</p> + +<p>Friday, day of regeneration, came clothed in a white mist, and found the +girl asking herself: "Shall I try and make myself look older?" She +peeped out, saw the moor shining, and thought she would be natural, and +go out upon it young and fresh; dressed in white to suit the mist, like +a little bride; and, having decided, she was soon trying to make herself +look as sweet as possible. When she had finished, slanting the bedroom +glass to take in as much of the picture as it would, she was fairly well +satisfied, and was just beginning to sing the old song, "I'm only a +baby," when she stopped herself severely with the rebuke that she was +only a common person trying to let lodgings.</p> + +<p>All the spring flowers lifted up their heads and laughed at the +lodging-house keeper when she appeared among them—they were really +spring flowers that morning—and the real sun smiled, and real +singing-birds mocked the little girl in white as she tripped towards the +woods, because it appeared to them quite ridiculous that Boodles should +relinquish her claims to childhood. The book of fairy-tales had been +shut up and put away, thought she; but somehow the young spring things +about her would not admit that.</p> + +<p>Everything in the woods was wide awake and laughing; not crying any +more, and saying, lisping, murmuring, whispering: "Here's the +happy-ever-after little girl." It was the proper ending of the story, +the ending that the gods had written in their manuscript and the +compositor-ogres had tried to mar in their wicked way. How could any +story end unhappily on such a morning? The yellow patches in the woods +were not artificial blobs of colour but real primroses, and the blue +patches were bluebells, and the white patches were wind-flowers with +warm mist hanging to them; and Boodles was not a mere girl any longer, +but the presiding fairy of them all going out to find another fairy to +play with. It was not the best ending perhaps, but it was the second +best. So she went down to the woods and met another fairy, and they +played together happily ever after. The furze, in genial generous mood, +showered its blossoms at her feet and said: "Here is gold for you, fairy +girl." The Tavy roared on cheerily, and a little cataract said to a +conceited whirlpool too young to know how giddy it was: "Isn't that the +goddess Flora crossing by the stepping-stones?" And the flowers said: +"We are going to have a fine day." Boodles was ascending in the romantic +scale. She had started as a lodging-house keeper; then she had become +quite a young girl; from that to the fairy stage was only one step; and +then at a single bound she became the goddess of flowers; and she went +along "our walk" with sunshine for hair, and wind-flowers for eyes, and +primroses for skin; and the world seemed very sweet and fresh as if the +wonderful work of creation had only been finished that morning at nine +o'clock punctually, and Boodles was just going through to see that the +gardener had done his work properly.</p> + +<p>Life at eighteen is glorious and imaginative; sorrows cannot quench its +flame. One hour of real happiness makes the young soul sing again, as +one burst of sunshine purges a haunted house of all its horror. Boodles +was down by Tavy side to bathe in the flowers and wash off the past and +the beastly origin of things; the black time of winter, the awful +loneliness, the windy nights. She was going to meet a friend, a +companion, somebody who would frighten the dark hours away. The past was +to vanish, not as if it had never been, but because it really never had +been. The story was to begin all over again, as the other one had been +conceived so badly that nobody could stand it. The once upon a time +stage had come again, and the ogres had agreed not to interfere this +time. Boodles baptised herself in dew, and rose from the ceremony only a +few hours old. The child's name was Flora; no connection of the poor +little thing which had been flung out to perish because nobody wanted it +except silly old Weevil, who hated to see animals hurt. Weevil belonged +to the other story too, the rejected story, and therefore he had never +existed. Nobody had wanted Boodles, which was natural enough, as she was +merely a wretched illegitimate brat; but every one wanted Flora. The +world would be a dreary place without its flowers. Flora could laugh Mr. +Bellamie to scorn; for the sun was her father and the warm earth her +mother; and nobody would stop to look at the flowers while she was going +by with them all upon her face.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>At last Boodles looked up. She had been sitting on the warm peat just +outside the gate until all Nature struck eleven; and the warmth and +fragrance of the wood had made her sleepy. Dreams are the natural +accompaniment of sleep, and she was dreaming then; for the expected +figure was close to her, the figure in grey flannel and a plain straw +hat; not elderly certainly, not much older than herself; and it was true +enough she would have liked that figure if it had only been real.</p> + +<p>"Go away," she murmured, rather frightened. "Please go away."</p> + +<p>There was something dreadfully wrong. It was a nice girl's face that she +saw, at least she had often called it so, and it was not black, and the +owner of that face was assuredly going to like her very much indeed, +although it was hardly a case of love at first sight; for the girl had +failed to keep her appointment, the foreign girl with the amazing name +was not there, the Persian girl who was to adore the sun and the coals +of Lewside Cottage was evidently a deceiver of the baser sort. She had +not come, and instead she had sent some one who could not fail to +recognise the little girl waiting at the gate of the wood, who was +calling her fond names, and actually kissing her, just as if the story +was going to end, not in the second best way, but in the most blissful +manner possible, with a dance of fairies on Tavy banks and a +wedding-march. It was Aubrey who had come to the gate of the wood.</p> + +<p>"I wish you wouldn't," said Boodles rather sleepily. "I am waiting here +for a girl."</p> + +<p>Then something appeared before her eyes which woke her up; the letter +which she had written to Devonport; and she heard a voice saying very +close to her ear, so close indeed that the lips were touching it—</p> + +<p>"I wrote it, darling. I was afraid you would not come unless I deceived +you a little. But I signed it with my own name."</p> + +<p>"Yerbua Eimalleb—what nonsense!" she sighed.</p> + +<p>"It is only Aubrey Bellamie written backwards."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you must not. How could you? It made me so happy. I thought at last +I should have a friend, to drive the loneliness away—and now, it is all +dark again and miserable. You are sending me back to the creeping, +crawling shadows."</p> + +<p>"I have given up the Navy. I have given up my people, and everything, +for the one thing, the best thing, for you," Aubrey said.</p> + +<p>Boodles put her head down, as if the wind had snapped her slender neck, +and he kissed the hair just as he had done at different periods of her +life, when she was a very small girl and the radiance was hanging down, +and when she was rather a bigger girl and the radiance was up—and now. +It was the best kiss of all, a man's kiss, the kiss which regenerated +her and renounced all else.</p> + +<p>"You don't know what you are saying. I am an illegitimate child. You +must not give up anything for me."</p> + +<p>Boodles had forgotten that it was the beginning of a new story. His +great act of renunciation staggered her. Everything, birth, name, +prospects, respectability, for her. She could not let him, but how was +she to resist? She threw the sleep off, and said almost fiercely—</p> + +<p>"You must not. The time may come when you will be sorry. I shall be a +weight upon you, dragging you down. You might become ashamed of me."</p> + +<p>"Darling, I have been true to you all my life. I will be true for the +rest of it."</p> + +<p>"I promised your parents I would not."</p> + +<p>"You promised me, year after year, that you would."</p> + +<p>Boodles tried to smile. She would have to be false to some one.</p> + +<p>"I have left my father's house, and I am not going back," Aubrey went +on.</p> + +<p>"It will be terrible for them," she murmured.</p> + +<p>"It would be worse for you and for me. They have known nothing but +happiness all their lives. It is their turn to have a little trouble. +They are bringing it upon themselves. I have told them I shall not go +back until they are willing to receive my wife."</p> + +<p>"They will never do that. Oh, Aubrey, you must not marry me. I shall +spoil your life."</p> + +<p>"If I lost you it would be spoilt. I am being selfish after all," he +said. "And if you were left alone what would you do?"</p> + +<p>Boodles said nothing, but the Tavy went roaring by, answering the +question for her.</p> + +<p>"I am going to take you away, darling." He was holding her tightly, and +she did not resist much, perhaps because she felt she ought to give up a +little to him as he was giving up so much for her. "We will be married +at once, and live in a tiny home. I have got it already, at Carbis Bay, +looking over St. Ives at the sea, a lovely place where the sun shines. +We will have our own boat and go fishing—"</p> + +<p>"And drown ourselves sometimes," added happy Boodles.</p> + +<p>"Not till we quarrel, and that will be never."</p> + +<p>"Look, Aubrey!" she cried, lifting herself, pointing between the bars of +the gate into the wood. "There is our walk in a blue mist."</p> + +<p>The atmosphere of the wood was the colour of bluebells, which stretched +in a magic carpet as far as they could see.</p> + +<p>"Let us go in," he said.</p> + +<p>"Not yet. Not unless I—Oh, Aubrey, if we go in it will be all over. Do +I deserve it? Those winter evenings, the loneliness, the winds," she +murmured.</p> + +<p>"It is all over," he said firmly, with a man's seriousness. "We have to +start life now, for I have nobody but you—my little sweetheart, my wife +of the radiant head, and the golden skin—"</p> + +<p>"And the freckles," she said, looking down, without a smile.</p> + +<p>"They have faded. You are so thin, sweet. You have been indoors too +much, out of the sun."</p> + +<p>"There wasn't any sun; not until to-day," she whispered.</p> + +<p>"You see, darling, we are alone together."</p> + +<p>"It is what we wanted always, to be alone. Oh, my boy, I must—I must +spoil your life, because I have got you in my heart and you won't go +out. You never would leave me alone," she said, looking up with the +childlike expression which had come back to her.</p> + +<p>Aubrey swung the gate open and she went to him. They kissed as they went +through, and the gate slammed behind with a pleasant sound. They were +inside, surrounded by the blue mist. It seemed to them very warm in +there. They went on hand in hand, not speaking just then, not laughing +as in the old days; for their eyes were opened, and they understood that +life is not a fairy-tale, but a winding path between rocks and cruel +furze; and only here and there occurs the Garden of Happiness; only here +and there in the whole long path; but the gardens are there, and every +one may walk in them if they can only find the way in.</p> + +<p>"I think you are such a nice boy, Aubrey," said a small voice in sweet +school-girl tones. The little girl was feeling ridiculously young and +shy again. It seemed absurd to think that she was going to be a bride so +soon.</p> + +<p>They were walking upon the magic carpet of bluebells. The work of +regeneration was finished at last; and the world was only a few hours +old.</p> + + +<p>THE END</p> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Furze the Cruel, by John Trevena + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FURZE THE CRUEL *** + +***** This file should be named 34543-h.htm or 34543-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/5/4/34543/ + +Produced by Christine Bell and Marc D'Hooghe +http://www.freeliterature.org + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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: Furze the Cruel + +Author: John Trevena + +Release Date: December 2, 2010 [EBook #34543] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FURZE THE CRUEL *** + + + + +Produced by Christine Bell and Marc D'Hooghe +http://www.freeliterature.org + + + + + +FURZE THE CRUEL + +BY + +JOHN TREVENA + +AUTHOR OF "A PIXY IN PETTICOATS" AND "ARMINEL OF THE WEST" + +LONDON + +ALSTON RIVERS, LTD. + +BROOKE ST., HOLBORN BARS, E.C. + +1907 + + + + + Almost everywhere on Dartmoor are Furze, Heather, and Granite. The + Furze seems to suggest Cruelty, the Heather Endurance, and the + Granite Strength. The Furze is destroyed by fire, but grows again; + the Heather is torn by winds, but blossoms again; the Granite is + worn away imperceptibly by the rain. This work is the first of a + proposed trilogy, which the author hopes to continue and complete + with "Heather" and "Granite." + + + + +CONTENTS + + + + INTRODUCTORY + + + I. ABOUT THE TAVY FAMILY + II. ABOUT BRIGHTLY + III. ABOUT PASTOR AND MASTER + IV. ABOUT BEETLES + V. ABOUT THOMASINE + VI. ABOUT VOCAL AND INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC + VII. ABOUT FAIRYLAND + VIII. ABOUT ATMOSPHERE + IX. ABOUT A KNAVE AND A FOOL + X. ABOUT THE VIGIL OF ST. GOOSE + XI. ABOUT THE FEAST OF ST. GOOSE + XII. ABOUT THE OCTAVE OF ST. GOOSE + XIII. ABOUT VARIOUS EMOTIONS + XIV. ABOUT A STRUGGLE AT THE GATE OF FAIRYLAND + XV. ABOUT JUSTICE + XVI. ABOUT WITCHCRAFT + XVII. ABOUT PASTIMES + XVIII. ABOUT AUTUMN IN FAIRYLAND + XIX. ABOUT THE GOOD RIGHT HAND OF FELLOWSHIP + XX. ABOUT THE PASSOVER OF THE BRUTE + XXI. ABOUT WINTER IN REAL LIFE + XXII. ABOUT THE PINCH + XXIII. ABOUT A HOUSE ON THE HIDDEN LANES + XXIV. ABOUT BANKRUPTS + XXV. ABOUT SWALING-FIRES + XXVI. ABOUT "DUPPENCE" + XXVII. ABOUT REGENERATION AND RENUNCIATION + + + +FURZE THE CRUEL + + + + +INTRODUCTORY + +ABOUT RAINDROPS + + +The river of Tavy is a great mountain-carver. From its mud-holes of +Cranmere to the walls of Tavistock it is a hewer of rocks. Thenceforth +it becomes a gardener, raising flowers and herbs; it becomes idyllic. +It goes into Arcadia. And at last it floats ships of war. + +There is a story in Hebrew literature of a king called Solomon, a man +reputed wise, although a fool with women, who desired to build a temple +to his God. There was a tradition which forbade the use of hammer or +chisel in the erection of a place of worship, because, according to the +Mischna, "Iron is used to shorten life, the altar to prolong it." The +stones were not to be hewn. The temple was to be built noiselessly. The +narrative suggests that Solomon had the stones cut and shaped at some +distance from the building site, which was a decidedly Jesuitical way of +solving the problem. Myth suggests that the king sought the aid of +Asmodeus, chief of the devils, who told him where he could discover a +worm which would split the toughest rock. The introduction of the devil +to assist in the building of the temple was no doubt of Persian origin, +since Persian thought influenced Hebrew literature just as Grecian +thought was later to influence that of Rome. The idea of noiseless +building, of an altar created by supernatural powers, of burrowing for +minerals and metals without tools, is common to the literature of every +country. It is one of the stock tales of folk-lore found everywhere. In +one place it is a worm which shatters the mountains; in another a black +stone; and in another a herb, such as the innocent forget-me-not, and +the various saxifrages of the cottage garden. All the stories agree upon +three points: the name of the rock-shatterer signifies irresistible +force; it is invariably a small and insignificant object; and it is +brought to mankind by a bird. That bird is the cloud; and the worm, +pebble, or herb, which shatters mountains is the raindrop. + +This is the story of the river Tavy, its tors and cleave, just as the +pixy grandmother told it to the little round-eyed ones on a stormy +night, when the black-winged raven-cloud was bringing the rain over +Great Kneeset, and the whist hounds were yip-yip-yipping upon the +"deads"-- + +"It all happened a long time ago, my impets, a very long time ago, and +perhaps I shan't be telling you the story quite right. They say the +dates are cut upon the Scorhill Rocks. I couldn't make them out the last +time I was there, but then my eyes are getting feeble. You know the +Scorhill Rocks, my dears? They are just by the Wallabrook, and near our +big dancing stone which the silly mortals call a tolmen. You remember +how we danced there on All Hallows E'en. What a beautiful night it was, +sure 'nuff! And then you went and pinched the farm maids in their beds, +and made them dream of their lovers, mischievous young toads! Well, I +don't blame ye, my dears. I liked a bit of a gambol when I was a winikin +bit of a pisky maid myself. + +"This old Dartymore was a gurt big solid mountain of granite in those +days, my pretties. You can't imagine what it was like then, and I can't +either. There was no grass on it, and there were no nice vuzzy-bushes to +dance round, and no golden blossoms to play with, and no fern to see-saw +on, and no pink heather to go to sleep in--and worse and worse, my +dears, there wasn't a single pixy in those days either." + +"Oh, what a funny old Dartymore!" cried the little round-eyed ones. + +"It wasn't an old Dartymore, my pets. It was a brand-new one. There were +no bullocks or ponies. There were no bogs and no will-o'-the-wisps. +There were no stone remains for stupid mortals to go dafty over, for as +you and I know well enough most of 'em are no more stone remains than +any other rocks, but are just as the wind and rain made them. There was +not a single mortal in those days either, and none of the triumphs of +their civilisation, such as workhouses, prisons, and lunatic asylums. +There was just the sun and the gurt grey mountain, and right upon the +top of the mountain was a little bit of jelly shivering and shaking in +the wind." + +"But how did it get there?" cried the little round-eyed ones. + +"Oh, my loves, you mustn't ask such silly questions. I don't know. +Nobody can know. It was there, and we can't say any more. Perhaps there +was a little bit of this jelly on the top of every mountain in the +world. I can't tell you anything about that. But this little bit on the +top of Dartymore was alive. It was alive, and it could feel the wind and +the sun, and it would have kicked if it had got any legs to kick with. +You will find it all written on the Scorhill Rocks. I couldn't find it, +but it must be there, because they say it is. Well, this little bit of +jelly shivered away for a long time, and then one day it began to rain. +That was a wonderful thing in those days, though we don't think anything +of it now. The little bit of jelly didn't like the rain. If it had been +a pixy it would have crawled under a toadstool. If it had been a mortal +it would have put up its umbrella. But toadstools and umbrellas hadn't +been invented. So the poor thing shivered and got wet, because it was a +very heavy shower. They say it lasted for several thousand years. While +it rained the little bit of jelly was thinking. At last it said to the +rain, 'Where do _yew_ come from?' But the rain only replied that it +hadn't the least idea. + +"'What are ye doing?' went on the bit of jelly; and the rain answered, +'Making the world ready for you to live in.' The piece of jelly thought +about that for a million years, and then it said to the wind--the rain +had stopped, and it was the First Fine Day--'Someone must have made me +and put me here. I want to speak to that Someone. Can't you tell me what +to do?' + +"'Ask again in a million years,' said the wind. + +"'I think I'll go for a walk,' said the piece of jelly. You see, my +dears, it was getting tired of sitting still, and besides, it had +discovered little bits of things called legs. They had grown while it +had been thinking. So it got up, and stretched itself, and perhaps it +yawned, and then it went for a long walk. I don't know how long it +lasted, for they thought nothing of a few thousand years then; but at +last it got back to the top of Dartymore, and found everything changed. +The big mountain had been shattered and hewn into cleaves and tors. +There were rivers and bogs; grass and fern; vuzzy-bushes and golden +blooms. In every part, my dears, the mountain had been carved into tors +and cut into gorges; but there were still no pixies, and no mortals. +Then the piece of jelly went and looked at itself in the water, and was +very much astonished at what it saw. It was a piece of jelly no longer, +but a little hairy thing, with long legs and a tail, and a couple of +eyes and a big mouth." + +"Was it the same piece of jelly? What a long time it lived!" cried the +little round-eyed ones. They didn't believe a word of the story, and +they were going to say so presently. + +"Well, my pretties, it was, and it wasn't. You see, little bits of it +kept breaking off all those years, and they had become hairy creatures +with long legs and a tail. Part of the original piece of jelly was in +them all, for that was what is called the origin of life, which is a +thing you don't understand anything about, and you mustn't worry your +heads about it until you grow up. The little hairy creature stood beside +the Tavy, and scratched its ear with its foot just like a dog. A million +years later it used its hand because it couldn't get its foot high +enough, and the wise men said that was a sign of civilisation. It was +raining and blowing, and presently a drop of rain trickled down the nose +of the little hairy creature and made it sneeze. + +"'Go away,' said the little hairy creature. 'I wun't have ye tickling my +nose.' You see, my dears, it knew the Devonshire dialect, which is a +proof that it is the oldest dialect in the world. + +"'Let me bide. I be fair mazed,' said the Devonshire raindrop. 'I've +been drap-drappiting on this old Dartymore for years and years.' + +"'You bain't no use. You'm only a drop o' rainwater,' said the little +hairy thing. + +"'That's all. Only a drop o' rain-water,' came the answer. 'This gurt +big mountain has been worn away by drops o' rain-water. These tors were +made by drops o' rainwater. These masses of granite have been split by +drops o' rain-water. The river is nought but drops o' rain-water." + +"'You'm a liar,' said the little hairy thing. You see, my dears, it +couldn't believe the raindrop." + +The little round-eyed ones didn't believe it either. They were afraid to +say so because Grandmother might have smacked them. Besides, they knew +they would not have to go to bed in the pink heather until she had +finished her story. So they listened quietly, and pinched one another, +while Grandmother went on-- + +"It was a long time afterwards. There were bullocks and ponies and +plenty of pixies, and the little hairy thing had become what is called a +primitive man. Tavy Cleave was very much the same as it is now, and Ger +Tor was big and rugged, and Cranmere was full of river-heads. The +primitive man had a primitive wife, and there were little creatures with +them who were primitive children. They lived among the rocks and didn't +worry about clothes. But there was one man who was not quite so +primitive as the others, and therefore he was unpopular. He used to +wander by himself and think. You will find it all upon the Scorhill +Rocks, my dears. One evening he was beside the Tavy, which was known in +those days as the Little Water, and a memory stirred in him, and he +thought to himself: I was here once, and I asked a question of the wind; +and the wind said: 'Ask again in a million years.' Someone must have +made me and put me here. I want to speak to that Someone. Then the +Little Water shouted; and it seemed to say: 'I have worn away the +mountain of granite. I have shattered the rocks. Look at me, primitive +man! I have given you a dwelling-place. I was made by the raindrops. The +cloud brought the raindrops. And the wind brought you, primitive man. +That Someone sent you and the wind together. You want to speak to that +Someone. You must seek that Someone in a certain place. Look around you, +primitive man!' + +"So he looked, my dears, and saw what the Little Water had done during +those millions of years. On the top of every little mountain it had +carved out a tor. They were rough heaps of rock, shapeless, and yet +suggesting a shape. They were not buildings, and yet they suggested a +building. The primitive man went up on the highest tor, and spoke to +that Someone. But, my pretties, I'm afraid you can't understand all +this." + +The little round-eyed ones were yawning dreadfully. Grandmother was +getting wearisome in her old age. They thought they would rather be in +bed. + +"The primitive man made himself a hut-circle. You see, my dears, the +Little Water had taught him. He had become what is called imitative. +When he made his hut-circle he just copied the tors. Later on he copied +them on a larger scale and built castles. And then the time came when +another man stood beside the Tavy and asked: 'I have had dreams of +treasure in the earth. How can I get at that treasure?' + +"Then the Little Water shouted back: 'Look at me. I have worn away the +rocks. I have uncovered the metals. Work in the ground as I have done.' + +"So the man imitated the river again and worked in the ground, until he +found tin and copper; and the river went on roaring just as it does now. +You see, my children, there would have been no river if there had been +no raindrops; and without the river no tors and cleaves, no vuzzy-bushes +and golden blossoms, no ferns or pink heather, no buildings, no mortals, +and no pixies. Dartymore would have remained a cold grey mountain of +granite, and the piece of jelly would never have become a primitive man +if it hadn't rained." + +"But what is the rain doing now?" cried the little round-eyed ones. + +"Just the same, my pretties. Making the river flow on and on. And the +river is making the cleave deeper, and Ger Tor higher, just as it has +always been doing. Only it works so slowly that we don't notice any +change. Now you must run away to bed, for it is quite late, and you are +gaping like young chickens. Come and kiss your old granny, my dearies, +and trot away and have your dew-baths. And when you are tucked up in the +pink heather don't be afraid of the black cloud and the raindrops, for +they won't harm little pisky boys and maids if they're good. They are +too busy wearing away the granite, and cutting the cleaves deeper, and +making the mountains higher and our dear old Tavyland stronger and +fresher. There, that's all for to-night, my impets. I'll tell ye another +story to-morrow." + +"Funny old thing, G'an'mother," whispered the little round-eyed ones, +while they washed their pink toes in the dew. "She'm old and dafty." + +That's the story of river Tavy and its cleave; not all of it by any +means, but the pixy grandmother did not know any more. Nobody knows all +of it, except that Someone who sent the wind, which swept up the cloud, +which brought the rain, which wetted the piece of jelly, which shivered +on the top of the big grey mountain of Dartmoor. + +The pixy grandmother was right about the primitive man who wanted so +much to know things. She was right when she said that the river taught +him. He looked about him and he imitated. The river had made him models +and he copied them. The tor to which he ascended to speak to that +Someone was the first temple and the first altar--made without noise, a +temple of unhewn stone, an altar of whole stones over which no man had +lifted up any iron. It was the earliest form of religion; a better and +purer form than any existing now. It was the beginning of folk-lore. It +was the first and best of mysteries: the savage, the hill-top, and the +wind; the cloud and the sun; the rain-built temple; the rain-shaped +altar. It was the unpolluted dwelling-place which Hebrew literature +tried to realise and failed; which philosophers and theocrats have tried +to realise and failed; which men are always trying to realise and must +always fail, because it is the beginning of things, the awakening of the +soul, the birth of the mind, the first cry of the new-born. It is the +first of all stories, therefore it cannot die; but the condition can +never come again. The story of the rain-shattered rocks must live for +ever; but only in the dimly-lighted realm of folk-lore. + +Thus, in a sense, Peter and Mary, and the other folk to be described in +these pages, are the children of the river, the grandchildren of the +cloud and the rain. Ages have passed since the cloud first settled upon +Dartmoor and the rain descended. Pandora's box has been opened since +then, and all the heavenly gifts, which were to prove the ruin of +mortals, escaped from it long ago, except hope left struggling in the +hinge. What have the ignorant, passionate, selfish creatures in common +with the freshness and purity of the wind and rain? Not much perhaps. It +is a change from the summit of Ger Tor, with its wind and rain-hewn +altar, to Exeter Cathedral, with its wind instrument and iron-cut +sculpture--a change for the worse. It is a change from the primitive +man, with his cry to the river, to Mary and Peter, and those who defile +their neighbours' daughters, and drink to excess. A change for the +worse? Who shall tell? Men cast back to primitive manners. The world was +young when the properties of the fruit of the vine were discovered; and +we all know the name of the oldest profession upon earth. + +The river of Tavy flows on and on, dashing its rain sea-ward. Go upon +the spectral mount of Ger Tor. Let it be night and early spring. Let +there be full moonlight also. Hear the water roaring: "I have worn away +the mountain of granite. I have shattered the rocks. Look at me, +civilised man. I have made you a dwelling-place, but you will not have +it. You swarm in your cities like bees in a rotten tree. Come back to +the wind and the rain. They will cool your passions. They will heal your +diseases. Come back to Nature, civilised man." + + + + +CHAPTER I + +ABOUT THE TAVY FAMILY + + +"Coop, coop!" called Mary Tavy. "Cooey, cooey! Aw now, du'ye come, my +dear. He be proper contrairy when he'm minded to," she cried to Farmer +Chegwidden as she shook a gorse-bush, which was her shepherd's staff, +towards a big goose waddling ahead of her in the path of its own +selection, and spluttering and hissing like a damp firework. + +"Did ever see such a goosie?" said Mary. "When I wants 'en to go one way +he goes t'other. There he goes, down under, to Helmen Barton. If he lays +his egg there they'll keep 'en, and say one of their fowls dropped 'en. +He wun't come home till sundown. Contrairiest bird on Dartmoor be Old +Sal." + +"I don't hold wi' old geese," said Farmer Chegwidden. "They'm more +trouble than they'm worth. When they gets old they'm artful." + +"So be volks," said Mary. "Goosies be cruel human. Old Sal knows as much +as we. He'm twenty-two years old. He lays an egg every month. He'm the +best mother on Dartmoor, and Peter says he shan't die till he've a mind +to." By her continued use of the masculine gender any one might have +thought Mary was not quite convinced herself as to her goose's sex; but +it was not so really. There is nothing feminine on Dartmoor except +tom-cats. + +Mary lived with brother Peter close to the edge of Tavy Cleave, a little +way beyond Wapsworthy. There was a rough road from the village of St. +Peter Tavy, passing round the foot of Lynch Tor, and ending in a bog +half-a-mile further on. Ger Cottage--so named because the most prominent +feature of the landscape was Ger, or Gurt, Tor--which was the home of +the Tavys, the man and the woman, not the river, nor the cleave, nor the +stannary town, nor the two villages of that ilk, appeared amid boulders +and furze between the rough road and the gorge cut by the river. The +cottage, or to be strictly accurate, the cottages, for Peter and Mary +had separate apartments, which was quite right and proper, was, or were, +in a situation which a house-agent would have been justified in +describing as entirely detached. There was no other dwelling-place +within a considerable distance. The windows looked out upon romantic +scenery, which has been described in somewhat inflated language, +six-syllabled adjectives, and mixed metaphors, as something absolute and +unassailable; and has been compared to the Himalayas and Andes by +excitable young people under commission to write a certain number of +words for cheap guide-book purposes. However, the ravine of the Tavy is +perhaps the finest thing of its kind on Dartmoor; and "gentle readers" +who go abroad every winter have some reason to feel ashamed of +themselves if they have not seen it. + +When the New Zealander comes to explore England, he will, perhaps,--if +he is interested in such things--write letters to such newspapers as may +have survived concerning the source of the Tavy. He will probably claim +to have discovered some new source which the ignorant and vanished race +of Anglo-Saxons never happened on. Most people will say that the Tavy +rises at the south side of Cut Hill. Others, who do not wish to commit +themselves, will make the safe statement that its source is upon +Cranmere. As a matter of fact the Tavy would be a very wise river if it +knew its own head. By the time it has assumed any individuality of its +own and received its first titled tributary, which is the Rattle Brook, +it has come through so many changes, and escaped from such a complicated +maze of crevasses, that it would have to be provided with an Ariadne's +clue to retrace its windings to its source. In the face of general +opinion it seems likely that the Tavy begins its existence rather more +than two miles north of its accredited source, at a spot close to +Cranmere Pool, and almost within a stone's cast of the Dart. It would be +impossible, however, to indicate any one particular fissure, with its +sides of mud and dribble of slimy water, and declare that and none other +was the river of Tavy in extreme and gurgling infancy. + +There is no doubt about the Tavy by the time it has swallowed the Rattle +Brook and a few streams of lesser importance, and has entered the cleave +which it has carved through the granite by its own endless erosion. It +is an exceedingly self-assertive river; passing down with a satisfied +chuckle in the hot months, when the slabs of granite are like the floors +of so many bakers' ovens; and in the winter roaring at Ger Tor, as +though it would say, "I have cut through a thousand feet of granite +since I began to trickle. I will cut through a thousand more before the +sun gets cold." It is a noble little river, this shallow mountain +stream, the proudest of all Dartmoor rivers. More romance has gathered +around the Tavy than about all the other rivers in England put together, +leaving out the Tamar. The sluggish Thames has no romance to compare +with that of the Tavy. The Thames represents materialism with its +pleasure-boats and glitter of wealth. It suggests big waistcoats and +massive watch-chains. The Tavy stands for the spiritual side. Were the +god of wine to stir the waters of each, the Thames would flow with beer; +good beer possibly, but nothing better; while the Tavy would flow with +champagne. The Tavy is the Rhine of England. It was beside the Tavy that +fern-seed could be gathered, or the ointment obtained, which opened the +eyes of mortals to the wonders of fairyland. It was on the banks of the +Tavy that the pixies rewarded girls who behaved themselves--and pinched +and nipped those who didn't. Beside the Tavy has grown the herb +forget-me-not, which not only restored sight to the blind, but life also +to the dead; and the marigold which, when touched early on certain +mornings by the bare foot of the pure-minded, gave an understanding of +the language of birds. Many legends current upon the big Rhine occur +also beside the shallow Tavy. There are mining romances; tales of +success, struggles, and failures, from the time of the Phoenicians; +tales of battles for precious tin; tales of misery and torture and human +agony. That is the dark side of the Tavy--the Tavy when it roars, and +its waters are black and white, and there are glaciers down Ger Tor. The +tiny Lyd runs near the Rattle Brook, the bloody little Lyd in which the +torturers of the stannary prison cleansed their horrible hands. The +Rattle Brook knew all about it, and took the story and some of the blood +down to Father Tavy; and the Tavy roared on with the evidence, and +dashed it upon the walls of Tavistock Abbey, where the monks were +chanting psalms so noisily they couldn't possibly hear anything else. +That was the way of the monks. Stannary Laws and Tavistock Abbey have +gone, and nobody could wish for them back; but the Tavy goes on in the +same old way. It is no longer polluted with the blood of tin-streamers, +but merely with the unromantic and discarded boots of tramps. The +copper-mines are a heap of "deads"; and Wheal Betsey lies in ruin; but +the Tavy still brings trout to Tavistock, although there are no more +monks to bother about Fridays; and it carries away battered saucepans +and crockery for which the inhabitants have no further use. This +attention on the part of the townsfolk is not respectful, when it is +remembered that the Tavy brought their town into being, named it, and +has supplied it always with pure water. It is like throwing refuse at +one's godfather. + +The Tavy is unhappily named, so is its brother the Taw--both being sons +of Mother Cranmere--if it is true their names are derived the one from +the Gaelic _tav_, the other from the Welsh _taw_. The root word is +_tam_, which appears appropriately enough in Thames, and means placid +and spreading. The Tavy and the Taw are anything but that. They are +never placid, not even in the dog-days. They brawl more noisily than all +the other rivers in Devon. Perhaps they were so named on the _lucus a +non lucendo_ principle; because it is so obvious they are not placid. +The river Tavy has a good deal of property. Wherever it winds it has +bestowed its name. The family of Tavy is a very ancient one. It was rich +and important once, possessing a number of rights, many valuable mines, +much romance, to say nothing of towns abbeys, and castles; but, like +most old families, it has decayed, and its property is not worth much +now. It possesses Tavy Cleave; the villages of St. Peter and St. Mary +(they were twins, exceedingly healthy in their youth, but growing feeble +now); Mount Tavy, which is of no importance; Tavystoc, the fortified +place upon the Tavy, which has been turned into Tavistock and has become +famous, not for its Abbey, nor for its great men, but solely and simply +for its Goose Fair; and Mary and Peter Tavy, who were not made of cob, +or granite, or water, or tin, or any of those other things which made +the fortune of the Tavy family, but were two simple animals of the human +race, children of the river out of that portion of Dartmoor which it +owns, two ignorant beings who took life seriously enough and were like +the heather and gorse which surrounded them. Evolution has accomplished +such marvels that Peter and Mary may possibly have been lineally +descended from antediluvian heather and gorse; or perhaps Nature had +intended them for heather and gorse, and while making them had come +across a couple of shop-soiled souls which were not of much use, and had +stirred them into the mixture which, after a certain treatment only to +be explained by a good deal of medical dog-Latin, resulted in Mary and +Peter being brought forth as divine images upon the edge of Tavy Cleave. + +Peter and Mary were savages, although they would have used strange +language had any one called them so. They did not display their +genealogical tree upon their cottage wall. Had they done so it would +have shown, had it been accurate, that they were descended from the +Gubbingses, who, as every man knows, were as disreputable a set of +savages as have ever lived. This pedigree would have shown that a +certain young Gubbings had once run away with a certain Miss Gubbings to +whom he was attached, and with whom he was probably related more or less +intimately. Fearing capture, as they had conveyed from the gorge of the +Lyd as much of the portable property of their connections as they could +conveniently handle, the young couple assumed the name of Tavy from the +river beside which they settled. They had a number of little Tavies, +who, it was said, founded the villages of Peter Tavy and Mary Tavy, +which good Christians subsequently canonised; and who, by intermarriage +without much respect for the tie of consanguinity, or for such a form of +religious superstition as a marriage service--if, indeed, they had ever +heard of such a thing--became in time a rival band of Scythians almost +as formidable to law-abiding commoners as their relations in Gubbings +Land. Peter and Mary were direct descendants of these pleasant people. +They didn't know it, however. It was just as well they were in +ignorance, because knowledge of the truth might have turned their heads. +The chief of the Gubbings was a king in his own land; therefore Peter +and Mary would certainly have boasted that they were of royal blood; and +Peter would assuredly have told his neighbours that if every man had his +rights he would be occupying the throne of England. He would have gone +on acquiring knowledge concerning those things which appertain unto +ancient families, and no doubt would have conferred upon himself, +although not upon Mary, a coat-of-arms such as a sheep in one quarter, a +bullock in another, a bag of gold in the third, and in the fourth a +peaceful commoner's head duly decollated, with the motto: "My wealth is +in other men's goods." Peter would have become an intolerable nuisance +had he known of his royal ancestry. + +Mary was quite a foot taller than her brother. Peter was like a gnome. +He was not much more than four feet in height, with a beard like a +furze-bush, a nose like a clothes-peg, and a pair of eyes which had +probably been intended for a boar, but had got into Peter by mistake. +His teeth were much broken and were very irregular; here a tooth like a +tor, there a gap like a cleave. In that respect he resembled his +neighbours. Dartmoor folk have singularly bad teeth, and none of them +submit to dentistry. They appear to think that defective teeth are +necessary and incurable evils. When they are ill they send for the +doctor at once; but when they have toothache they grin and bear it. +Perhaps they know that dentists are mercenary folk, who expect to be +paid for their labours; whereas the doctor who has any claim to +respectability works solely for the love of his profession, and is not +to be insulted by any proposal of payment. A doctor is a sort of +wandering boon-companion, according to the Dartmoor mind. There is +nothing he enjoys so much as being called from his bed on a bitter +winter's night, to drive some miles across the moor that he may have a +pleasant chat with some commoner who feels dull. He will be invited to +sit by a smouldering peat-fire, and the proposal, "Have a drop o' cider? +you'm welcome," will fall gratefully upon his ears. He will be +encouraged to talk about certain ailments, and to suggest remedies for +the same. Then he will be pressed to finish the crock of cider, and be +permitted to depart. After such hospitality he would be a base-minded +man if he made any suggestion of a fee. Peter had often consulted a +doctor, but he could not remember ever parting with cash in return for +advice. The doctor could not remember it either. + +Peter generally wore a big leather apron, which began somewhere about +the region of his neck and finished at his boots. He had taken it, in a +fit of absent-mindedness, out of the blacksmith of Bridestowe's smithy +some years ago. He was a bit of a traveller in those days. Peter often +boasted of his wanderings. That expedition to Bridestowe was one of +them. It would have been six miles across the moor from Tavy Cleave, and +yet Peter had made light of it. He had done much greater things. He had +put to silence one of those objectionable, well-washed, soft-handed, +expensively-dressed creatures who call themselves gentlemen. One of +these had described to Peter his wanderings about the world, mentioning +such fabulous countries as India, China, Mexico, and Peru. Peter +listened in an attitude which expressed nothing if not contempt. He +allowed the traveller to go oh some time before crushing him. "I've +travelled tu," he said at last. Then, with the manner of one dropping a +brick upon a butterfly, he added, "I've been to Plymouth." Peter often +mentioned that the traveller had nothing more to say. + +Peter had been absent-minded when he procured the blacksmith's apron, +somewhat after the manner of his early ancestors who had inhabited Lyd +Gorge or Gubbings Land. He was liable to such fits. They were generally +brought on by beer. One evening Mary had sent him to a farm--or rather +he had permitted her to send him--with a can and a string-bag in order +that he might receive payment of a debt in the form of ducks' eggs and +buttermilk. On the way Peter became absent-minded. The attack was fully +developed by the time he reached the farm. He forced the eggs into the +can and poured the buttermilk into the string-bag. + +Mary also must have been made during a fit of Nature's temporary +insanity. She had been started as a man; almost finished as one; then +something had gone wrong--Nature had poured the buttermilk into the +string-bag, so to speak, and Mary became a female to a certain extent. +She had a man's face and a man's feet. Larger feet had never scrambled +down Tavy Cleave since mastodons had gone out of fashion. The impression +of Mary's bare foot in the snow would have shocked a scientist. She was +stronger than most men. To see Mary forking fern, carrying furze-reek, +or cutting peat was a revelation in female strength. She wore stout +bloomers under a short ragged skirt; not much else, except a brown +jersey. The skirt was discarded sometimes in moments of emergency. She +was flat-chested, and had never worn stays. She was as innocent +concerning ordinary female underwear as Peter; more so, perhaps, for +Peter was not blind to frills. Mary would probably have worn her +brother's trousers sometimes, had it not been for that muddle-headed act +of Nature, which had turned her out a woman at the last moment. Besides, +Peter was a foot shorter than his sister, and his legs were merely a +couple of pegs. + +Somewhere in his head Peter despised Mary. He did not tell her so, or +she might have beaten him with a furze-bush. He was far superior to her. +Peter could read, write, and reckon with a dangerous facility. He was +also an orator, and had been known to speak for five minutes at a +stretch in the bar-room. He had repeated himself certainly, but every +orator does that. Peter was a savage who knew just enough to look +civilised. Mary was a savage who knew nothing and was therefore +humorous. It was education which gave Peter the upper hand, Mary could +not assert her superiority over one who read the newspapers, spoke in a +bar-room, and described characters on a piece of paper which would +convey a meaning to some one far away. + +Ger Cottage, or the twin huts occupied by the Tavys, had been once +hut-circles, belonging to the aboriginal inhabitants of Dartmoor. They +were side by side, semi-detached as it were, and the one was Peter's +freehold, while the other belonged to Mary. They had the same legal +rights to their property as rabbits enjoy in their burrows. Legal rights +are not referred to on Dartmoor, unless a foreigner intervenes with a +view to squatting. "What I have I hold" is every man's motto. The +hut-circles had been restored out of all recognition. They had been +enlarged, the walls had been built up, chimneys made, and roofs covered +with furze and held in place by lumps of granite had been erected. Peter +and Mary were quite independent. Peter was the best housewife, just as +Mary was the best farmer. Peter also called himself a handy man, which +was merely another way of saying that he was no good at anything. He +would undertake all kinds of jobs, ask for a little on account, then +postpone the work for a few years. He never completed anything. Mary was +the money-maker, and he was really her business-manager. Mary was so +ignorant that she never wondered how Peter got his money. It was +perfectly simple. Peter would sell a twelve-pound goose at eightpence a +pound. When he collected the money it naturally amounted to eight +shillings. When he paid it over to Mary it had dwindled to five +shillings. "Twelve times eight be sixty," Peter would explain. "Sixty +pence be five shilluns." Mary knew no better. Then Peter always asked +for a shilling as his commission, and Mary had to give it him. Peter had +studied ordinary business methods with some success; or perhaps it came +to him naturally. He had some ponies also. There is plenty of money in +pony-breeding as Peter practised it. He would go out upon the moor, find +a young pony which had not been branded, drive it home without any +ostentation, and shut it-up in his linhay. After a time he would set his +own brand upon it and let it run loose. When the annual pony-drift came +round he would claim it, subsequently selling it at Lydford market for +five pounds. Sometimes he would remove a brand, and obliterate all +traces of it by searing his own upon the same spot; but he never went to +this extreme unless he was hard pressed for money, because Peter had +certain religious convictions, and he always felt when he removed a +brand that he was performing a dishonest action. + +The only other member of the Tavy family was Grandfather. He was the +reprobate. Peter and Mary had morals of their own, not many, but +sufficient for their needs; but Grandfather had none. He was utterly +bad; a wheezing, worn-out, asthmatic old sinner, who had never been +known to tell the truth. Grandfather was always in Peter's hut. Mary had +often begged for him to keep her company at nights, but Peter +steadfastly refused to let the old rascal leave his quarters. So +Grandfather lived with Peter, and spent his time standing with his back +to the wall, wheezing and chuckling and making all sorts of unpleasant +noises, as if there was some obstruction on his chest which he was +trying always to remove. + +Grandfather's hands were very loose and shaky, and his face was +dreadfully dirty. Peter washed it sometimes, while the old fellow +wheezed and groaned. Sometimes Peter opened his chest and examined +Grandfather's organs, which he declared were in a perfectly healthy +condition. There appeared to be no excuse for Grandfather's mendacious +habits. He had got into the way of lying years back, and could not shake +it off. Grandfather was well over a hundred years old, and he was not +the slightest use except as a companion. Some people would have been +afraid of him, because of his unpleasant noises, but Peter and Mary +loved him like dutiful grandchildren. They recognised in Grandfather the +true Gubbings spirit. He was a weak, sinful creature like themselves. + +Grandfather had commenced life as a clock, but he had soon given up that +kind of work, or something had occurred to turn him from a useful +career; just as Peter had been meant for some sort of quadruped, and +Mary had been a man up to the last possible moment. Some evil spirit +must have entered into Grandfather; a malicious impet from the Tavy +river perhaps; or possibly the wild wind of Dartmoor had passed down the +cleave one day, to enter Grandfather's chest and intoxicate him for +ever. The fact remained that Grandfather was hopelessly bad; he was a +regular misanthrope; his ticks were so many curses, his strikings were +oaths. He did his best to mislead the two grandchildren, although it +didn't matter much, because time is of no account on Dartmoor. "He'm a +proper old brute, Gran'vaither," Peter would say sometimes, but never in +the old clock's hearing. + +Mary's mission in life was to breed geese. She had been sent into the +world for the express purpose of supplying folk with savoury meat +stuffed with sage and onions at Christmas time. She succeeded admirably. +She was the best goosewoman on Dartmoor, and her birds were always in +demand. One year Peter had obtained a shilling a pound for three +unusually fine young birds; but Mary didn't know that. She fattened her +geese, and incidentally Peter also. + +"They'm contrairy birds," observed Farmer Chegwidden, while he smoked +and rested himself upon a boulder, watching Mary's efforts to collect +her flock. "Never goes the way us want 'em to. Like volks," he added, +with philosophic calm. He might have been assisting Mary, only he didn't +believe in violent exercise which would not be suitably rewarded. + +"Volks calls 'en vulish, but they bain't. They'm just vull o' human +vices," said Mary, flopping to and fro and waving her furze-bush. + +"They'm vulish to look at," explained Farmer Chegwidden. + +"'Tis their artful way. Peter looks vulish tu, and he knows plenty. +More'n any of they goosies, I reckon. Coop, coop! Drat the toad! I'll +scat 'en." + +The leader of the feathered choir was off again. Chegwidden could have +headed it off, only he had finished his day's work. He managed to summon +up the energy to remark, "They gets over the ground surprising, wi' +their wings spread." + +"He'm a proper little brute. I wun't waste no more time over 'en," said +Mary, as she wiped her forehead with a bunch of fern. "He'll come home +when he've a mind to, and lay his egg in the linny likely, where +Peter'll tread on 'en in the morning. Peter be cruel clumsy wi' his +boots. Will ye please to step inside, Varmer Chegwidden?" + +"I mun get home. Got the bullocks to feed." + +"Fine bullocks tu. I seed 'em down cleave last night. Cooey, cooey! Come +along home, my purty angels. Wish ye good-night, Varmer Chegwidden." + +"Why du'ye call 'em angels?" asked the farmer, making strange sounds of +laughter behind his hand. + +"Aw now, I'll tell ye. There was a lady down along, a dafty lady what +painted, and her come to Peter, and her ses, 'I wants they goosies to +paint.' Well, us wouldn't have it. Us thought her wanted to paint 'em, +one of 'em red, 'nother green likely, 'nother yellow maybe, and it might +be bad for their bellies. But us found her wanted to put 'em on a +picture. Her had got a mazed notion about the cleave and resurrection, +wi' angels flapping over, and her wanted my goosies for angels. Peter +ses he didn't know goosies were like angels. Knows a lot, Peter du." + +"Angels be like gals," declared Chegwidden. "Like them gals to Tavistock +what pulls the beer, wi' pert faces and vuzzy hair. That's what angels +be like. I've seed the pictures in a Bible." + +"Aw now. Us couldn't make she out," went on Mary. "The lady said 'twas +just the wings her wanted. Her said angels ha' got goosies' wings, and +us couldn't say 'em hasn't, 'cause us ain't seed any. Her knew all about +it. So Peter druve the goosies down cleave, and her painted 'em for +angels sure 'nuff. Us never knew angels has goosies' wings, but the lady +knew. Her was sure on't." + +Mary stalked towards the hut-circles at the head of her row of geese, +grave, waddling, self-important, and blissfully unconscious of anything +in the nature of sage and onions. There was a touch of humour about the +procession. It was not altogether unlike the spectacle to be witnessed +in certain country boroughs of the mayor and corporation walking into +church. + +"Goosies be cruel human," said Mary. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +ABOUT BRIGHTLY + + +Up the road from Brentor to St. Mary Tavy came Brightly, his basket +dragging on his arm. He was very tired, but there was nothing unusual in +that. He was tired to the point of exhaustion every day. He was very +hungry, but he was used to that too. He was thinking of bread and cheese +and cider; new bread and soft cheese, and cider with a rough edge to it. +He licked his lips, and tried to believe he was tasting them. Then he +began to cough. It was a long, heaving cough, something like that of a +Dartmoor pony. He had to put his basket down and lean over it, and tap +at his thin chest with a long raw hand. + +Nobody wanted Brightly, because he was not of the least importance. He +hadn't got a home, or a vote, or any of those things which make the +world desire the presence of people. He was only a nuisance, who worried +desirable folk that he might exist, though the people whom he worried +did not ask him to live. Brightly was a purveyor of rabbit-skins. He +dealt in rubbish, possibly because he was rubbish himself. He tramped +about Dartmoor, between Okehampton and Tavistock, collecting +rabbit-skins. When he was given them for nothing he was grateful, but +his stock of gratitude was not drawn upon to any large extent. It is not +the way of Dartmoor folk to part with even rubbish for nothing. To +obtain his rabbit-skins Brightly had to dip his raw hand beneath the +scrap of oilcloth which covered his basket, and produce a horrible +little red and yellow vase which any decent-minded person would have +destroyed at sight. Brightly bore most things fairly well, but when, on +one occasion while climbing over the rocks, he had dropped the basket +and all the red and yellow vases were smashed to atoms, he had cried. He +had been tired and hungry as usual, and knew he had lost the capital +without which a man cannot do business. The dropping of that basket +meant bankruptcy to Brightly. + +The dealer in rabbit-skins was not alone in the world. He had a dog, +which was rubbish like its master. The animal was of no recognised +breed, although in a dim light it called itself a fox-terrier. She could +not have been an intelligent dog, or she would not have remained +constant to Brightly. Her name was Ju, which was an abbreviation of +Jerusalem. One Sunday evening Brightly had slipped inside a church, and +somewhat to his surprise had been allowed to remain, although a sidesman +was told off to keep an eye upon him and see that he did not break open +the empty poor-box. A hymn was sung about Jerusalem the golden, a piece +of pagan doggerel concerning the future state, where happy souls were +indulging in bacchanalian revels, and over-eating themselves in a sort of +glorified dairy filled with milk and honey. The hymn enraptured +Brightly, who was, of course, tired and famished; and when he had left +the warm church, although without any of the promised milk and honey, he +kept on murmuring the lines and trying to recall the music. He could +think of nothing but Jerusalem for some days. He went into the public +library at Tavistock and looked it up in a map of the world, discovered +it was in a country called Palestine, and wondered how many rabbit-skins +it would cost to take him there. Brightly reckoned in rabbit-skins, not +in shillings and pence, which were matters he was not very familiar +with. He noticed that whenever he mentioned the name of Jerusalem the +dog wagged her tail, as though she too was interested in the dairy +produce; so, as the animal lacked a title, Jerusalem was awarded her. +Brightly thought of the milk and honey whenever he called his poor +half-starved cur. + +Presently he thought he had coughed long enough, so he picked up his +basket and went on climbing the road, his body bent as usual towards the +right. At a distance he looked like the half of a circle. He could not +stand straight. The weight of his basket and habit had crooked him like +an oak branch. He tramped on towards the barren village of St. Mary +Tavy. There was a certain amount of wild scenery to be admired. Away to +the right was Brentor and the church upon its crags. To the left were +piled the "deads" of the abandoned copper-mines. The name of Wheal +Friendship might have had a cheerful sound for Brightly had he known +what friendship meant. He didn't look at the scenery, because he was +half blind. He could see his way about, but that was all. He lived in +the twilight. He wore a big pair of unsightly spectacles with +tortoise-shell rims. His big eyes were always staring widely behind the +glasses, seeing all they could, which was the little bit of road in +front and no more. + +Brightly was known about that particular part of the moor which he +frequented as the Seal. Every one laughed whenever the Seal was +mentioned. Brightly's wardrobe consisted chiefly of an old and very +tightly-fitting suit of black, distinctly clerical in cut. They had been +obtained from a Wesleyan shepherd in exchange for a pair of red and +yellow vases to embellish the mantel of the nonconforming parlour. Rain +is not unknown upon Dartmoor, and in the neighbourhood of St. Mary Tavy +it descends with pitiless violence. Brightly would be quickly saturated, +having no means of protecting himself; and then the tight clerical +garments, sodden and sleek and shining, would certainly bear some +resemblance to the coat of a seal which had just left the sea; a +resemblance which was not lessened by his wizened little face and weary +shuffling gait. + +Brightly did not think much while he tramped the moor. He had no right +to think. It was not in the way of business. Still, he had his dream, +not more than one, because he was not troubled with an active +imagination. He tried to fancy himself going about, not on his tired +rheumatic legs, but in a little ramshackle cart, with fern at the bottom +for Ju to lie on, and a bit of board at the side bearing in white +letters the inscription: "A. Brightly. Purveyor of rabbit-skins"; and a +lamp to be lighted after dark, and a plank for himself to sit on, and a +box behind containing the red and yellow vases. All this splendour to be +drawn by a little shaggy pony. What a great man he would be in those +days! Starting forth in the morning would be a pleasure and not a pain. +Frequently Brightly babbled of his hypothetical cart. He felt sure it +must come some day, and so he had begun to prepare for it. He had +secured the plank upon which he was to sit and guide the pony, and every +autumn he cut some fern to put at the bottom of the cart should it +arrive suddenly. The plank he had picked up, and the fern had been cut +upon the moor. He had clearly no right to them. The plank had probably +slipped out of a granite cart, and the fern belonged to the commoners. +There was plenty of it for every one, but, as the commoners would have +argued, that was not the point. They had a right to cut the fern, and +people like Brightly have no right to anything, except a cheap funeral. +Brightly had no business to wander about the moor, which was never made +for him, or to kick his boots to pieces against good Duchy of Cornwall +granite. All the commoners cheated the Duchy of Cornwall, while they +loyally cheered the name of the Duke. They took his granite and +skilfully evaded payment of the royalty, and prayed each Sunday in their +chapels for grace to continue in honesty; but the fact of their being +commoners, some of them having the privilege of the newtake, and others +not having the privilege but taking it all the same, made all the +difference. They had to assert themselves. When it came to a question of +a few extra shillings in the money-box, or even of a few extra pence, +minor matters, such as petty tyrannical ordinances of law and Church, +could take their seats in a back corner and "bide there." Brightly had +no privileges. He had to obey every one. He was only a worm which any +one was at perfect liberty to slice in half with a spade. + +Brightly had a home. The river saw to that; not the Tavy, but the less +romantic Taw. Brightly belonged to the Torridge and Taw branch of the +family. On the Western side of Cawsand are many gorges in the great +cleave cut by the Taw between Belstone and Sticklepath. There narrow and +deep clefts have been made by the persistent water draining down to the +Taw from the bogs above. In the largest of these clefts Brightly was at +home. The sides were completely hidden by willow-scrub, immense ferns, +and clumps of whortleberries, as well as by overhanging masses of +granite. The water could be heard dripping below like a chime of fairy +bells. In winter the cleft appeared a white cascade of falling water, +but Brightly's cave was fairly dry and quite sheltered. He was never +there by day, and at night nobody could see the smoke of his fire. He +had built up the entrance with shaped stones taken from the +long-abandoned cots beside the old copper-mines below. The cleft was +full of copper, which stained the water a delightful shade of green. +Brightly had furnished his home with those things which others had +thrown away. He had long ago solved the difficulty of cooking with a +perforated frying-pan, and of turning to practical uses a kettle with a +bottom like a sieve. + +Brightly reached the moor gate. On the other side was the long +straggling village of St. Mary Tavy. Beside the gate was a heap of +refuse. Brightly seated himself upon it, because he thought it was the +proper place for him. + +"I be cruel hungry, Ju," explained Brightly. + +"So be I," said the dog's tail. + +"Fair worn to bits tu," went on Brightly. + +"Same here," said the tail. + +"Wait till us has the cart," said Brightly cheerily, placing the +rabbit-skins upon the dirt beside him. "Us won't be worn to bits then. +Us will du dree times the business, and have a cottage and potato-patch, +and us will have bread and cheese two times a day and barrel o' cider in +the linny. Us will have fat bacon on Sundays tu." + +Brightly did not know that ambition is an evil thing. It was ridiculous +for him to aspire to a cottage and potato-patch, and bread and cheese +three times a day. Kindly souls had created stately mansions for such as +he. There was one at Tavistock and another in Okehampton; beautiful +buildings equipped with all modern conveniences where he could live in +comfort, and not worry his head about rabbit-skins, or about Ju, or +about such follies as liberty and independence, or about such +unnecessary aids to existence as the moorland wind, his river Taw, the +golden blossoms of the gorse, the moonlight upon the rocks, and the +sweet scent of heather. Brightly was an unreasonable creature to work +and starve when a large stone mansion was waiting for him. + +"Us ha' come a cruel long way, Ju," said the little man, descending from +his dream. "Only two rabbit-skins. Business be cruel bad. Us mun get on. +This be an awkward village to work. It be all scattery about like." + +Brightly rose with some alacrity. The moor gate rattled. The hand of the +village constable was upon it, and the eyes of that official, who was to +Brightly, at least, a far more considerable person than the Lord Chief +Justice, were regarding the vagabond with a suspicion which was +perfectly natural considering their respective positions. + +"Good-evening, sir," said Brightly with deep humility. The policeman was +not called upon to answer such things as Brightly. He condescended, +however, to observe in the severe tones which his uniform demanded: +"Best be moving on, hadn't ye?" + +Brightly agreed that it was advisable. He was well aware he had no right +to be sitting upon the heap of refuse. He had probably damaged it In +some way. The policeman had his bicycle with him, as he was on his way +to Lydford. Brightly stood in a reverential attitude, held the gate +open, and touched his cap as the great man rolled by. The constable +accepted the service, without thanks, and looked back until the little +wanderer was out of sight. Such creatures could be turned to profitable +uses after all. They could be made to supply industrious village +constables with opportunities for promotion. They could be arrested and +charged with house-breaking, rick-burning, or swaling out of season; if +such charges could not be supported, they could be summoned for keeping +a dog without a licence. The policeman made a note of Brightly, as +business was not very flourishing just then. There was the usual amount +of illegality being practised by the commoners; but the village +constable had nothing to do with that. Commoners are influential folk. A +man could not meddle with them and retain his popularity. The policeman +had to be polite to his social superiors, and salute the elders of +Ebenezer with a bowed head, and wink violently when it was incumbent +upon him so to do. + +Dartmoor has no reason to be proud of St. Mary Tavy, as it is quite the +dreariest-looking village upon the moor. Even the river seems to be +rather ashamed of it, and turns away as if from a poor relation. St. +Peter, over the way, is much more cheerful. They were well-to-do once, +these two. They were not only saints, but wealthy, in the good days when +the wheals were working and the green stain of copper was upon +everything. Now they have come down in the world. The old gentleman lets +lodgings, and the old lady takes in washing. They have put away their +halos, dropped their saintly prefix, and it is exceedingly improbable +that they will ever want them again. They always found it hard work to +live up to their reputations; not that they tried very much; but now +they are both easy and comfortable as plain everyday folk, neither +better nor worse than their neighbours Brentor and Lydford. Peter is a +fine, rugged old gentleman; but Mary is decidedly plain with age. There +is nothing tender or pleasant about her. She is shamelessly naked; +without trees or bushes, and the wheal-scarred moor around is as bald as +an apple. The wind comes across her head with the blast of ten thousand +bagpipes; and when it rains upon St. Mary--it rains! + +Brightly knew all about that rain. He had often played the Seal upon +that wild road, and had felt the water trickling down his back and +making reservoirs of his boots; while people would stand at their +windows and laugh at him. Nobody had ever asked him to come in and take +shelter. Such an idea would never have occurred to them. Ponies and +bullocks were out upon the moor in all weathers, and every winter some +died from exposure. Brightly was nothing like so valuable as a pony or +bullock, and if he were to die of exposure nobody would be out of +pocket. + +Brightly went from cottage to cottage, but there were no rabbit-skins +that day. There seemed to be a rabbit famine just then. Lamps were +lighted in windows here and there. When the doors were opened Brightly +felt the warmth of the room, smelt the glowing peat and the fragrant +teapot, and sometimes saw preparations for a meal. What a wonderful +thing it must be, he thought, to have a room of one's own; a hearth, and +a mantelpiece holding china dogs, cows with purple spots, and +photographs of relations in the Army; a table covered with rare and +precious things, such as waxen fruit beneath a dome of glass, woollen +mats, and shells from foreign lands; a clock in full working order; a +dresser stocked with red and green crockery; and upon the walls +priceless oleographs framed in blue ribbon, designed and printed in +Austria, and depicting their Royal Highnesses the Duke and Duchess of +Cornwall, simpering approvingly at a scarlet Abraham in the act of +despatching a yellow Isaac with a bright-blue scimitar. Brightly sighed +as each door was closed upon him, and each smoky little paradise +disappeared. He was having a run of bad luck. Ju knew all about it. She +put what was left of her tail between her legs and shivered. No doubt +she wished she had been born into the world a genuine dog, and not a +mongrel; just as Brightly sometimes wished he had been born a real human +being, and not a poor thing which dealt in rabbit-skins. + +He reached the top of the village. The road heaved above him, and then +came the bare upland. He could do no more that evening. There was no +food, or fire, or shelter for him. He knew of a barn in which he could +sleep at Brentor, but it was too late to go back there. Darkness was +coming on. Brightly did not require to feel in his pocket to discover +the state of his finances. He knew he had just twopence. + +There was a gate beside him, and on the other side a row of very small +whitewashed cottages one room high, which had been built for miners in +the days when Mary Tavy had been a saint and prosperous; they were then +occupied by assorted families. Brightly stumbled through and knocked at +the door of the first. It was opened by a young woman nursing a baby; +another was hanging to her skirts; a third sprawled under the table; +there was a baby in a cradle, another wrapped upon a chair. It appeared +to be a congress of babies. The place was crawling with them. It was a +regular baby-warren. They had been turned out wholesale. Even Brightly +felt he had come to the wrong place, as he asked the extraordinarily +fertile female if she would give him a cup of tea and piece of bread for +one penny. + +The answer was in the negative. The woman was inclined to be hysterical, +which was not surprising considering her surroundings. She was alone in +the house, if she could be called alone when it was hardly possible to +step across the floor for babies which were lying about like bees under +a lime-tree. Brightly was known as a vagabond. He looked quite the sort +of man who would murder her and all the children. She told him to go +away, and when he did not move, because he had not heard, she began to +scream. + +"I'll send for policeman if ye don't go. You'm a bad man. Us knows ye. +Coming here to scare me, just as I be going to have a baby tu. 'Twill be +cross-eyed, poor dear, wi' yew overlooking me. Get along wi' yew, or +I'll call neighbours." + +Brightly begged her pardon in his soft voice and went. He knew it was no +use trying the other cottages. The woman with the army of children would +only follow from door to door, and describe how he had insulted her. He +made his way to the top of the village and sat upon the hedge. Ju +crouched beside him and licked his boots. It was a fine evening, only +they were too hungry to appreciate it properly. + +"Us mun get food, or us wun't tramp far in the morning," said Brightly. +"This wind du seem to mak' a stomach feel cruel empty." + +"Makes a dog's stomach empty too, father," said the eloquent tail of Ju. + +"Us will go to the shop, and get what us can for a penny. Mun keep one +penny for to-morrow," said Brightly. + +He turned his dim eyes towards the road. A horse was trotting up the +long hill, and presently he saw it; a big ugly grey with a shaggy coat. +Brightly knew who it was approaching him, and had there been time he +would have hidden, because he was afraid of the man who rode. "It be +Varmer Pendoggat," he whispered. "Don't ye growl, Ju." + +Possibly the rider would have passed without a word, but the grey horse +saw the creatures upon the hedge and shied, crushing the rider's leg +against one of the posts opposite. This was unfortunate for Brightly, as +it was clearly his fault. Quaint objects with big spectacles and +rabbit-skins have no business to sit upon a hedge in the twilight. He +had frightened the horse, just as he had frightened the woman with a +family. The horse had hurt his master, and Pendoggat was not the sort of +man to suffer patiently. + +There is a certain language which must not be described. It may be heard +to perfection in the cheap enclosures at race-meetings, in certain +places licensed to sell beer, at rabbit-shoots, and in other places +where men of narrow foreheads come together and seem to revert to a type +of being which puzzles the scientist, because there is nothing else in +the entire animal world quite like it. Pendoggat made use of that +language. He had a low forehead, a scowling face, small eyes, which +looked anywhere except at the object addressed, bushy black moustache, +and high cheek-bones. He never laughed, but when he was angry he +grinned, and spittle ran down his chin. He was a strong man; it was said +he could pick up a sack of flour with one hand. He could have taken +Brightly and broken him up like a rotten stick. Most people were +respectful to Pendoggat. The village constable would have retired on a +pension rather than offend him. + +"I be sorry, sir. I be cruel sorry," muttered poor shivering Brightly. +"I did bide still, sir, and I told the dog to bide still tu. I hopes you +hain't hurt, sir. Don't ye be hard on I, sir. Us have had a bad day, and +us be hungry, sir." + +Pendoggat replied with more of the same language. He tried to destroy Ju +with his thick ground-ash, but the wise cur escaped. Then he sidled the +horse towards the hedge, and crushed Brightly against its stones. He saw +nothing pathetic in the poor thin creature's quivering face and +half-blind eyes; but he obtained some enjoyment out of the piping cry +for mercy. Brightly thought he was going to be killed, and though he +didn't mind that much, he did not want to be tortured. + +"Don't ye, sir. Don't ye hurt I," he cried. "I didn't mean it, sir. I +was biding quiet. You'm hurting I cruel, sir. I'll give ye two vases, +sir, purty vases, if yew lets I go." + +Pendoggat struck his horse, and the animal started back. Brightly +reached his raw hand up the hedge and lifted his basket tenderly. It was +like losing flesh and blood to part with his vases, but freedom from +persecution was worth any ransom. He removed the oil-cloth. What was +left of the light softened the hideous ware and made the crude colouring +endurable. + +"Tak' two, sir," said Brightly piteously. "Them's the best, sir." + +"Give me up the basket," Pendoggat muttered. + +The shivering little man lifted it. Pendoggat snatched at the handle, +pulled out a vase, and flung it against the stone hedge. There was a +sharp sound, and then the road became spotted with red and yellow +fragments. + +This was something which Brightly could hardly understand. It was too +raw and crude. He stood in the road, with his hands swaying like two +pendulums against his thin legs, and wondered why the world had been +made and what was the object of it all. There was another crash, and a +second shower of red and yellow fragments. Pendoggat had selected his +pair of vases, and he was also enjoying himself. He looked up and down, +saw there was no one in sight; Dartmoor is a wild and lawless place, and +nobody could dictate to him. He was a commoner; master of the rivers and +the granite. Brightly said nothing. He lifted a red hand for his basket, +which contained what was left of his capital, but Pendoggat only struck +the clumsy fingers with his ground-ash. It was darker, but a wild gleam +was showing over what had been Gubbings Land. The moon was coming up +that way. + +"I'll learn ye to scare my horse," growled Pendoggat. "I saw you shake +your hand at him. I heard you setting on the dog. If I was to give you +what you deserve, I'd--" He lifted his arm, and there was another crash, +and more flesh and blood were wasted. + +"Don't ye, sir," cried Brightly bitterly. "It be ruin, sir. I tored they +once avore, and 'twas nigh a month 'vore I could start again. I works +hard, sir, and I du try, but I've got this asthma, sir, and rheumatism, +and I can't properly see, master. I've been in hospital to Plymouth, +sir, but they ses I would never properly see. 'Tis hard to start again, +master, and I ain't got friends. Don't ye tear any more, master. I'll +never get right again." + +Pendoggat went on smashing the vases. There were not many of them, not +nearly enough to satisfy him. The last was shattered, and he flung the +basket at Brightly, hitting him on the head, but fortunately not +breaking his spectacles. Brightly wanted to be alone; to crawl into the +bracken with Ju, and think about many things; only Pendoggat would not +let him go. + +"Hand up those rabbit-skins," he shouted. He was growing excited. +Smashing the vases had put passion into him. + +"I've tramped ten miles for they, master. Sourton to Lydford, and +Lydford to Brentor, and Brentor to Mary Tavy. Times be very bad, sir. +Ten miles for two rabbit-skins, master." + +"Hand them up, or I'll break your head." + +Brightly had to obey. Pendoggat flung the skins across the saddle and +grinned. He passed his sleeve across his lips, then put out his arm, +seized Brightly by the scarf round his neck, and dragged him near. "If I +was to give ye one or two across the head, 'twould learn ye not to scare +horses," he said. + +Brightly shivered a little more, and lifted his wizened face. + +"Got any money? Tell me the truth, or I'll pull the rags off ye." + +"Duppence, master. 'Tis all I has now you'm torn the cloam and got my +rabbit-skins. If it warn't for the duppence I don't know what me and Ju +would du." + +"Hand it over," said Pendoggat. + +"I can't, master. I can't," whispered Brightly, gulping like a dying +fish. + +"Hand it over, or I'll strangle ye." Then in a fit of passion he dragged +Brightly right across the saddle and tore his pocket open. The two +copper coins fell into his hand. He dropped Brightly upon the red and +yellow fragments, which cut his raw hands, then hit his horse, and rode +on triumphing. He had punished the miserable little dealer in rubbish; +and he fancied Brightly would not venture to frighten his horse again. + +Pendoggat rode up to the high moor and felt the wind. He was about to +strike his horse into a canter, when a spectre started out of the gloom, +a wizened face reached his knee, an agonised voice cried: "Give I back +my duppence, master. Give I back my duppence." + +Pendoggat shivered. He did not enjoy the sound of that voice, or the +sight of that face. He thought of death when he saw that face. Brightly +was only one of the mean things of the earth, and mean things make a +fuss about trifles. That face and that voice all over the loss of +twopence! Probably the wretched thing was mad. Honest men are often +frightened when they see lunatics. + +"Us be cruel hungry, master. Us have eaten nought all day. Us have lost +our cloam and our rabbit-skins. Give I back my duppence, master. I'll +work for ye to-morrow." + +Pendoggat hit his horse, and the animal cantered away, and the spectre +troubled him no longer. He wiped his chin again and felt satisfied. He +had made a poor creature suffer. There was a certain amount of crude +pleasure in that thought. But why had that face and voice suggested +death, the death of a man who has used his power to deprive a poor +wretch of his vineyard? Pendoggat flung the rabbit-skins into the gaping +pit of a mine-shaft and cantered on. He was a free man; he was a +commoner; the rivers and the rocks were his. + +Brightly stumbled back to the hedge to reclaim his empty basket. He +talked to Ju for a little, and tried to understand things, but couldn't. +He would have to start all over again. He discovered a turnip, which had +probably rolled out of a cart and was therefore any one's property, and +he filled his stomach with that. Ju raked a bone bearing a few sinews +out of a rubbish-heap. So they might have done worse. + +At the top of the village was an old cow-barn. Above was a loft +containing a little dry fern. Brightly and Ju lodged there. It was quite +away from other buildings, standing well out upon the moor, therefore +nobody heard a queer piping voice, singing and feasting on the quaint +doggerel far into the night-- + + "Jerusalem the golden, + Wi' milk and honey blest... + + + + +CHAPTER III + +ABOUT PASTOR AND MASTER + + +Unpleasant creatures are so plentiful in the world that they cannot be +overlooked. Were there only a few they might be ignored; but they +throng, they thrust themselves forward, they shout to attract attention, +they push the decent-looking out of the way. The ugliest women make the +most noise; the ugliest men shove to the front in a crowd; the ugliest +insects make their way into bed-chambers. Why Nature made so much +ugliness, side by side with so much that is beautiful, only Nature +knows. Some countries are made detestable to live in by the presence of +hideous creatures. There is the fire-ant of the Amazon valley, which +will put human beings to flight. There is the Mygale spider, covered +with poisonous red hair, its body the size of a duck's egg, the spread +of its legs covering eight inches, which scuttles into a room by +moonlight and casts a horrible shadow upon the bed. There is the +wolf-spider which, if a man passes near its lair, will leap out and +pursue him, and bite him if it can. There are so many of these repulsive +things that they cannot be disregarded. Some things can be kept out of +the way: abattoirs, operating-theatres, vivisection-hells. People ignore +and forget these, because they are not seen; but the man wolf-spider +cannot be forgotten, because he leaps out and pursues those that come +near his lurking-place. + +Nothing in the entire system of creation can be more inexplicable than +the persistent cruelty of Nature. Death there must be, but Nature +resents a painless death. Animals not only kill but torture those which +are inferior to them. Mason-wasps deliberately vivisect spiders, which +are insects extremely tenacious of life. It is the same all the way +along the scale up to and including man. Nature does her work with +bloody hands; birth, life, death, become a miserable dabble of blood and +passion. Some people shut their eyes to it all; others cannot; others +add to it; churches with their tolling bells and black masses revel in +the mystic side of it. + +There is not a person living who has not done an act of cruelty. It is +impossible to refrain from it. However kindly the soul may be Nature +will whisper bloody messages; and some day there is sure to be a +temporary breakdown. In a town the wretched business is not much seen. +It lurks in the dark corners, like the Mygale spider, and comes out +perhaps at moonlight to cast its shadow upon the bed. On the sparsely +inhabited moor it is visible, for it cannot hide away so easily, and it +tries less because it is fiercer. It is like the wolf-spider which +dashes out in a mad fury. Upon a wild upland passions are fiercer, just +as physical strength is greater. Everything seems to suggest the dark +end of the scale; the rain is more furious, the clouds are blacker, the +wind is mightier, the rivers are colder; Nature is at full strength. She +is wild and lawless, and men are often wild and lawless too. Tender +lilies would not live upon the moor, and it is no use looking for them. +They are down in the valleys. Upon the moor there is the granite, the +spiny gorse, the rugged heather. It is no use looking for the qualities +of the lily in those men who are made of the granite, and gorse, and +heather. + +Pendoggat was the sort of man who might have melted into tears at +hearing a violin played, and then have kicked the performer down a wheal +if he asked for a copper. Nature turns out a lot of contradictory work +like that. She never troubles to fit the joints together. Had any one +told Pendoggat he was a cruel man, he would first of all have stunned +the speaker into silence, and then have wondered whatever the man had +been driving at. It is a peculiarity of cruelty that it does not +comprehend cruelty. No argument will persuade a rabbit-trapper that the +wretched animals suffer in the iron jaws of his traps. The man who skins +an eel alive, and curses it because it won't keep still, cannot be +brought to understand that he is doing anything inhuman. Perhaps he will +admit he had never given the subject a thought; more probably he will +regard the apostle of mercy as a madman. The only way to enlighten such +men is to skin them alive, or compel them to tear themselves to death in +an iron trap; and there are, unfortunately, laws to prevent that. The +only just law ever made was the _lex talionis_, and Nature recognises +that frequently. Pendoggat trapped rabbits in his fields, and if they +were not dead when he found them he left them as a rule. The traps were +supposed to kill them in time, and the longer they were in dying the +longer their flesh would keep. That was the way he looked at it. Quite a +practical way. + +Very likely Pendoggat was of Spanish extraction in spite of his Cornish +name. The average Cornishman has a thoroughly good heart, and is, if he +be of the true stock, invariably fair. The Cornish man or maid who is +dark owes something to foreign blood. There are in Cornwall many men and +women so strikingly dark as to attract attention at once; and if their +ancestry could be traced back a couple of hundred years it might be +found that a Spanish name occurred. While the stout men of Devon were +chasing the Armada up channel and plucking the Admiral's feathers one by +one, and the patriotic Manacles were doing Cornwall's share by giving +the big galleons a hearty welcome, many a shipwrecked sailor found his +way into the cottages of fishermen and wreckers, and with the aid of a +pocketful of gold pieces made themselves at home. Some possibly were +able to return to Spain; others probably seduced their protectors' young +women; others were lawfully wedded; others settled down in their new +land and took a Cornish name. It is a difficult piece of history to +trace, and much must remain pure hypothesis; but it is fairly certain +that had there been no Spanish Armada to invade England, and to send +Queen Elizabeth to her writing-tablets to reel off a lot of badly-rhymed +doggerel in imitation of Master Spenser, there would also have been no +Farmer Pendoggat dwelling at Helmen Barton in the parish of Lydford and +sub-parish of St. Mary Tavy, as a commoner of Dartmoor and a tenant in +name of Elizabeth's descendant the Duke of Cornwall. + +There was nothing of a sinister nature about the Barton. Even its name +meant simply in its original Celtic the place of the high stone; _hel_ +being a corruption of _huhel_, and _men_ one of the various later forms +of _maen_; just as huhel twr, the high tor, has now become Hel Tor. +Wherever people have been given a chance of dragging in the devil and +his dwelling-place they have taken it; actuated, perhaps, by the same +motive which impelled the old dame to make a profound reverence whenever +the name of the ghostly enemy was mentioned, as she didn't know what +would be her fate in a future state, so thought it wise to try and +propitiate both sides. The Barton was a long low house of granite, damp +and ugly. No architect could make a house built of granite look +pleasant; no art could prevent the tough stone from sweating. It was +tiled, which made it look colder still. Creepers would not crawl up its +walls on account of the winds. One half of the Barton was crowded with +windows, the other half appeared to be a blank wall. A good many +farm-houses are built upon that plan, the stable and loft being a +continuation of the dwelling-house, and to all outward appearance a part +of it. There was not a tree near the place. The farm was in a fuzzy +hollow; above was a fuzzy down. It ought to have been called Furzeland, +a name which is borne by a tiny hamlet in mid-Devon, which nobody has +ever heard of, where the furze does not grow. The high stone which had +named the place--probably a menhir--had disappeared long ago. Some +former tenant would have broken it up and built it into a wall. The +commoners' creed is a simple one, and runs thus: "Sometimes I believe in +God who made Dartmoor. I cling to my privileges of mining, turbary, and +quarrying. I take whatever I can find on the moor, and give no man pay +or thanks. I reverence my landlord, and straighten his boundary walls +when he, isn't looking. The granite is mine, and the peat, and the +rivers, and the fish in them, and so are the cattle upon the hills, if +no other man can put forward a better claim. No foreign devil shall +share my privileges. If any man offers to scratch my back he must pay +vor't. Amen." + +It was fitting that a man like Pendoggat should live among the furze, +farm in the furze, fight with the furze. He resembled it in its +fierceness, its spitefulness, its tenacity of life; but not in its +beauty and fragrance. He brought forth no golden blossoms. There was no +thorn-protected fragrance in him. He was always struggling with the +furze, without realising that it must defeat him in the end. He burnt +it, but up it came in the spring. He grubbed it up, but portions of the +root escaped and sent forth new growth. He would reclaim a patch, but +directly he turned his back upon it to attack a fresh piece the furze +returned. To eradicate furze upon a moor was not one of the labours +allotted to Hercules. He would have found it worse than cutting off the +heads of the water-snake. Pendoggat had fought for twenty years, and the +enemy was still undefeated; he would die, and the gorse would go on; for +he was only a hardy annual, and the gorse is a perennial, as eternal as +the rivers and the granite. It bristled upon every side of the Barton, +the greater gorse as well as the lesser, and it was in flower all the +year round, as though boasting of its indomitable strength and vitality. +On the west side, where the moorland dipped and made an opening for the +winds from Tavy Cleave, a long narrow brake remained untouched to make a +shelter for the house. The gorse there was high and thick, and its ropy +stems were as big round as a man's wrist. Pendoggat would have +grievously assaulted any man who dared to fire that brake. + +People who talked scandal in the twin villages, namely, the entire +population, wondered whether Mrs. Pendoggat was really as respectable as +she looked. They decided against her, as they were not the sort of +people to give any one the benefit of a doubt. They were right, however, +for Annie Pendoggat had no claim to the latter part of her name. She was +really Annie Crocker, a degraded member of one of those three famous +families--Cruwys and Copplestone being the other two--who reached their +zenith before the Norman invasion. She had come to Pendoggat as +housekeeper, and could not get away from him; neither could he dismiss +her. She was a little woman, with a sharp face and a soft voice; much +too soft, people said. She could insult any one in a manner which +suggested that she loved them. She had been fond of her master in her +snake-like way. She still admired his brute strength, and what she +thought was his courage. He had never lifted up his hand against her; +and when he threatened to, she would remark in her soft way that the +long brake of gorse darkened the kitchen dreadfully, and she thought she +would go and set a match to it. That always brought Pendoggat to his +senses. + +It was a quiet life at the Barton. Pendoggat had no society, except that +of some minister whom he might bring back to dinner on Sundays. On that +day he attended chapel twice. He also went on Wednesday, when he +sometimes preached. His sermons were about a cruel God ruling the world +by cruelty, and preparing a state of cruelty for every one who didn't +attend chapel twice on Sundays and once during the week. He believed in +what he said. He also believed he was himself secure from such a +punishment; just as certain ignorant Catholics sincerely rely on the +power of a priest to forgive their sins. Pendoggat thought that he was +free to act as he pleased, so long as he didn't miss his attendances at +chapel. If he cheated a man, and missed chapel, his soul would be in +danger; but if he attended chapel the sin was automatically forgiven. It +was a strange form of theology, but not an uncommon one. Many excellent +people tend towards it. Pious old ladies will do all they can to induce +young men to attend church. It does not appear to trouble them much if +the young men read comic papers, wink at the girls, or slumber audibly, +while they are there. The great point has been gained. The young men are +in church; therefore they are religious. The young man who goes for a +walk to the top of the highest tor to watch the sunset is a vile +creature who will be damned some day. + +The Barton had its parlour, and Pendoggat practised the entire ritual +connected with that mysterious apartment. No Dartmoor farm-house would +have the slightest pretensions to be regarded as a civilised home +without the parlour. Its rites and ceremonies remain unwritten, and yet +every farmer knows them, and practises them with the precision of a +Catholic priest obeying his rubrics, or with the zeal of an Anglican +parson defying his. It must be the best room in the house, and it must +be kept locked and regarded as holy ground. The windows must not be +opened lest fresh air should enter, and equally dangerous sunlight must +be excluded by blinds and curtains and a high bank of moribund plants. +The furniture is permitted to vary, with the exception of a few +ornaments which must be found in every house as a mark of stability and +respectability. There must be a piano which cannot be used for purposes +of music, and a lamp which is not to be lighted. Whatever books the +house contains must be arranged in a manner pleasing to the householder, +and they must never be opened. There is a central table, and upon it +recline albums containing photographs of the family at different stages +of their careers, together with those of ancestors; and these +photographs have little value if they are not yellow and faded to denote +their antiquity. In the centre of the table must appear a strange +device; a stuffed bird in a glass case, a piece of coral on a mat, or +some recognised family heirloom. The pictures must be strongly coloured +and should have a religious accent. As Germany has achieved surprising +results in the matter of colour, the pictures are usually from that +fatherland. Ruined temples on the Nile are a favourite subject; only the +temples should resemble dilapidated barns, and the Nile bear a distinct +likeness to a duck pond. Upon the mantel must stand a clock which has +not gone within living memory, and some assorted crockery which if +viewed continuously in a strong light will bring on neuralgia. A copy of +a penny novelette, and a sheet of music-hall songs lying about, denote +literary and musical tastes; but these are unusual. There is generally a +family Bible, used to support a large shell, or a framed photograph of +the master in his prime of life; and this is opened from time to time to +record a birth, marriage, or death. The pattern of the wall-paper must +be decided and easily discernible; scarlet flowers on a yellow +background are always satisfactory. + +The ceremony of entering the parlour takes place usually on Sunday. +There is a Greater Entry and a Lesser Entry. The lesser takes place +after tea. The master in his best clothes, his face and hands washed, +although that point is not always insisted upon, carefully shaven, or +with well-groomed beard, as the case may be, his boots removed after the +manner of a Mussulman, enters the holy place, sits stiffly upon a chair +without daring to lean back lest he should disturb the antimacassar, +lights his pipe, and revels in the odour of respectability. He does not +really enjoy himself, but after a time he grows more confident and +ventures to cross his legs. From time to time he rises, goes out, walks +along the passage, and spits out of the front door. The greater entry +takes place after chapel. The entire family assemble by the light of the +kitchen lamp and say wicked things about their neighbours. Sometimes +guests are introduced, and these display independence in various ways, +chiefly by leaning back in their chairs and shuffling their boots on the +carpet. The ceremonies come to a close at an early hour; the members of +the family file out; father, leaving last, locks the door. The parlour +is closed for another week. + +Pendoggat's parlour was orthodox; only more cold and severe than most. +The wall-paper was stained with moisture, and the big open fire-place +always smoked. The master thought himself better than the neighbouring +commoners, and none of them were ever invited to enter his sanctuary. In +a way he was their superior. He could write a good hand, and read +anything, and he spoke better than his neighbours. It is curious that of +two commoners, educated and brought up in exactly the same way, one will +speak broad dialect and the other good English. There was naturally very +little society for Pendoggat. He lived in his own atmosphere as a +philosopher might have done. He encouraged his minister to visit him, +but he had a good reason for that. Weak-minded ministers are valuable +assets and good advertising agents; for, if their congregations do not +exactly trust them, they will at least follow them, which is more than +they will do for any one else. + +The sanctity of the parlour may be violated on weekdays; either upon the +occasion of some chapel festival, or when a visitor of higher rank than +a farmer calls. When Pendoggat reached the Barton he knew at once that +the place was haunted by a visiting body, because the blinds were up. +Annie Crocker met him in the yard, which in local parlance was known as +the court, and said: "The Maggot's waiting for ye in the parlour. Been +there nigh upon an hour. He'm singing Lighten our Darkness by now, I +reckon, vor't be getting whist in there, and he'm alone where I set 'en, +and told 'en to bide till you come along." + +"Given him no tea?" said Pendoggat, appearing to address the stones at +his feet rather than the woman. That was his usual way; nobody ever saw +Pendoggat's eyes. They saw only a black moustache, a scowl, and a moving +jaw. + +"No, nothing," said Annie. "No meat for maggots here. Let 'en go and eat +dirt. Bad enough to have 'en in the house. He'm as slimy as a slug." + +"Shut your noise, woman," said Pendoggat. "Take the horse in, and slip +his bridle off." + +"Tak' 'en in yourself, man," she snapped, turning towards the house. + +Pendoggat repeated his command in a gentler voice; and this time he was +obeyed. Annie led the horse away, and the master went in. + +The Reverend Eli Pezzack was the Maggot, so called because of his +singularly unhealthy complexion. Dartmoor folk have rich red or brown +faces--the hard weather sees to that--but Eli was not a son of the moor. +It was believed that he had originated in London of West-country +parents. He had none of the moorman's native sharpness. He was a tall, +clammy individual, with flabby hands dun and cold like mid-Devon clay; +and he was so clumsy that if he had entered a room containing only a +single article of furniture he would have been certain to fall against +it. He was no humbug, and tried to practise what he taught. He was +lamentably ignorant, but didn't know it, and he never employed a word of +one syllable when he could find anything longer. He admired and +respected Pendoggat, making the common mistake with ignorant men of +believing physical strength to be the same thing as moral strength. He +agreed with those grammarians who have maintained that the eighth letter +of the alphabet is superfluous. + +"Sorry to have kept ye sitting in the dark," said Pendoggat as he +entered the parlour. + +"The darkness has not been superlative, Mr. Pendoggat," said Eli, as he +stumbled over the best chair while trying to shake hands. "The lunar +radiance has trespassed pleasantly into the apartment and beguiled the +time of lingering with pleasant fancies." He had composed that sentence +during "the time of lingering," but knew he would not be able to +maintain that high standard when he was called on to speak extempore. + +"'The darkness is no darkness at all, but the night is as clear as the +day,'" quoted Pendoggat with considerable fervour, as he drew aside the +curtains to admit more moonlight. + +"True, Mr. Pendoggat," said Eli. "We know who uttered that sublime +contemplation." + +This was a rash statement, but was made with conviction, and accepted +apparently in the same spirit. + +"You know why I asked you to come along here. I'm going to build up your +fortune and mine," said Pendoggat. "Let us seek a blessing." + +Eli tumbled zealously over a leg of the table, gathered himself into a +kneeling posture, clasped his clay-like hands, and prayed aloud with +fervour and without aspirates for several minutes. When Pendoggat +considered that the blessing had been obtained he dammed up the flow of +words with a stertorous "Amen." Then they stood upon their feet and got +to business. + +"Seems there's no oil in this lamp," said the master, referring not to +the pastor, but to the lamp of state which was never used. + +"We do not require it, Mr. Pendoggat," came the answer. "We stand in +God's light, the moonlight. That is sufficient for two honest men to see +each other's faces by." + +Pendoggat ought to have winced, but did not, merely because he had so +little knowledge of himself. He didn't know he was a brute, just as +Peter and Mary did not know they were savages. Grandfather the clock +knew nearly as much about his internal organism as they did about +theirs. + +"I want money," said Pendoggat sharply. "The chapel wants money. You +want money. You're thinking of getting married?" + +Eli replied that celibacy was not one of those virtues which he felt +called upon to practise; and admitted that he had discovered a young +woman who was prepared to blend her soul indissolubly with his. The +expression was his own. He did not mention what he imagined would be the +result of that mixture. "More maggots," Annie Crocker would have said. +Annie had been brought up in the atmosphere of the Church, and for that +reason hated all pastors and people known as chapel-volk. Pendoggat was +the one exception with her; but then he was not an ordinary being. He +was a piece of brute strength, to be regarded, not so much as a man, but +as part of the moor, beaten by wind, and producing nothing but gorse, +which could only be burnt and stamped down; and still would live and +rise again with all its former strength and fierceness. Pastor Eli +Pezzack was the poor weed which the gorse smothers out of being. + +"Come outside," said Pendoggat. + +Eli picked up his hat, stumbled, and wondered. He did not venture to +disobey the master, because weak-minded creatures must always dance to +the tune piped by the strong. Pendoggat was already outside, tramping +heavily in the cold hall. Unwillingly Eli left the parlour, with its +half-visible memorials, its photographs, worthless curios, hair-stuffed +furniture and glaring pictures; blundering like a bee against a window +he followed; he heard Pendoggat clearing his throat and coughing in the +court. + +"Got a stick?" muttered the master. "Take this, then." He gave the +minister a long ash-pole. "We're going down Dartmoor. It's not far. Best +follow me, or you'll fall." + +Eli knew he was certain to fall in any case, so he protested mildly. "It +is dangerous among the rocks, Mr. Pendoggat." + +The other made no answer. He went into the stable, and came out with a +lantern, unlighted; then, with a curt "Come on," he began to skirt the +furze-brake, and Eli followed more like a patient sheep than a foolish +shepherd. + +There is nothing more romantic than a wide undulating region of high +moorland lighted by a full moon and beaten by strong wind. The light is +enough to show the hills and rock-piles. The wind creates an atmosphere +of perfect solitude. The two men came out of the dip; and the scene +about them was the high moor covered with moonlight and swept by wind. +Pendoggat's face looked almost black, and that of the Maggot was whiter +than ever by contrast. + +"Where are you taking me?" he asked gently. "Need we proceed at this +present 'igh velocity, Mr. Pendoggat? I am not used to it. I cannot be +certain of my equilibrium." + +The other stopped. Eli was deep in heather, floundering like a man +learning to swim. + +"You're an awkward walker, man. Lift your feet and plant 'em down firm. +You shuffle. Catch hold of my arm if you can't see. We're not going far. +Down the cleave--a matter of half-a-mile, but it's bad walking near the +river." + +Eli did not take the master's arm. He was too nervous. He struggled on, +tumbling about like a drunken man; but Pendoggat was walking slowly now +that they were well away from the Barton. + +"Sorry to bring you out so late," he said. "I meant to be home earlier, +and then we'd have got down the cleave by daylight." + +"But what are we going to inspect?" cried Eli. + +"Something that may make our fortunes. Something better than scratching +the back of the moor for a living. I'll make a big man of you, Pezzack, +if you do as I tell ye." + +"You are a wonderful man, and a generous man, Mr. Pendoggat," said Eli. +Then he plunged heavily into a gorse-bush. + +Pendoggat dragged him out grimly, almost crying with pain, with a +hundred little white bristles in his face and hands. He mentioned this +fact with suitable lamentations. + +"They'll work out. What's a few furze-prickles?" Pendoggat muttered. +"Get your hands hard, and you won't feel 'em. Mind, now! there's bog +here. Best keep close to me." + +Eli obeyed, but for all that he managed to step into the bog, and made +the ends of his clerical trousers objectionable. They reached the edge +of the cleave, and stopped while Pendoggat lighted his lantern. They had +to make their way across a wilderness of clatters. The moonlight was +deceptive and crossed with black shadows. The wind seemed to make the +boulders quiver. Eli looked upon the wild scene, heard the rushing of +the river, saw the rugged range of tors, and felt excited. He too felt +himself an inheritor of the kingdom of Tavy and a son of Dartmoor. He +was going to be wealthy perhaps; marry and rebuild his chapel; do many +things for the glory of God. He was quite in earnest, though he was a +simple soul. + +"I lift up mine eyes to the 'ills, Mr. Pendoggat," he said reverently. + +"Best keep 'em on your feet. If you fall here you'll smash your head." + +"When I contemplate this scene," went on Eli, with religious zeal +undiminished, "so full of wonder and mystery, Mr. Pendoggat, I repeat to +myself the inspired words of Scripture, 'Why 'op ye so, ye 'igh 'ills?'" + +Pendoggat agreed gruffly that the quotation was full of mystery, and it +was not for them to inquire into its meaning. + +Somehow they reached the bottom of the cleave, Eli shambling and sliding +down the rocks, tumbling continually. Pendoggat observed his inartistic +scramblings with as much amusement as he was capable of feeling, +muttering to himself, "He'd trip over a blade o' grass." + +They came to an old wall overgrown with fern and brambles; just below it +was the mossy ruin of a cot, the fire-place still showing, the remains +of the wall a yard in width. They were among works concerning which +history is hazy. They were in a place where the old miners wrought the +tin, and among the ruins of their industry. Perhaps a rich mine was +there once. Possibly it was the secret of that place which was guarded +so well by the Carthaginian captain, who sacrificed his tin-laden galley +to avoid capture by Roman coastguards. The history of the search for +"white metal" upon Dartmoor has yet to be learnt. They went cautiously +round the ruin, and upon the other side Eli dived across the bleached +skeleton of a pony and became mixed up in dry bones. + +A deep cleft appeared overhung with gorse and willows. Eli would have +dived again had not Pendoggat been holding him. They clambered across, +then made their way along a shelf of rock between the cliff and the +river. Beyond, Pendoggat parted the bushes, and directed the light of +his lantern towards what appeared to be a narrow gully, black and +unpleasant, and musical with dripping water. + +"Go on," he said curtly. + +The minister held back. He was not a brave man, and that black hole in +the side of the moor conjured up horrors. + +"Take my hand, and let yourself down. There's water, but not more than a +foot," said Pendoggat. + +He pushed Eli forward, then caught his collar, and lowered him like a +sack. The minister shuddered when he felt the icy water round his legs +and the clammy ferns closing about his head. Pendoggat followed. They +were in a narrow channel leading towards a low cave. Frogs splashed in +front of them. Small streams trickled down a hundred tiny clefts. + +"This is a very disagreeable situation, Mr. Pendoggat," said Eli meekly. + +"Come on," said the other gruffly. "I'll show you something to open your +eyes. Step low." + +They splashed on, bent under the arch of the cave, and entered the womb +of the moor. Hundreds of feet of solid granite roofed them in. They were +out of the wind and moonlight. Pendoggat guided the minister in front of +him, keeping him close to the wall of rock to avoid the deep water in +the centre. About twenty paces from the entry was a shaft cut at right +angles. They went along it until they had to stoop again. + +"Be'old, Mr. Pendoggat!" cried Eli, with amazed admiration. "Be'old the +colours! I have never seen anything so beautiful in my life. What is it? +Jewels, Mr. Pendoggat? You don't say they are jewels?" + +"Pretty, ain't they? More than pretty too. Now you know what I've +brought you for," said Pendoggat, as he turned up the light to increase +the splendour of the wall. + +It was a pretty sight for a child, or any other simple creature. The +side wall at the end of the shaft was streaked and veined with a +brilliant purple and green pattern. These colours were caused by the +iron in the rocks acting upon the slate, which was there abundant. +Pendoggat knew that well enough. He knew also that the sight would +impress the minister. He lifted the lantern, pointed to a streak of pale +blue which ran down the rock from the roof to the water, and said +gruffly: "You can see for yourself. That's the stuff." + +"What is it?" whispered the excited pastor. + +"Nickel. The rock's full of it." + +"But don't they know? Does anybody know of it?" + +"Only you and me," said Pendoggat. + +"Why have you told me? You are a very generous man, but why do you let +me into the secret?" + +"Come outside," said Pendoggat. + +They went out. Not a word was spoken until they reached the side of the +cleave. Then Pendoggat turned upon the minister, holding his arm and +shaking it violently as he said: "I've chosen you as my partner. I can +trust you. Will you stand in with me, share the risks, and share the +profits? Answer now, and let's have done with it." + +"I must go home and pray over it, Mr. Pendoggat," cried the excited and +shivering Eli. "I must seek for guidance. I do not know if it is right +for me to seek after wealth. But for the chapel's sake, for my future +wife's sake, for the sake of my unborn infants--" + +"Yes or no," broke in Pendoggat. "We'll finish it before we move." + +"What can I do?" said Eli, clasping his clay-like hands. "I know nothing +of these things. I don't know anything about nickel, except that I have +some spoons and forks--" + +"Don't you see we must get money to work it? You can manage that. You +have several congregations. You can persuade them to invest. My name +must be kept out of it. The commoners don't like me. I'll do everything +else. You can leave the business in my hands. Your part will be to get +the money--and you take half profits." + +"I will think over it, Mr. Pendoggat. I will think and pray." + +"Make up your mind now, or I get another partner." + +Pendoggat lifted the glass of the lantern and blew out the light. + +"Have we the right to work a mine upon the moor?" + +"Leave all that to me. You get the money. Tell 'em we will guarantee ten +per cent. Likely it will be more. It's as safe a thing as was ever +known, and it is the chance of your lifetime. Here's my hand." + +Eli took the hand, and had the gorse-prickles forced well into his. + +"I'll do my best, Mr. Pendoggat. I know you are an honest and a generous +man," he said. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +ABOUT BEETLES + + +There was a whitewashed cottage called Lewside beside the moorland road, +and at a window which commanded a view of that road sat a girl with what +appeared to be a glory round her face--it was nothing but soft red +hair--a girl of seventeen, called Boodles, or anything else sufficiently +idiotic; and this girl was learning doggerel and singing-- + + "'The West wind always brings wet weather, + The East wind wet and cold together; + The South wind surely brings us rain, + The North wind blows it back again.' + +"And that means it's always raining, which is a lie. And as I'm saying +it I'm a liar," laughed Boodles. + +It was raining then. Only a Dartmoor shower; the sort of downright rain +which makes holes in granite and plays Wagner-like music upon roofs of +corrugated iron. + +"There's a bunny. Let me see. That's two buns, one man and a boy, a cart +and two horses, three wild ponies, and two jolly little sheep with horns +and black faces--all been along the road this afternoon," said Boodles. +"Now the next verse-- + + 'If the sun in red should set. + The next day surely will be wet; + If the sun should set in grey. + The next will be a rainy day.' + +"That's all. We can't go on lying for ever. I wish," said Boodles, "I +wish I hadn't got so many freckles on my nose, and I wish my hair wasn't +red, and thirdly and lastly, I wish--I wish my teeth weren't going to +ache next week. I know they will, because I've been eating jam pudding, +and they always ache after jam pudding; three days after, always three +days--the beasts! Now what shall I sing about? Why can't people invent +something for small girls to do upon a rainy day? I wish a battle was +being fought on the moor. It would be fun. I could sit here and watch +all day; and I would cut off bits of my hair and throw them to the +victorious generals. What a sell for me if they wouldn't pick them up! I +expect they would, though, for father says I'm a boodle girl, and that +means beautiful, though it's not true, and I wish it was. Another lie +and another wish! And when I'm dressed nicely I am boodle-oodle, and +that means more beautiful. And when the sun is shining on my hair I am +boodle-oodliest, and that means very beautiful. I suppose it's rather +nonsense, but it's the way we live here. We may be silly so long as we +are good. The next song shall be patriotic. We will bang a drum and wave +a flag; and sing with a good courage-- + + 'It was the way of good Queen Bess, + Who ruled as well as mortal can, + When she was stugged, and the country in a mess, + She would send for a Devon man.' + +"Well now, that's the truth. Miss Boodles. The principal county in +England is Devonshire, and the principal town is Tavistock, and the +principal river is the Tavy, and the principal rain is upon Dartmoor, +and the principal girl has red hair and freckles on her nose, and she's +only seventeen. And the dearest old man in Devon is just coming along +the passage, and now he's at the door, and here he is. Father," she +laughed, "why do people ask idiotic questions, like I'm doing now?" + +"Because they are the easiest," said Abel Cain Weevil, in his gentle +manner and bleat-like voice. + +"I was sitting here one day, and Mary Tavy came along," went on Boodles. +"She said: 'Aw, my dear, be ye sot by the window?' And I said: 'No, +Mary, I'm standing on my head.' She looked so frightened. The poor thing +thought I was mad." + +"Boodles, you're a wicked maid," said Weevil fondly. "You make fun of +everything. Some day you will get your ears pulled." + + +The two were not related, except by affection, although they passed as +father and daughter. Boodles had come from the pixies. She had been left +one night in the porch of Lewside Cottage, wrapped up in a wisp of fern, +without clothing of any kind, and round her neck was a label inscribed: +"Take me in, or I shall be drowned to-morrow." Weevil had taken her in, +and when the baby smiled at him his eccentric old soul laughed back. He +entered into partnership at once with the baby-girl, and she had been a +blessing to him. He knew that she had been left in his porch as a last +resource; if he had not taken her in she would have been drowned the +next day. It was all very pretty to imagine that Boodles had come from +the pixies. The truth was nobody wanted her; the unmarried mother could +not keep the child, Weevil was believed to be a tender-hearted old fool, +so the baby was wrapped in fern and left in his porch; and the tenant of +Lewside Cottage lived up to his reputation. Boodles knew her history. +She sat at the cottage window every day, watching every one who passed; +and sometimes she would murmur: "I wonder if my mother went by to-day." +She had once or twice inserted an unpleasant adjective, but then she had +no cause to love her unknown parents. Much of her love was given to Abel +Cain Weevil; and all of it went out to some one else. + +The old man was one of those mysteries who crop up in desolate places. +Nobody knew where he came from, what he had been, or what he was doing +in the region watered by the Tavy. He was poor and harmless. He kept out +of every one's way. "Quite mad," said St. Peter. "An honest madman," +answered St. Mary. "He had at least the decency to recognise that child, +for of course she is his daughter." St. Peter had his doubts. He did not +like to think too highly of old Weevil. That was against his principles. +He suggested that Weevil intended to make some base use of the girl, and +St. Mary agreed. They could generally agree upon such matters. + +Weevil was quite right to keep out of the world. He was handicapped in +every way. There was his name to begin with. He had no objection to +Abel, but he saw no necessity in the redundant Cain. It had been given +him, however, and he could not escape from it. Every one called him Abel +Cain Weevil. The children shouted it after him. As for the name Weevil, +it was objectionable, but no worse than many another. It was not +improper like some surnames. + +"An insect, my dear," he explained to Boodles. "A dirty little beetle +which lives upon grain." + +"I'm a weevil too," said she. "So I'm a dirty little beetle." + +The old man wouldn't allow that. Boodles belonged to the angels, and he +told her so with foolish expressions; but she shook her glorious red +head at him and declared that beetles and angels had nothing in common. +She admitted, however, that she belonged to a delightful order of +beetles, and that on the whole she preferred chocolates to grain. The +silly old man reminded her that she belonged to the boodle-oodle order +of beetles, and so far she was the only specimen of that choice family +which had been discovered. + +A man is eccentric in this world if he does anything which his +neighbours cannot understand. He may go out in the garden and cut a +cabbage-leaf. That is a sane action. But if he spreads jam on the +cabbage-leaf, and eats the same publicly, he is called a madman. Nothing +is easier than to be thought eccentric. You have only to behave unlike +other people. Stand in the middle of a crowded street and gaze vacantly +into the air. Every one will call you eccentric at once, just because +you are gazing in the air and they are not. Weevil was mad because he +was unlike his neighbours. The adoption of Boodles was not a sane +action; even if she were his daughter it was equally insane to +acknowledge her with such shameless publicity. A sane person would have +allowed Boodles to share the fate of many illegitimate children. + +They were happy these two, papa Weevil and his Boodles. They had no +servant. The girl kept house and cooked. The old man washed up and +scrubbed. Boodles knew how to make, not only a shilling, but even the +necessary penny go all the way. She was a treasure, good enough for any +man; there were no dark spots upon her heart. If she had been made away +with one of the best little souls created would have gone back into +limbo. + +No storm disturbed Lewside Cottage, except Dartmoor gales, and as for +religion they were sun-worshippers; like most people who come out in +fine raiment and glory in the sun, and when it is wet hide indoors, talk +of the sun, think of the sun, long for the sun, until he appears and +they can hurry out to worship. The savage calls the sun his god in so +many words; and the human nature which is in the savage is in the +primitive folk of open and desolate places also; it is present in the +most civilised of beings, but only those who live on a high moor through +the winter know what a day of sunshine means. The sun has places +dedicated to him upon Dartmoor. There is Bel Tor and there is Belstone. +A tradition of the Phoenician occupation still exists, handed down from +the remote time when the sun was directly worshipped. The commoners +still believe that good luck will attend the man who shall see the +rising sun reflected on the rock-basin of Bellivor. An altar to the sun +stood once upon that lonely tor. Weevil worshipped the sun quietly. +Boodles offered incense with enthusiasm. She deserved her name when the +sun shone upon her radiant head and made a glory round it. When the +greater gorse was in flower, and Boodles walked through it hatless, +wearing her green frock, she might have been the spirit of the prickly +shrub; and like it her head was in bloom all the year round. + +"Have we got anything for supper, Boodle-oodle?" asked the silly old +male beetle. + +"Ees, lots," said the small golden one. + +It was not unpleasant to hear Boodles say "ees." She split the word up +and made a kind of anthem out of it. The first sound was very soft, a +mere whisper, and spoken with closed lips. The rest she sang, getting +higher as the final syllable was reached--there were more syllables in +the word than letters--then descending at the drawn-out sibilant, and +finishing in a whisper with closed lips. + +"Oh, I forgot," she cried. "No eggs!" + +They looked at each other with serious faces. In that simple household +small things were tragedies. There were no eggs. It was a matter for +serious reflection. + +"Butter?" queried the old man nervously. "Milk? Cheese? Bread?" + +"Heaps, piles, gallons. The kitchen is full of cheese, and you can't +move for bread, and the milk is running over and dripping upon +everything like a milky day," said penitent Boodles. "I have been saying +to myself: 'Eggs, eggs! Yolks, shells, whites--eggs!' I made puns that I +shouldn't forget. I egged myself on. I walked delicately, and said: 'I'm +treading on eggs.' I kept on scolding myself, and saying: 'Teach your +grandmother to suck eggs.' I reminded myself I mustn't put all my eggs +in one basket. Then I went and sat in the window, forgot all about them, +and now I'm a bad egg." + +"Boodles, what shall we do?" said the chief beetle. + +"I think you ought to torture me in some way," suggested the forgetful +one. "Drag me through the furze. Beat me with nettles. Torture would do +me a lot of good, I expect, only not too much, because I'm only a baby." + +That was her usual defence. Whatever happened she was only a baby. She +was never likely to grow up. + +"Don't jest. It is too serious. If I don't have two eggs for my supper I +shall have no sleep. I shall be ill to-morrow." + +"I'll give you two poached kisses," promised Boodles. + +"I cannot exist on spiritual food alone. I must have my eggs. Custom has +made it necessary." + +"I'll make you all sorts of nice things," she declared. + +But the eccentric old beetle could not be pacified. He had eggs upon the +mind. The produce of the domestic fowl had become an obsession. He +explained that if the house had been well stocked with eggs he might +have gone without. He would have known they were there to fall back upon +if desire should seize him during the silent watches of the night. But +the knowledge that the larder was destitute of eggs increased his +desire. He would have no peace until the deficiency was made good. + +"Well," said Boodles resignedly, "it's my fault, so I'll suffer for it. +I don't want to hear you screaming for eggs all night. I'll go and get +wet for your salvation. I expect Mary can let me have some." + +Weevil was himself again. He trotted off for the child's boots. He +always put her boots on, and took them off when she came in. Boodles was +a little sun-goddess, and as such she accepted adoration. It was part of +the tribute due to the sun-like head. When the boots were on--each ankle +having previously been worshipped as a part of the tribute--she assumed +a jacket, packed her hair under a fluffy green hat, stabbed it on four +times with long pins, picked up her walking-stick; and was off, Weevil +gazing after her adoringly until she passed out of sight. "There goes +the pride o' Devon," murmured the silly old man as the green hat +vanished. + +The sight of Boodles took the weather's breath away. It forgot to go on +raining; and the sun was so anxious to shine upon her hair that he +pushed the clouds off him, as a late slumberer tosses away his blankets, +and came out to work a little before evening. It became quite pleasant +as Boodles went beside Tavy Cleave. + +Peter was not visible, but Mary was. She was plodding about in her huge +boots with an eye upon her geese, especially upon the chief of the +flock. Old Sal, who, as usual, was anxious to seek pastures new. When +Boodles came up Mary smiled. She was very fond of the child. Boodles +seemed to have been made out of such entirely different materials from +the odds and ends which had gone towards her own construction. The +little girl's soft flesh was as unlike Mary's tough leather as the white +bark of the birch is unlike the rugged bark of the oak. + +"Well, Mary, how are you?" said Boodles. + +"I be purty fine, my dear, purty middling fine. Peter be purty fine tu. +And how be yew, my dear, and how be the old gentleman? Purty fine yew +be, I reckon." + +"We are splendid," said Boodles. "How is the old goose, Mary?" + +"Du'ye mean Old Sal, my dear? There he be trampesing 'bout Dartmoor as +though 'twas his'n. Aw, he be purty fine, sure 'nuff." + +"She must be very old," said Boodles. + +"Aw ees, he be old. He be a cruel old artful toad, my dear," said Mary. + +"How old is she?" + +"Well, my dear, he be older than yew. He be twenty-two come next +Michaelmas, I'm thinking." + +"You will never kill her?" said Boodles. "You couldn't, after having her +for so long. You won't kill her, will you, Mary?" + +"Goosies was made to kill. Us keeps 'en whiles they be useful, and then +us kills 'en," said Mary. + +"But twenty-two years old!" cried Boodles. "She would be much too tough +to eat." + +"Aw, my dear life," chuckled Mary. "He wouldn't be tough. I would kill +'en, and draw 'en, and rub a little salt in his belly, and hang 'en up +for a fortnight, and he would et butiful, my dear." + +Boodles laughed delightfully, and said she thought no amount of salt or +hanging, to say nothing of sage and onions, could ever make the +venerable Sal palatable. + +"Peter wun't let 'en be killed. Peter loves Old Sal," Mary went on. "He +laid sixteen eggs last year, and he'm the best mother on Dartmoor. Aw +ees, my dear. He be a cruel fine mother, and Peter ses he shan't die +till he've a mind to." + +Then Boodles got to business and asked Mary for eggs, not those of Old +Sal, but the produce of the hen-house. Mary said she would go and +search. As it was dirty in that region Boodles declined to go with her. +"Please to go inside. There be only Gran'vaither. Go and have a look at +'en, my dear," said Mary, who always referred to Grandfather as if he +had been a living soul. "Hit 'en in the belly, and make 'en strike at +ye." + +Boodles went into Hut Circle Number One, which was Peter's residence, +and stood in the presence of Grandfather. Obeying Mary's instructions, +she hit him "in the belly." The old sinner made weird noises when thus +disturbed. He appeared to resent the treatment, as most old gentlemen +would have done. He refused to strike, but he rattled himself, and +wheezed, and made sounds suggestive of expectoration. Grandfather was a +savage like Peter. He was a rough uneducated sort of clock, and he had +no passion for Boodles. Pendoggat would have been the man for him. +Grandfather would have shaken hands with Pendoggat had it been possible. +His own quivering hands were stretched across his lying face, announcing +quarter-past nine when it was really five o'clock. Grandfather was a +true man of Devon. He had no sense of time. + +Boodles had nothing but contertipt for the old fellow. Having assaulted +him she opened his case. Evidently Grandfather had been drinking. His +interior smelt strongly of cider. There were splashes of it everywhere; +rank cider distilled from the lees; in one spot moisture was pronounced, +suggesting that Grandfather had recently been indulging. Apparently he +liked his liquor strong. Grandfather was a picker-up of unconsidered +trifles also. He was full of pins; all kinds of pins, bent and straight. +Item, Grandfather had a little money of his own; several battered +coppers, some green coins which had no doubt been dug up outside, or +discovered upon the "deads" beside one of the neighbouring wheals, and +there was a real fourpenny-bit with a hole through it. Fastened to the +back of the case behind the pendulum was a scrap of sheepskin as hard as +wood, and upon it some hand had painfully drawn what appeared to be an +elementary exercise in geometry. Boodles frowned and wondered what it +all meant. + +"Here be the eggs, my dear. Twenty for a shillun to yew, and ten to a +foreigner," said Mary, standing in the door, making an apron out of her +ragged skirt, and blissfully unconscious that she was exposing the +sack-like bloomers which were her only underwear. + +"Twenty-one, Mary. There's always one thrown in for luck and me," +pleaded Boodles. + +"Aw ees. One for yew, my dear," Mary assented. + +That was the way Boodles got full value for her money. + +"My dear life! What have yew been a-doing of?" cried Mary with alarm, +when she noticed Grandfather's open case. "Aw, my dear, yew didn't ought +to meddle wi' he. Grandfather gets cruel tedious if he be meddled with." + +"I was only looking at his insides," said Boodles. "He's a regular old +rag-bag. What are all these things for--pins, coins, coppers? And he's +splashed all over with cider. No wonder he won't keep time." + +"Shet 'en up, my dear. Shet 'en up," said superstitious Mary. "Aw, my +dear, don't ye ever meddle wi' religion. If Peter was to see ye he'd be +took wi' shivers. Let Gran'vaither bide, du'ye. Ain't ye got a pin to +give 'en? My dear life, I'll fetch ye one. Gran'vaither got tedious wi' +volks wance, Peter ses, and killed mun; ees, my dear, killed mun dead as +door nails; ees, fie 'a did, killed mun stark." + +Boodles only laughed, like the wicked maid that she was. She couldn't be +bothered with the niceties of religion. + +Peter and Mary were only savages. According to their creed pixies dwelt +in Grandfather's bosom; and it was necessary to retain the good-will of +the little people, and render the sting of their possible malevolence +harmless, by presenting votive offerings and inscribing spells. The rank +cider had been provided for midnight orgies, and, lest the pixies should +become troublesome when under the influence of liquor, the charm upon +the sheepskin had been introduced, like a stringent police-notice, +compelling them to keep the peace. + +"It's all nonsense, you know," said Boodles, as she took the eggs, with +the sun flaming across her hair. "The pixies are all dead. I went to the +funeral of the last one." + +Mary shook her head. She did not jest on serious matters. The friendship +of the pixies was as much to her as the lack of eggs had been to Weevil. + +"Anyhow," went on wicked Boodles, "I should put rat-poison in there if +they worried me." + +"Us have been bit and scratched by 'em in bed," Mary declared. "Peter +and me have been bit cruel. Us could see the marks of their teeth." + +"Did you ever catch one?" asked Boodles tragically. + +"Catch mun! Aw, my dear life! Us can't catch mun." + +"You could, if you were quick--before they hopped," laughed Boodles. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +ABOUT THOMASINE + + +Thomasine sat in the kitchen of Town Rising, sewing. It was a dreary +place, and she was alone and surrounded with stone. The kitchen walls +were stone; so was the floor. The window looked out upon the court, and +that was paved with stone. Beyond was the barn wall, made of blocks of +cold granite. Above peeped the top of a tor, and that was granite too. +Damp stone everywhere. It was the Stone Age back again. And Thomasine, +buried among it all, was making herself a frivolous petticoat for +Tavistock Goose Fair. + +Among undistinguished young persons Thomasine was pre-eminent. She was +only Farmer Chegwidden's "help"; that is to say, general servant. +Undistinguished young persons will do anything that is menial under the +title of "help," which as a servant they would shrink from. To the lower +classes there is much in a name. Thomasine knew nothing. She was just a +work-a-day girl, eating her meals, sleeping; knowing there was something +called a character which for some inexplicable reason it was necessary +to keep; dreaming of a home of her own some day, but not having the +sense to realise that it would mean a probably drunken husband on a few +shillings a week, and a new gift from the gods to feed each year; +comprehending the delights of fairs, general holidays, and evenings out; +perceiving that it was pleasant to have her waist squeezed and her mouth +kissed; understanding also the charm in being courted in a ditch with +the temperature below freezing-point. That was nearly all Thomasine +knew. Plenty of animals know more. Her conversation consisted chiefly in +"ees" and "no." + +It is not pleasant to see a pretty face, glorious complexion, well-made +body, without mind, intellect, or soul worth mentioning; but it is a +common sight. It is not pleasant to speak to that face, and watch its +vacancy increase. A dog would understand at once; but that human face +remains dull. A good many strange thoughts suggest themselves on +fair-days and holidays in and about the Stannary Towns. There are plenty +of pretty faces, glorious complexions, and well-made bodies surrounded +with clothing which the old Puritans would have denounced as immoral; +but not a mind, not an intellect above potato-peeling, in the lot. They +come into the towns like so many birds of passage; at nightfall they go +out, shrieking, many of them, for lack of intelligent speech, and return +to potato-peeling. The warmth of the next holiday brings them out again, +in the same clothes, knowing just as much as they did before--how to +shriek--then the pots and potatoes claim them again. All those girls +have undeveloped minds. They don't know it, not having been told, so +their minds remain unformed all their lives. The flower-like faces fade +quickly, because there is nothing to keep the bloom on. The mind does +not get beyond the budding stage. It is never attended to, so it rots +off without ever opening. Sometimes one of these girls discovers she has +something besides her body and her complexion; or somebody superior to +herself impresses the fact upon her; and she uses her knowledge, +cultivates her mind, and with luck rises out of the rut. She discovers +that her horizon is not limited by pots and potato-peel. Beyond it all, +for her, there is something called intelligence. Such girls are few. +Most of them have their eyes opened, not their minds, and then they +discover they are naked, and want to go away and hide themselves. + +Thomasine's soul was about the size and weight of a grain of mustard +seed. She was a good maid, and her parents had no cause to be sorry she +had been born. She had come into the world by way of lawful wedlock, +which was something to be proud of in her part of the country, and was +living a decent life in respectable employment. She sat in the stone +kitchen, and built up her flimsy petticoat, with as much expression on +her face as one might reasonably expect to find upon the face of a cow. +She could not think. She knew that she was warm and comfortable; but +knowledge is not thought. She knew all about her last evening's +courting; but she could not have constructed any little romance which +differed from that courting. In a manner she had something to think +about; namely, what had actually happened. She could not think about +what had not happened, or what under different circumstances might have +happened. That would have meant using her mind; and she didn't know she +had one. Yet Thomasine came of a fairly clever family. Her grandfather +had used his mind largely, and had succeeded in building up, not a +large, but a very comfortable, business. He had emigrated, however; and +it is well known that there is nothing like a change of scene for +teaching a man to know himself. He had gone to Birmingham and started an +idol-factory. It was a quaint sort of business, but a profitable one. He +made idols for the Burmese market. He had stocked a large number of +Buddhist temples, and the business was an increasing one. Orders for +idols reached him from many remote places, and his goods always gave +satisfaction. The placid features of many a squatting Gautama in dim +Eastern temples had been moulded from the vacant faces of Devonshire +farm-maids. He was a most religious man, attending chapel twice each +Sunday, besides teaching in the Sunday-school. He didn't believe in +allowing religion to interfere with business, which was no doubt quite +discreet of him. He always said that a man should keep his business +perfectly distinct from everything else. He had long ago dropped his +Devonshire relations. Respectable idol-makers cannot mingle with common +country-folk. Thomasine's parents possessed a framed photograph of one +of the earlier idols, which they exhibited in their living-room as a +family heirloom, although their minister had asked them as a personal +favour to destroy it, because it seemed to him to savour of +superstition. The minister thought it was intended for the Virgin Mary, +but the good people denied it with some warmth, explaining that they +were good Christians, and would never disgrace their cottage in that +Popish fashion. + +Innocent of idols, Thomasine went on sewing in her stone kitchen amid +the granite. She had finished putting a frill along the hem of her +petticoat; now she put one higher up in regions which would be invisible +however much the wind might blow, though she did not know why, because +she could not think. It was a waste of material; nobody would see it; +but she felt that a fair petticoat ought to be adorned as lavishly as +possible. She did not often glance up. There was nothing to be seen in +the court except the usual fowls. It was rarely an incident occurred +worth remembering. Sometimes one stag attacked another, and Thomasine +would be attracted to the window to watch the contest. That made a +little excitement in her life, but the fight would soon be over. It was +all show and bluster; very much like the sparring of two farm hands. +"You'm a liar." "So be yew." "Aw well, so be _yew_." And so on, with +ever-increasing accent upon the "yew." Not many people crossed the +court. There was no right of way there, but Farmer Chegwidden had no +objection to neighbours passing through. + +Whether Thomasine was pretty could hardly be stated definitely. It must +remain a matter of opinion whether any face can be beautiful which is +entirely lacking in expression, has no mind behind the tongue, and no +speaking brain at the back of the eyes. Many, no doubt, would have +thought her perfection. She was plump and full of blood; it seemed ready +to burst through her skin. She was somewhat grossly built; too wide at +the thighs, big-handed, and large-footed, with not much waist, and a +clumsy stoop from the shoulders. She waddled in her walk like most +Devonshire farm-maids. Her complexion was perfect; so was her health. +She had a lust-provoking face; big sleepy eyes; cheeks absolutely +scarlet; pouting lips swollen with blood, almost the colour of an +over-ripe peach. It was more like paint than natural colouring. It was +too strong. She had too much blood. She was part of the exaggeration of +Dartmoor, which exaggerates everything; adding fierceness to fierceness, +colour to colour, strength to strength; just as its rain is fiercer than +that of the valleys, and its wind mightier. Thomasine was of the Tavy +family, but not of the romantic branch. Not of the folklore side like +Boodles, but of the Ger Tor family, the strong mountain branch which +knows nothing and cannot think for itself, and only feels the river +wearing it away, and the frost rotting it, and the wind beating it. The +pity was that Thomasine did not know she had a mind, which was already +fading for want of use. She knew only how to peel potatoes and make +herself wanton underwear. Although twenty-two years of age she was still +a maid. + +There were steps upon the stones, and Thomasine looked up. She saw +nobody, but sounds came through the open window, a shuffling against the +wall of the house, and the stumbling of clumsy boots. Then there was a +knock. + +There was nothing outside, except miserable objects such as Brightly +with an empty and battered basket and starving Ju with her empty and +battered stomach and her tongue hanging out. They were still trying to +do business, instead of going away to some lonely part of the moor and +dying decently. It was extraordinary how Brightly and Ju clung to life, +which wasn't of much use to them, and how steadfastly they applied +themselves to a sordid business which was very far less remunerative +than sound and honest occupations such as idol-making. Brightly looked +smaller than ever. He had forgotten all about his last meal. His face +was pinched; it was about the size of a two-year-old baby's. He looked +like an eel in man's clothing. + +"Any rabbit-skins, miss?" he asked. + +"No," said Thomasine. + +Brightly crept a little nearer. "Will ye give us a bite o' bread? Us be +cruel hungry, and times be hard. Tramped all day yesterday, and got my +cloam tored, and lost my rabbit-skins and duppence. Give me and little +dog a bite, miss. Du'ye, miss." + +"If master was to know I'd catch it," said Thomasine. + +"Varmer Chegwidden would give I a bite. I knows he would," said +Brightly. + +Chegwidden would certainly have given him a bite had he been present, or +rather his sheep-dog would. Chegwidden was a member of the Board of +Guardians in his sober moments, and it was his duty to suppress such +creatures as Brightly. + + +"I mun go on," said the weary little wretch, when he saw that Thomasine +was about to shut the door. "I mun tramp on. I wish yew could ha' given +us a bite, miss, for us be going to Tavistock, and I don't know if us +can. Me and little dog be cruel mazed." + +"Bide there a bit," said Thomasine. + +There was nobody in the house, except Mrs. Chegwidden, who was among her +pickle jars and had never to be taken into consideration. Chegwidden had +gone to Lydford. The girl had a good heart, and she didn't like to see +things starving. Even the fowls had to be fed when they were hungry, and +probably Brightly was nearly as good as the fowls. She returned to the +door with bread and meat, and a lump of cheese wrapped in a piece of +newspaper. She flung Ju a bone as big as herself and with more meat upon +it, and before the fit of charity had exhausted itself she brought out a +jug of cider, which Brightly consumed on the premises and increased in +girth perceptibly. + +"Get off," said Thomasine. "If I'm caught they'll give me the door." + +Brightly was not well skilled in expressing gratitude because he had so +little practice. He was generally apologising for his existence. He +tried to be effusive, but was only grotesque. Thomasine almost thought +he was trying to make love to her, and she drew back with her strained +sensual smile. + +"I wun't forget. Not if I lives to be two hundred and one, I wun't," +cried Brightly. "Ju ses her wun't forget neither. Us will get to +Tavistock now, and us can start in business again to-morrow. Ye've been +cruel kind to me, miss. God love ye and bless ye vor't, is what I ses. +God send ye a good husband vor't, is what I ses tu." + +"You'm welcome," said Thomasine. + +Brightly beamed in a fantastic manner through his spectacles. Ju wagged +what Nature had intended to be a tail, and staggered out of the court +with her load of savoury meat. Then the door was closed, and Thomasine +went back to her petticoat. + +The girl could not exactly think about Brightly, but she was able to +remember what had happened. A starving creature supposed to be a man, +accompanied by a famished beast that tried to be a dog--both shocking +examples of bad work, for Nature jerry-builds worse than the most +dishonest of men--had presented themselves at the door of her kitchen, +and she had fed them. She had obeyed the primitive instinct which +compels the one who has food to give to those who have none. There was +nothing splendid about it, because she did not want the food. Yet her +master would not have fed Brightly. He would have flung the food into +the pig-sty rather than have given it to the Seal. So it was possible +after all that she had performed a generous action which was worthy of +reward. + +It must not be supposed that Thomasine thought all that out for herself. +She knew nothing about generous actions. She had listened to plenty of +sermons in the chapel, but without understanding anything except that it +would be her duty some time to enter hell, which, according to the +preacher's account, was a place rather like the top of Dartmoor, only +hotter, and there was never any frost or snow. Will Pugsley, with whom +she was walking out just then, had summed up the whole matter in one +phrase of gloomy philosophy: "Us has a cruel hard time on't here, and +then us goes down under." That seemed to be the answer to the riddle of +the soul's existence: "having a cruel hard time, and then going down +under." + +Thomasine had never read a book in her life. They did not come her way. +Town Rising had none, except the big Bible--which for half-a-century had +performed its duty of supporting a china shepherdess wreathing with +earthenware daisies the neck of a red and white cow--a manual upon +manure, and a ready reckoner. No penny novelette, dealing with such +matters of everyday occurrence as the wooing of servant-girls by earls, +had ever found its way into her hands, and such fictions would not have +interested her, simply because they would have conveyed no meaning. A +pretty petticoat and a fair-day; these were matters she could +appreciate, because they touched her sympathies and she could understand +them. They were some of the things which made up the joy of life. There +was so much that was "cruel hard"; but there were pleasures, such as +fine raiment and fair-days, to be enjoyed before she went "down under." + +Thomasine was able to form mental pictures of scenes that were familiar. +She could see the tor above the barn. It was easy to see also the long +village on the side of the moor. She knew it all so well. She could see +Ebenezer, the chapel where she heard sermons about hell. Pendoggat was +sometimes the preacher, and he always insisted strongly upon the +extremely high temperature of "down under." Thomasine very nearly +thought. She almost associated the preacher with the place which was the +subject of his discourse. That would have been a very considerable +mental flight had she succeeded. It came to nothing, however. She went +on remembering, not thinking. Pendoggat had tried to look at her in +chapel. He could not look at any one with his eyes, but he had set his +face towards her as though he believed she was in greater need than +others of his warnings. He had walked close beside her out of chapel, +and had remarked that it was a fine evening. Thomasine remembered she +had been pleased, because he had drawn her attention towards a fact +which she had not previously observed, namely, that it was a fine +evening. Pendoggat was a man, not a creeping thing like Brightly, not a +lump of animated whisky-moistened clay like Farmer Chegwidden. No one +could make people uncomfortable like him. Eli Pezzack was a poor +creature in comparison, although Thomasine didn't make the comparison +because she couldn't. Pezzack could not make people feel they were +already in torment. The minister frequently referred to another place +which was called "up over." He reminded his listeners that they might +attain to a place of milk and honey where the temperature was normal; +and that was the reason why he was not much of a success as a minister. +He seemed indeed to desire to deprive his congregations of their +legitimate place of torment. What was the use of talking about "up +over," which could not concern his listeners, when they might so easily +be stimulated with details concerning the inevitable "down under"? +Pezzack was a weak man. He refused to face his destiny, and he tried to +prevent his congregations from facing theirs. + +Thomasine looked at the clock. It was time to lift the peat from the +hearth and put on the coal. Chegwidden would soon be back from Lydford +and want his supper. She admired the petticoat, rolled it up, and put it +away in her work-basket. + +"Dear life!" she murmured. "Here be master, and nothing done." + +A horseman was in the court, and crossing it. The window was open. The +rider was not Chegwidden. It was the master of Helmen Barton, his head +down as usual, his eyes apparently fixed between his horse's ears; his +head was inclined a little towards the house. Thomasine stood back and +watched. + +A piece of gorse in full bloom came through the window, fell upon the +stone floor, and bounded like a small beast. It jumped about on the +smooth cement, and glided on its spines until it reached the dresser, +and there remained motionless, with its stem, which had been bared of +prickles, directed upwards towards the girl like a pointing finger. +Pendoggat had gone on. His horse had not stopped, nor had the rider +appeared to glance into the kitchen. Obviously there was some connection +between Pendoggat, that piece of gorse, and herself, only Thomasine +could not work it out. She picked it up. She could not have such a thing +littering her tidy kitchen. The sprig was a smother of blossom, and she +could see its tiny spears among the blooms, their points so keen that +they were as invisible as the edge of a razor. She brought the blooms +suddenly to her nose, and immediately one of the tiny spears pierced the +skin and her strong blood burst through. + +"Scat the vuzz," said Thomasine. + +Iron-shod hoofs rattled again upon the stones, and the light of the +window became darkened. Pendoggat had changed his mind and was back +again. He tumbled from the saddle and stood there wagging his head as if +deep in thought. Supposing she was wanted for something, the girl came +forward. Pendoggat was close to the window, which was a low one. She did +not know what he was looking at; not at her certainly; but he seemed to +be searching for her, desiring her, sniffing at her like an animal. + +"Du'ye want master, sir? He'm to Lydford," said Thomasine. + +A drop of blood fell from her nose and splashed on the stone floor +between them. She searched for a handkerchief and found she had not got +one. There was nothing for it but to use the back of her hand, smearing +the blood across her lips and chin. Pendoggat saw it all. He noticed +everything, although he had his eyes on the window-sill. + +"You're a fine maid," he said. + +"Be I, sir?" said Thomasine, beginning to tremble. Pendoggat was her +superior. He was the tenant of Helmen Barton, a commoner, the owner of +sheep and bullocks, and married, or at least she supposed he was. She +felt somehow it was not right he should say such a thing to her. + +"Going to chapel Sunday night?" he went on, with his head on one side, +and his face as immobile as a mask. + +"Ees," murmured Thomasine, forgetting the "sir" somehow. The question +was such a familiar one that she did not remember for the moment the +standing of the speaker. This was the man who had drenched her with +hell-fire from the pulpit. + +"How do ye come home? By the road or moor?" + +"The moor, if 'tis fine, sir. I walks with Willum." + +"Young Pugsley?" + +"Ees, sir." + +"You're too good for him. You're too fine a maid for that hind. You +won't walk with him Sunday night. I'll see you home." + +"Ees, sir," was all Thomasine could say. She was only a farm-maid. She +had to do as she was told. + +"Going to the fair?" he asked. + +The answer was as usual. + +"I'll meet you there. Take you for rides, and into the shows. Got your +clothes ready?" + +The same soft word, which Thomasine made a dissyllable, and Boodles sang +as an anthem, followed. Goose Fair was the greatest day in the girl's +year, and to be treated there by a man with money was to glide along one +of the four rivers of Paradise, only that was not the expression which +occurred to Thomasine. + + +Pendoggat reached in and took her hand. It was large with labour, and +red with blood, but quite clean. He pulled her towards him. There was +nobody in the court; only the unobservant chickens, pecking diligently. +A cloud had settled upon the top of the tor, which was just visible +above the barn, an angry cloud purple like a wound, as if the granite +had pierced and wounded it. Thomasine wondered if it would be fine for +Goose Fair. + +Her sleeve was loose. Pendoggat pressed his fingers under it, and +paddled the soft flesh like a cat up to her elbow. + +"Don't ye, sir," pleaded Thomasine, feeling somehow this was not right. + +"You're a fine, lusty maid," he muttered. + +"'Tis time master was back from Lydford, I reckon," she murmured. + +"You're bloody." + +"'Twas that bit o' vuzz." + +He drew her closer, threw his arm clumsily round her neck, dragged her +half through the window, kissing her savagely on the neck, lips, and +chin, until his own lips were smeared with her blood, and he could taste +it. She began to struggle. Then she cried out, and he let her go. + +"Good blood," he muttered, passing his tongue over his lips. "The +strongest and best blood on Dartmoor." + +Then, he flung himself across his horse, as if he had been drunk, and +rode out of the court. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +ABOUT VOCAL AND INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC + + +There was a concert in Brentor village in aid of that hungry creature +the Church, which resembles so many tin- and copper-mines, inasmuch as +much more money goes into it than ever comes out. Brentor is overdone +with churches. There is one in the village, and the little one on the +tor outside. Maids like to be married on the tor. They think it gives +them a good start in life, but that idea is owing to tradition, which +connects Brentor with the worship of Baal. The transition from Paganism +to Christianity was gradual, and in many cases the old gods were merely +painted up and made to look like new. The statue of Jove was bereft of +its thunderbolt, given a bunch of keys, and called Peter; the goddess of +love became a madonna; the sun-temple was turned into a church. Where +the original idea was lost sight of a legend was invented; such as that +of the merchant who, overtaken by a storm when beating for shore, vowed +to build a church upon the first point of land which should appear in +sight. There is no getting away from sun-worship upon Dartmoor, and no +easy way of escape from tradition either. That is why maids like to be +sacrificed upon Brentor, even when the wind is threatening to sweep them +down its cliffs. + +Local talent was not represented at the concert. People from Tavistock +came to perform; all sorts and conditions of amateurs in evening dress +and muddy boots. The room was crowded, as it was a fine evening, and +therefore there was nothing to prevent the inhabitants of the two holy +Tavys from walking across the moor, and a jabbering cartload had come +from Lydford also. There was no chattering in the room. The entire +audience became appalled by respectability as represented by gentlemen +with bulging shirt-fronts and ladies with visible bosoms. They stared, +they muttered hoarsely, they turned to and fro like mechanical figures; +but they did not chatter. They felt as if they were taking part in a +religious ceremony. + +The young lady who opened proceedings, after the inevitable duet on the +piano--which, to increase the sense of mystery, was called on the +practically illegible programme a pianoforte--with a sentimental song, +made an error. She merely increased the atmosphere of despondency. When +she had finished some of the audience became restless. They were +wondering whether the time had come for them to kneel. + +"Bain't him a cruel noisy thing?" exclaimed Mary, with a certain amount +of enthusiasm. "What du'ye call 'en?" she asked a small, dried-up +ancient man who sat beside her, while indicating the instrument of music +with an outstretched arm. + +The old man tried to explain, which was a thing he was famous for doing. +He was a superannuated school-master of the nearly extinct type, the +kind that knew nothing and taught as much, but a brave learned man +according to some of the old folk. + +Peter sat by his sister, trying to look at his ease; and he too listened +intently for what school-master had to say. Peter and Mary were +blossoming out, and becoming social and gregarious beings. + +This was the first grand entertainment they had ever attended. Tickets +had been given them, or they would certainly not have been there. As +Peter had failed in his efforts to sell the tickets they had decided to +use them, although dressing for the event was something of an ordeal. +Mary had a black hat and a silk dress, both of early Victorian +construction, and beneath, her huge nailed boots innocent of blacking. +Peter wore a tie under his chin, and a wondrous collar some three inches +lower down. The rest of his costume was also early nineteenth century in +make, but effectual. He was very much excited by the music, but +dreadfully afraid of showing it. + +"That there box," said Master, with an air of diving deep in the well of +wisdom "he'm full o' wires and hammers." + +"My dear life!" gasped Mary. "Full o' wires and hammers! Du'ye hear, +Peter?" + +Her brother replied in the affirmative, although in a manner which +suggested that the information was superfluous. + +"Volks hit them bones, and the bones dra' on the hammers, and the +hammers hit the wires," proceeded Master. + +"Bain't that artful now?" cried Mary. + +"Sure 'nuff," agreed Peter, unable to restrain his admiration. + +"Couldn't ye mak' one o' they? You'm main cruel larned wi' your hands," +Mary went on. + +Peter admitted that was so. Given the material, he had no doubt of his +ability to turn out a piano capable of producing that music which his +sister described as cruel noisy. + +"It taketh a scholard to understand how to mak' they things," said +Master, with some severity. "See all that carved wood on the front of +him? You couldn't du that, and the piano wouldn't mak' no music if +'twasn't for the carved wood. 'Twould mak' a noise, you see, Peter, but +not music. 'Tis the noise coming out through the carving what makes the +music. Taketh a scholard to du that." + +"Look at she!" cried Mary violently, as another lady rose to warble. +This songster had a good bust, and desired to convince her audience of +the fact. "Her ha' grown out of her clothes sure 'nuff. Her can't hardly +cover her paps." + +"Shet thee noise, woman," muttered Peter. + +"Her be in full evening dress," explained Master. + +Mary subsided in deep reflection. She knew perfectly well what "full" +meant. There were plenty of full days upon Tavy Cleave. It meant a heavy +wet mist which filled everything so that nothing was visible. For Mary +every word had only one meaning. She could not understand how the word +"full" could bear two exactly opposite meanings. + +The back seats were overflowing. Only threepence was charged there, but +seats were not guaranteed. The majority stood, partly to show their +independence, chiefly to look as if they had just dropped in, not with +any idea of being entertained, but that they might satisfy themselves +there was nothing objectionable in the programme. Several men stood +huddled together as near the door as possible, showing their disapproval +of such frivolity in the usual manner, by standing in antagonistic +attitudes and frowning at the performers. Chegwidden was there, +containing sufficient liquor to make him grateful for the support of the +wall. He had tried to get in for nothing, by explaining that he was a +member of the Board of Guardians, and had been from his youth a +steadfast opponent of the Church as by law established. These excuses +having failed, he had paid the threepence under protest, explaining at +the same time that if he heard anything to shock his innocent mind he +should demand his money back, visit his solicitor when next in Tavistock +with a view to taking action against those who had dared to pervert the +public mind, and indite letters to all the local papers. The +entertainment committee had a troublesome threepennyworth in Farmer +Chegwidden. He had already spent a couple of shillings in liquor, and +would spend another couple when the concert was over. That was money +spent upon a laudable object. But the threepence demanded for admission +was, as he loudly proclaimed, money given to the devil. + +Near him stood Pendoggat, his head down as usual, and breathing heavily +as if he had gone to sleep. He looked as much at home there as a bat +flitting in the sunlight among butterflies. Every one was surprised to +see Pendoggat. Members of his own sect decided he was there to collect +material for a scathing denunciation of such methods from the pulpit of +Ebenezer. Chegwidden pushed closer, and asked hoarsely, "What do 'ye +think of it, varmer?" + +"Taking money in God's name to square the devil," answered Pendoggat. + +"Just what I says," muttered Chegwidden, greatly envying the other's +powers of expression. "Immortality! That's what it be, varmer. 'Tis a +hard word, but there ain't no other. Dirty immortality!" He meant +immorality, but was confused by righteous indignation, the music, and +other things. + +"Can't us do nought?" Chegwidden went on. "Us lets their religion bide. +They'm mocking us, varmer. That there last song was blasphemy, and +immortality, and a-mocking us all through." + +Pendoggat muttered something about a demonstration outside later on, to +mark their disapproval of such infamous attempts to seduce young people +from the paths of rectitude. Then he relapsed into taciturnity, while +Chegwidden went on babbling of people's sins. + +Most of the ill-feeling was due to the fact that the room had been used +several years back as a meeting-house, where the pure Gospel had flowed +regularly. Chegwidden's father had carried his Bible into a front seat +there. Souls had been saved in that room; anniversary teas had been held +there; services of song had been given; young couples, whose +Nonconformity was unimpeachable, had conducted their amours there; and +upon the outside of the door had been scrawled shockingly crude +statements concerning such love-affairs, accompanied by anatomical +caricatures of the parties in question. It was holy ground, and +representatives of a hostile sect were defiling it. + +Greater evils followed. An eccentric gentleman rose and recited a story +about a lady trying to mount an overcrowded street-car, and being +dragged along the entire length of a street, chatting to the conductor +the while; quite a harmless story, but it made Brentor to grin. +Church-people laughed noisily, and even Methodists tittered. +Nonconformist maids of established reputations giggled, and their young +men cackled like geese. It was in short a laughing audience. The +threepenny-bits shivered. Fire from heaven was already overdue. Complete +destruction might be looked for at any moment. One nervous old woman +crept out. She had heard the doctrine of eternal punishment expounded in +that place, and she explained she could remain there no longer and +listen to profanity. The performer again obliged; this time with a comic +song which set the seal of blasphemy upon the whole performance. +Chegwidden turned his face to the wall, moaned, and demanded of a +neighbour what he thought of it all. + +"Brave fine singing," came the unscrupulous answer, which seemed to +denote that the speaker had also been carried away by enthusiasm. + +This was the last straw. Even the lights of Ebenezer were flickering and +going out. Chegwidden and Pendoggat appeared to be the only godly men +left. The farmer turned upon the irreligious speaker, and crushed him +with weighty words. + +"'Twas here father prayed," he said, in a voice unsteady with grief and +alcohol. "Twice every Sunday, and me with 'en, and he've a-shook me in +this chapel, and punched my ear many a time when I was cracking nuts in +sermon time. Father led in prayer here, and he've a-told me how he once +prayed twenty minutes by the clock. Some said 'twas nineteen, but father +knew 'twas twenty, 'cause he had his watch in his hand, and never took +his eyes off 'en. Never thought he'd do the last minute, but he did. +They was religious volks in them days. Father prayed here, I tells ye, +and I learnt Sunday-school here, and 'twas here us all learnt the +blessed truths of immorality."--again he blundered in his meaning--"and +now it be a place for dancing, and singing, and play-acting, and us will +be judged for it, and weighed in the balances and found wanting." + +"Us can repent," suggested the neighbour. + +Chegwidden would not admit this. "Them what have laughed here to-night +won't die natural, not in their beds," he declared. "They'll die sudden. +They'll be cut off. They've committed blasphemy, which is the sin what +ain't forgiven." + +Then Chegwidden turned upon the doorkeeper and demanded his money back. +He was not going to remain among the wicked. He was going to spend the +rest of the evening respectably at the inn. + +After that the programme continued for a little without interruption. +Then a young lady, who had been especially imported for the occasion, +obliged with a violin solo. She played well, but made the common mistake +of amateurs before a rural audience; preferring to exhibit her command +over the instrument by rendering classical music, instead of playing +something which the young men could whistle to. It was a very soft +piece. The performer bent to obtain the least possible amount of sound +from a string; and at that critical moment a loud weary voice startled +the religious silence of the room-- + +"Aw, my dear life! Bain't it a shocking waste o' time?" + +It was Mary, who was feeling bored. The novelty of the performance had +worn off. She was prepared to sit there and hear a good noise. She liked +the piano when it was giving forth plenty of crashing chords; but that +whining scraping sound was intolerable. It was worse than any old cat. + +There was some commotion in the front seats, and shocked faces were +turned upon Mary, while the performer almost broke down. She made +another effort, but it was no use, for Mary continued at the top of her +voice-- + +"Ole Will Chanter had a fiddle like thikky one. Du'ye mind, Peter?" + +Indignant voices called for silence, but Mary only looked about in some +amazement. She couldn't think what the people were driving at. As she +was not being entertained there was nothing to prevent her from talking, +and it was only natural that she should speak to Peter; and if the folks +in front did not approve of her remarks they need not listen. The +violinist had dropped her arms in despair; but when she perceived +silence was restored she tried again. + +"Used to play 'en in Peter Tavy church," continued Mary, with much +relish. "Used to sot up in the loft and fiddle cruel. Didn't 'en, +Master? Don't ye mind ole Will Chanter what had a fiddle like thikky +one? His brother Abe sot up wi' 'en, and blowed into a long pipe. Made a +cruel fine noise, them two." + +Mary was becoming anecdotal, and threatening to address the audience at +some length, so the violinist had to give up and make way for a vocalist +with sufficient voice to drown these reminiscences of a former +generation. + +After the concert there were disturbances outside. One faction cheered +the performers; another hooted them. Then a light of Ebenezer kindled +into religious fire and hit an Anglican postman in the eye. The response +of the Church Militant loosened two Nonconformist teeth. Chegwidden +reappeared on horseback, swaying from side to side, holding on by the +reins, and raising the cry of down with everything except Ebenezer and +liquor-shops. + +Pendoggat stood aloof, looking on, hoping there would be a fight. He did +not mix in such things himself. It was his custom to stand in the +background and work the machinery from outside. He liked to see men +attacking one another, to watch pain inflicted, and to see the blood +flow. Turning to the man whose mouth had been damaged he muttered: "Go +at him again." + +"I'm satisfied," came the answer. + +"He called you a dirty monkey," lied Pendoggat. + +The insult was sufficient. The Anglican postman was walking away, having +fought a good fight for the faith that was in him, by virtue of two +shillings a week for various duties, and his Opponent seizing the +opportunity attacked him vigorously from the rear. Peter and Mary +watched the conflict, and their savage souls rejoiced. This was better +than all the pianos and fiddles in the world. They felt at last they +were getting value for their free tickets. + +Sport was terminated by the sudden appearance of the Maggot. He had been +drafting a prospectus of the "Tavy Nickel Mining Company, Limited," and +had issued forth to look for the managing director. He stopped the fight +and lectured the combatants in spiritual language. He comprehended how +the ex-chapel had been desecrated that night by godless people, and he +appreciated the zeal which had prompted a member of his congregation to +defend its sanctity; but he explained that it was not lawful for +Christians to brawl upon the streets. To take out a summons for assault +was far holier. The man with the loosened teeth explained that he should +do so. It was true he had incited the postman to fight by striking him +first; but then he had struck him with Christian charity in the eye, +which entailed only a slight temporary discomfort and no permanent loss; +whereas the postman had struck him with brutal ferocity on the mouth, +depriving him of the services of two teeth; and had moreover added +obscene language, as could be proved by impartial witnesses. Pezzack +assured him that the teeth Bad fallen in a good cause; men and women had +been tortured and burnt at the stake for their religion; and he quoted +the acts of Bloody Mary, that bigoted lady who has become the hardy +perennial of Nonconformist sermons, with a strong emphasis upon the +qualifying, adjective. The champion went away delighted. He had won his +martyr's crown, and his teeth were not so very loose after all. A little +beer would soon tighten them. + +The crowd was dwindling away with its grievances. The folks would +chatter furiously for a few days; then the affair would drop and be +forgotten, and a fresh scandal would fill the vacancy. They would never +bite so long as they had liberty to bark. Chegwidden had galloped off +across the moor in his usual wild way. Every week he would visit some +inn, upon what might have been called his home circuit, and at closing +time would commit his senseless body to his horse with the certain hope +of being carried home. To gallop wildly over Dartmoor at night might be +ranked as an almost heroic action. The horse had brains fortunately. +Chegwidden was only the clinging monkey upon its back. The farmer had +fallen on several occasions, but had escaped with bruises. One night he +would break his neck, or crack his head upon a boulder, and die as he +had lived--drunk. Drunkenness is not a vice upon Dartmoor; nor a fault +even. It is a custom. + +The Maggot found Pendoggat. They greeted one another in a fraternal way, +then began to walk down from the village. The night was clear ahead of +them, but above Brentor, with its church, which looked rather like an +exaggerated locomotive in that light, the sky, or "widdicote," as Mary +might have called it, was red and lowering. + +"Well, what about business?" said Pendoggat. + +"I am not finding it easy, Mr. Pendoggat," said the minister. "Folks are +nervous, and, as you know, there is not much money about. But they trust +me, Mr. Pendoggat. They trust me," he repeated fervently. + +"Got any promises?" + +"A few half-promises. I could do better if I was able to show them the +mine. If you would come forward, with your wisdom and experience, I +think we should do well. I mentioned that you were interested." + +"I told you to keep my name out of it," said Pendoggat. + +"But that is impossible. I cannot tell a lie, Mr. Pendoggat," said Eli, +with the utmost deference. + +"You're suspicious," said the other sharply. "You don't trust me. Say it +out, Pezzack." + +"I do trust you, Mr. Pendoggat. I have given you this 'and," said Eli, +extending a clay-like slab. "I have seen with my own eyes the sides of +that cave gleaming with precious metal like the walls of the New +Jerusalem. I can take your 'and now, and look you in the heye, and say +'ow I trust you. We 'ave prayed side by side, and you 'ave always prayed +fair. Now that we are working side by side I know you'll work fair. But +I 'ave thought, Mr. Pendoggat, 'ow you seem to be putting too much upon +me." + +"I'll tell you how it is. I'm pushed," Pendoggat muttered. "Nobody knows +it, but I'm deep in debt. Do you think I'd be such a fool as to give +this find of mine away for nothing, as you might say, unless I'd got +to?" he went on sullenly. "I've known of it for years. I've spent days +planting willows and fern about the entrance to that old shaft, to close +it up and make folk forget it's there. I meant to bide my time till I +could get mining folk in London to take it up and make a big thing out +of it. I'm a disappointed man, Pezzack. I'm in debt, and I've got to +suffer for it." + +He paused, scowling sullenly at his companion. + +"My 'eart bleeds for you, Mr. Pendoggat," said simple Eli. He thought +that was a good and sympathetic phrase, although he somewhat exaggerated +the actual state of his feelings. + +"I've kept 'em quiet so far," said Pendoggat. "I've paid what I can, and +they know they can't get more. But if 'twas known about this mine, and +known I was running it, they'd be down on me like flies on a carcase, +and would ruin the thing at once. The only chance for me was to look out +for a straight man who could float the scheme in his name while I did +the work. I knew only one man I could really trust, and that man is +you." + +"It is very generous of you, Mr. Pendoggat," said the buttered Eli. + +They had reached the railway bridge, and there stopped, being upon the +edge of the moor. Beneath them was Brentor station gone to sleep; +beyond, in its cutting, that of Mary Tavy. The lines of two rival +companies ran needlessly side by side, silently proclaiming to the still +Dartmoor night the fact that railway companies are quite human and hate +each other like individuals. Pendoggat was looking down as usual, +therefore his eyes were fixed upon the rival lines. Possibly he found +something there to interest him. + +"I'll get you some samples. You can take them about with you," he went +on. "We'll have a meeting too." + +"At the Barton?" suggested Eli. + +"The chapel," said Pendoggat. + +"Commencing with a prayer-meeting," said Eli. "That is a noble thought, +Mr. Pendoggat. We will seek a blessing on the work." + +"The chapel must be rebuilt," said Pendoggat. + +"The Lord's work first. Yes, that is right. That is like you, Mr. +Pendoggat. I will communicate with some friends in London. I 'ave an +uncle who is a retired grocer. He lives at Bromley, Mr. Pendoggat. He +will invest part of his savings, I am convinced. He has confidence in +me. He had me educated for the ministry. He will persuade others to +invest, perhaps." + +Pendoggat moved forward, and set his face towards the moor. "I must get +on," he said. "I'll see you on Sunday. Have something to tell me by +then." + +"Let us seek a blessing before we part," said Pezzack. + +Pendoggat turned back. He was always ready to obtain absolution. They +stood upon the bridge, removed their hats, while Eli prayed with vigour +and sincerity. He did not stop until the rumble of the night mail +sounded along the lines and the metals began to hum excitedly. The +"widdicote" above St. Michael's was still red and lowering. The church +might have been a furnace, emitting a strong glow from fires within its +tower. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +ABOUT FAIRYLAND + + +By the time Boodles was sixteen she was shaped and polished. Weevil had +done what he could; not much, for the poor old thing was neither learned +nor rich; and she had gone to Tavistock, where various arts had been +crammed into her brain, all mixed up together like the ingredients of a +patent pill. Boodles knew a good deal for seventeen; but Nature and +Dartmoor had taught her more than the school-mistress. She was a fresh +and fragrant child, with no unhealthy fancies; loving everything that +was clean and pretty; loathing spiders, and creeping things, and filth +in general; and longing ardently already to win for herself a name and a +soul a little higher than the beetles. They were presumptuous longings +for a child of passion, who did not know her parents, or anything about +her origin beyond the fact that she had been thrown out in a bundle of +fern, and taken in and cared for by Abel Cain Weevil. + +At the tender age of fourteen Boodles received her love-wound. It was +down by the Tavy, where the water swirls round pebbles and rattles them +against its rocks below Sandypark. Her love-affair was idyllic, and +therefore dangerous, because the idyllic state bears the same +resemblance to rough and brutal life as the fairy-tale bears to the true +story of that life. The tales begin with "once upon a time," and end +with "they lived happily ever after." The idyllic state begins in the +same way, but ends, either with "they parted with tears and kisses and +never saw each other again," or "they married and were miserable ever +afterwards." Only children can blow idyll-bubbles which will float for a +time. Elderly people try, but they only make themselves ridiculous, and +the bubbles will not form. People of thirty or over cannot play at +fairy-tales. When they try they become as fantastic a sight as an old +gentleman wearing a paper hat and blowing a penny trumpet. Shakespeare, +who knew everything about human nature that men can know, made his Romeo +and Juliet children, and ended their idyll as such things must end. +Customs have changed since; even children are beginning to understand +that life cannot be made a fairy-tale; and Romeo prefers the football +field to sighing beneath a school-girl's balcony; and Juliet twists up +her hair precociously and runs amok with a hockey-stick. + +Still fairy-tales lift their mystic blooms to the moon beside the Tavy, +and Boodles had seen those flowers, and wandered among them very +delicately. The boy was Aubrey Bellamie, destined for the Navy, and his +home was in Tavistock. He had come into the world, amid an odour of +respectability, two years before Boodles had crept shamefully up the +terrestrial back stairs. All he knew about Boodles was the fact that she +was a girl; that one all-sufficient fact that makes youths mad. He knew, +also, that her head was glorious, and that her lips were better than +wine. He was a clean, pretty boy; like most of the youths in the Navy, +who are the good fresh salt of Devon and England everywhere. Boodles +came into Tavistock twice a week to be educated, and he would wait at +the door of the school until she came out, because he wanted to educate +her too; and then they would wander beside the Tavy, and kiss new +knowledge into each other's young souls. The fairy-tale was real enough, +because real life had not begun. They were still in "once upon a time" +stage, and they believed in the happy ending. It was the age of +delusion; glorious folklore days. There was enough fire in them both to +make the story sufficiently life-like to be mistaken for the real thing. +Aubrey's parents did not know of the love-affair then; neither did +Weevil. In fairy-tales relations are usually wicked creatures who have +to be avoided. So for months they wandered beside the river of +fairyland, and plucked the flowers of that pleasant country which were +gleaming with idyllic dew. + +"I can't think why you love my head so," Boodles had protested, when a +thunderstorm of affection had partially subsided. "It's like a big +tangle of red seaweed. The girls at the school call me Carrots." + +"I should like to hear them," said Aubrey fiercely; "Darling, it's the +loveliest head in the world." + +And then he went on to talk a lot of shocking nonsense about flowers and +sunsets, and all other wondrous flaming things, which had derived their +colour and splendour from the light of his sweetheart's head, and from +none other source or inspiration whatsoever. + +"If I was a boy I shouldn't love a girl with red hair. There are such a +lot of girls you might love. Girls with silky flaxen hair, and girls +with lovely brown hair--" + +"They are only girls," said Aubrey disdainfully. "Not angels." + +"Do angels have red hair?" asked Boodles. + +"Only a very few," said the boy. "Boodles--and one or two others whose +names I can't remember just now. It's not red hair, sweetheart. It's +golden, and your beautiful skin is golden too, and there is a lot of +gold-dust scattered all over your nose." + +"Freckles," laughed Boodles. "Aubrey, you silly! Calling my ugly +freckles gold-dust! Why, I hate them. When I look in the glass I say to +myself: 'Boodles, you're a nasty little spotted toad.'" + +"They are just lovely," declared the boy. "They are little bits of +sunshine that have dropped on you and stuck there." + +"I'm not sticky." + +"You are. Sticky with sweetness." + +"What a dear stupid thing!" sighed Boodles. "Let me kiss your lovely +pink and white girl's face--there--and there--and there." + +"Boodles, dear, I haven't got a girl's face," protested Aubrey. + +"Oh, but you have, my boy. It's just like a girl's--only prettier. If I +was you, and you was me--that sounds rather shocking grammar, but it +don't matter--every one would say: 'Look at that ugly boy with that +boodle-oodle, lovely, _bu_tiful girl.' There! I've squeezed every bit of +breath out of him," cried Boodles. + +There was a certain amount left, as she soon discovered; enough to +smother her. + +"If you hadn't got golden hair, and freckles, I should never have fallen +in love with you," declared the boy. "If you were to lose your freckles, +if you lost only one, the tiniest of them all, I shouldn't love you any +more." + +"And if you lose that dear girl's face I won't love you," promised +Boodles. "If you had a horrid moustache to tickle me and make me sneeze, +I wouldn't give you the smallest, teeniest, wee bit of a kiss. Well, you +can't anyhow, because you've got to be an admiral. How nice it will be +when you are grown up and have a lot of ships of your own." + +"We shall be married long before then. Boodles, darling," cried the +eager boy. "Directly I am twenty-one we will be married. Only five more +years." + +"Such a lot happens in a year," sighed Boodles. "You may meet five more +girls far more sunshiny than me, with redder hair and more freckles, +since you are so fond of them--" + +"I shan't. You are the only girl who ever was or shall be." + +That is how boys talk when they are sixteen, and when they are +twenty-six, and sometimes when they are very old boys of sixty; and +girls generally believe them. + +"I wonder if it is right of you to love me," said Boodles doubtfully. + +The answer was what might have been looked for, and ended with the usual +question: "Why not?" + +"Because I'm only a baby." + +"You are fourteen, darling. You will be nineteen by the time we are +married." + +Although they were only at the beginning of the story they were already +slapping over the pages, anxious to reach the "lived happily ever after" +conclusion. Young people are always wanting to hurry on; middle-aged to +marktime; old to look back. The freshness of life is contained in the +first chapter. Youth is a time of unnatural strength, of insanity, a +dancing-round-the-may-pole sort of time. Common-sense begins to come +when one has grandchildren. Boodles and Aubrey wandered a thousand times +in love's fairyland on the romantic banks of the rattling Tavy, and knew +as much during their last walk as upon the first; knew they were in love +cleanly and honestly; knew that the joy of life was no myth; but knowing +nothing, either of them, concerning Giant Despair, who has his mantle +trimmed with lovers' hearts, or the history of the fair maid of Astolat, +or the existence of Castle Dolorous. Love is largely a pleasure of the +imagination, thus a fairy-tale, and sound practical knowledge sweeps the +romance of it all away. + +The whole of that folly--if the only real ecstatic bliss of life which +is called first love be folly--seemed gone for ever. Aubrey was packed +off to do his part in upholding the honour of Boodlesland, as his +country named itself in his thoughts; and the years that intervened +discovered him probably kissing girls of all complexions, girls with +every shade of hair conceivable, girls with freckles and without; and +being kissed by them. Boys must have their natural food, and if the best +quality be not obtainable they must take what offers. In the interval +Boodles remained entirely unkissed, and received no letters. She wasn't +surprised. His love had been too fierce. It had blazed up, burnt her, +and gone out. Aubrey had forgotten her; forgotten those wonderful walks +in Tavyland; forgotten her radiant head and golden freckles. It was all +over, that romance of two babies. It was Boodles who did not forget; +Boodles who had the wet pillow sometimes; Boodles who was constant like +the gorse, which is in flower all the year round. + +No one would call the ordinary Dartmoor postman an angel--his appearance +is too much against him--but he does an angel's work. Perhaps there is +nothing which quickens the heart of any lonely dweller on the moor so +perceptibly as the heavy tread of that red-faced and beer-tainted +companion of the goddess of dawn. He leaves curses as well as blessings. +He pushes love-letters and bills into the box together. Sometimes he is +an hour late, and the miserable watcher frets about the house. Sometimes +the wind holds him back. He can be seen struggling against it, and the +watcher longs to yoke him to wild horses. There are six precious +post-times each week, and the lonely inhabitant of the wilds would not +yield one of them to save his soul alive. + +There was an angel's visit to Lewside Cottage, and a letter for Boodles +fell from heaven. The child pounced upon it, rushed up to her room like +a dog with a piece of meat, locked the door lest any one should enter +with the idea of stealing her prize, gloated upon it, almost rolled upon +it. She did not open it for some time. She turned it over, smelt it, +pinched it, loved it. Tavistock was blurred across the stamp. There was +no doubt about that letter. It was a tangible thing. It did not fade +away like morning dew. She opened it at last, but did not dare to read +it through. She took bites at it, tasting it here and there; and had +every sentence by heart before she settled down to read it properly. So +she was still dearest Boodles, and he was the same devoted Aubrey. The +child jumped upon her bed, and bit the pillow in sheer animal joy. + +He had just come home, and was writing to her at once. She wouldn't +recognise him because he had become a tough brown sailor, and the girl's +face was his no longer. He was coming to see her at once; and they would +walk again by the Tavy and be just the same as ever; and swear the same +vows; and kiss the same kisses; and be each other's sun and moon, and +all the rest of the idyllic patter, which was as sweet and fresh as ever +to poor Boodles. For he had been all the world over and discovered there +was only one girl in it; and that was the girl with the radiant head, +and the golden skin, and the gold-dust upon her nose. He was as true as +he always had been, and as he always would be for ever and evermore. + +Boodles saw nothing mad or presumptuous in that closing sentence. It was +just what she would have said. There is no hereafter for young people in +their teens; there is an ever and evermore for them. They are like a +kitten playing with its own tail, without ever realising that it is its +tail. + +Boodles became at once very light and airy. She seemed to have escaped +from the body somehow. She felt as if she had been transformed into a +bit of sunshine. She floated down-stairs, lighted up the living-room, +wrapped herself round Abel Cain, floated into the kitchen to finish +preparations for breakfast, discovered the material nature of her hands +by breaking a milk-jug, and then humanity asserted itself and she began +to shriek. + +"Boodle-oodle!" cried old Weevil; "you have been sleeping in the +moonshine." + +"I've broken the milk-jug," screamed Boodles. + +Weevil came shuffling along the passage. Small things were greatly +accounted of in Lewside Cottage. There were most of the ingredients of +tragedy in a broken milk-jug. + +"How did you do it?" he wailed. + +"It was all because the butter is so round," laughed Boodles. + +Weevil was frightened. He thought the child's mind had broken too; and +that was even more serious than the milk-jug. He stood and stared, and +made disjointed remarks about bright Dartmoor moons, and girls who would +sleep with their blinds up, and insanity which was sure to follow such +rashness. But Boodles only laughed the more. + +"I'll tell you," she said. "The butter is very round, and I had it on a +plate. I must have tilted the plate, and it was roll, butter, roll. +First on the table, where it knocked the milk-jug off its legs. Then it +rolled on the floor, and out of the door. It's still rolling. I expect +it is nearly at Mary Tavy station by now, and it ought to reach +Tavistock about ten o'clock at the rate it was going. It's sure to roll +on to Plymouth, right through the Three Towns, and then across the Hoe, +and about the time we go to bed there will be a little splash in the +sea, and that will be the end of the butter, which rolled off the plate, +and broke the milk-jug, and started from the top of Dartmoor at +half-past eight by the clock in Lewside Cottage, which is ten minutes +fast--and that's all I can think of now," gasped Boodles. + +"My poor little girl," quavered Weevil. "The butter is on the plate in +front of you." + +"Well, it must have rolled back again. It wanted to see its dear old +home once more." + +Weevil began to pick up the fragments of the milk-jug. "There is +something wrong with you, Boodle-oodle," he said tenderly. "I don't want +you to have any secrets, my dear. You are too young. There was a letter +for you just now?" + +At that the whole story came out with a rush. Boodles could hold nothing +back that morning. She told Weevil about the fairy-tale, from the "once +upon a time" up to the contents of that letter; and she begged him to +play the part of good genie, and with his enchantments cause +blissfulness to happen. + +Weevil was very troubled. He had feared that the radiant head would do +mischief, but he had not expected trouble to come so soon. The thing was +impossible, of course. Even radiant growths must have a name of some +sort. Aubrey's parents could not permit weeds to grow in their garden. +There were plenty of girls "true to name," like the well-bred roses of a +florist's catalogue, wanting smart young husbands. There was practically +no limit to the supply of these sturdy young plants. Boodles might be a +Gloire de Devon, but she was most distinctly not in the catalogue. She +was only a way-side growth; a beautiful fragrant weed certainly, like +the sweet honeysuckle which trails about all the lanes, and is in itself +a lovely thing, but is not wanted in the garden because it is too +common; or like the gorse, which as a flowering shrub is the glory of +the moor, but not of the garden, because it is a rank wild growth. Were +it a rare shrub it would be grown upon the lawns of the wealthy; but +because it is common it must stay outside. + +"Boodles, darling, I am so sorry," the old man murmured. + +"But you mustn't be," she laughed. "Sorry because I'm so happy! You must +be a _bu_tiful old daddy-man, and say you are glad. I can't help being +in love. It's like the measles. We have to catch it, and it is so much +better to go through it when you're young. Now say something nice and +let me go. I want to run to the top of Ger Tor, and scream, and run back +again." + +"Oh, dear heaven!" muttered Weevil, playing with the bits of milk-jug. +"I can't tell the poor baby, I can't tell it." + +"Don't be weepy, daddy-dear-heart," murmured Boodles, coming and loving +him. "I know I'm only a baby, but then I'm growing fast. I'll soon be +eighteen. Such a grown-up woman then, old man! I'll never leave +him--that's the trouble, I know. I'll always boil him's eggs, and break +him's milk-jugs. Only he must be pretty to Boodles when she's happy, and +say he's glad she's got a lovely boy with the beautifullest girl's face +that ever was." + +Weevil unmeshed himself and shuffled away, pelting imaginary foes with +bits of milk-jug, blinking his eyes like a cat in the sunshine. He could +not destroy the child's happiness. As well expect the painter who has +expended the best years of his life on a picture to cut and slash the +canvas. Boodles was his own. He had made and fashioned her. He could not +extinguish his own little sun. He must let her linger in fairyland, and +allow destiny, or human nature, or something else equally brutal, to +finish the story. Elementary forces of nature, like Pendoggat, might be +cruel, but Weevil was not a force, neither was he cruel. He was only an +eccentric old man, and he wanted it to be well with the child. She would +have her eyes opened soon enough. She would discover that innocents +thrust out on the moor to perish cannot by the great law of propriety +take that place in life which beauty and goodness deserve. They must go +back; like Undine, coming out with brave love to seek a soul, succeeding +at first, but failing in the end, and going back at last to the state +that was hers. Poor little bastard Boodles! How mad she was that +morning! Weevil hardly noticed that his eggs were hard-boiled. + +"Darling," he said tenderly, anxious to divert her mind--as if it could +be diverted!--"go and see Peter, and tell him we must have that clock. +You had better bring it back with you." + +That clock was a favourite subject of conversation. If had amused +Boodles for two years, and it amused her then. It was only a common +little clock, or Peter would never have been entrusted with it. Peter, +who knew nothing, was among other things a mechanician. He professed his +ability to mend and clean clocks. Possibly Grandfather had taught him +something. He had studied the old gentleman's internal arrangements all +his life, and had, he considered, mastered the entire principle of a +clock's construction and well-being. Therefore when Boodles met him one +day, and informed him that a little clock in Lewside Cottage was choked +with dust and refused to perform its duty, Peter promised he would +attend at his earliest convenience, to lay his hand upon it, and restore +it to activity. "When will you come?" asked Boodles. + +"To-morrow," answered Peter. + +The day came, but not Peter. He was hardly expected, because promises +are meaningless phrases in the mouths of Dartmoor folk. In the matter of +an eternal "to-morrow" they are like the Spanish peasantry. They always +promise upon their honour, but, as they haven't got any, the oath might +as well be omitted. When reminded of their solemn undertaking they have +a ready explanation. Their conscience would not permit them to come. It +is the same when they agree to charge an unsuspecting person so much for +duties performed, and then send in a bill for twice the amount. +Conscience would not allow them to charge less. The Dartmoor conscience +is a beautiful thing. It urges a man to act precisely as he wants to. + +A month or so passed--the exact period is of no account in such a +place--and Boodles saw Peter approaching her. When within sight of her +he put out his arm and began to cry aloud. She hurried towards him, +afraid that something was wrong; the arm was still extended, and the cry +continued. Peter was like an owl crying in the wilderness. Drawing near, +he became at last intelligible. "I be coming," he cried. "I be coming to +mend the clock." + +"Now?" asked Boodles. + +"To-morrow," said Peter. + +This sort of thing happened constantly. Whenever they came within sight +of each other, and Peter called often at the village to purchase pints +of beer, the little man would hurry towards Boodles, with his +outstretched arm and monotonous cry: "To-morrow." He was always on his +way to Lewside Cottage, but something always hindered him from getting +there. He did not despair, however. He felt confident that the day would +arrive when he would attend in person and restore the clock. It was +merely a matter of time. Thus a year went by and the pledge remained +unfulfilled. + +One Sunday evening Boodles went to church, and it so happened that Peter +was there also. Peter had just then reasons of his own for wishing to +ingratiate himself with the church authorities, and he considered that +the appearance of his vile body in a devotional attitude somewhere in +the neighbourhood of the pulpit would be of material assistance to his +ambition. Peter entered with a huge lantern, the time being winter, and +the evening dark--the night rather, for the Dartmoor day in winter is +well over by five o'clock--flapped up the aisle with goose-like steps, +tumbled into a seat breathing heavily, and making as much noise with his +boots as a horse upon cobblestones, banged the lantern down, and gazed +about the building with an air of proprietorship. The next thing was to +blow out the candle in his lantern. He opened it, and made windy noises +which were not attended with success. "Scat 'en," cried Peter +boisterously. "When her's wanted to go out her never will, and when her +bain't wanted to go out her always du." + +At that moment Boodles entered. Peter was delighted to see her friendly +face. The lantern clattered to the floor, and its master stretched out +his arm, and exclaimed in a whisper which would have carried from one +side of Tavy Cleave to the other: "I was a-coming yesterday, but I never +got as far. Had the tweezers in my trousers, and here they be." He +brought out the implement and brandished it in the faces of the +congregation. "I'm a-coming to-morrow sure 'nuff." Then he went to work +again at the lantern. Peter had not developed the spirit of reverence; +and the service was unable to commence until he had finished blowing. + +When the proceedings were over he followed Boodles out of church and +along the road, all the time asserting that the tweezers and his +trousers had been inseparable for the last six months, that he had +started for Lewside Cottage every day, and something had always cropped +up to prevent him from reaching his destination, but that the next day +would bring him, wet or fine, upon his word of honour it would. He had +been remiss in the past, he owned, but if he failed to attend on Monday +morning at half-past eleven punctual, with the tweezers in his trousers, +he hoped the young lady and the old gentleman would never trust him +again. + +A few more weeks went by, and then Boodles put the clock into a basket, +and came out to the hut-circles. + +Peter was grievously dismayed. "Why didn't ye tell me?" he said. "I'd +ha' come for 'en. I wouldn't ha' troubled yew to ha' brought 'en. If yew +had told I there was a clock to mend, I'd ha' come for him all to wance, +and fetched him home, and mended him same day." + +It would have been useless to remind Peter of his promises and his +eternal procrastination. He would only have pleaded that he had +forgotten all about it. People such as Peter cannot be argued with. + +Boodles left the clock, and Peter promised it should be cleaned at once, +and brought back in a day or two. + +During the next few months the couple at Lewside Cottage made merry over +that clock. Left to himself Peter would have said no more about it, but +would simply have added it to his stock of earthly possessions. However, +Boodles gave him no peace. Peter could hardly enter the village for the +necessity of his existence without being accosted upon the subject; and +at last the slumbering fires of mechanism within him kindled into flame. +He declared he had never seen such a clock; it was made all wrong; it +was not in the least like Grandfather. He explained that it would be +necessary to take it entirely to pieces, alter the works considerably, +and reconstruct it in accordance with the recognised model, adding such +things as weights and pendulum; and that would be a matter of a year's +skilled labour. He pointed out, moreover, that the clock was painted +green, and that in itself would be sufficient to clog the works, as it +was well known that clocks would not keep proper time unless they were +painted brown. That was a trade secret. Boodles replied that there was +nothing whatever wrong with the works of the clock. It only required +cleaning, and she believed she could do it herself. Peter wagged his +head in amazement. The folly and ignorance of young maids eclipsed his +understanding. + + +The second year came to an end, and the clock was in precisely the same +condition as at first. Peter was glad to have it because it made a nice +ornament for his section of Ger Cottage. He had only touched it once, +and then Mary, who happened to be present, exclaimed: "Dear life, Peter, +put 'en down, or you'll be tearing 'en." + +The tenants of Lewside Cottage had become tired of the endless comedy. +So, on that morning when Boodles had her letter, it was the most natural +thing in the world for Weevil to suggest that she should go and reclaim +their property; and as the girl was longing for the open moor and the +sight of Tavy Cleave, which was on the way to fairyland, she went, +running part of the way for sheer joy, singing and laughing all the +time. + +The hut-circles were deserted. Mary was out on the "farm," which was a +ridiculous scrap of reclaimed moor about the same size as an Italian +mountaineer's vineyard; and Peter had gone to the village inn on +business. Boodles looked inside. There was Grandfather, ticking in his +usual misanthropic way; and there was the uncleaned clock in the centre +of the long shelf which ran above the big fire-place. Boodles took it, +and ran off, laughing to think of Peter's dismay when he returned and +discovered that his mantelshelf lacked its principal ornament. He would +think some one had stolen it, and the fright would be a punishment for +him. Boodles raced home, put the clock on the kitchen table, opened it, +and placing the nozzle of the bellows among the works cleaned them +vigorously. When old Weevil came shuffling in the clock was going +merrily. + +"I've done in two minutes what Peter couldn't do in two years," laughed +the happy child. + +Weevil shuffled out. He was in a restless mood. He knew he ought to tell +Boodles that she mustn't be happy, only he could not. Somebody or +something would have to use her as she had used the clock; blow wildly +into her poor little soul, and do for her in two minutes what Weevil +would never have done in two years. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +ABOUT ATMOSPHERE + + +There are secret places among the rocks of Tavy Cleave. The river has +many moods; one time in the barren lands, another time in bogland, and +then in hanging gardens and woodland. No other river displays such +startling Protean changes. The artist always fails to catch the Tavy. He +paints it winding between low banks of peat, with blossoms of pink +heather dripping into the water; but that is not the Tavy. He presents +it as a broiling milk-white torrent, thundering over rocks, with Ger Tor +wrapped in cloud, and bronzed bracken springing out of the clefts; but +that is not the Tavy. He represents it shaded with rowan and ferns, its +banks a fairy carpet of wind-flowers, and suggests a gentle river by +removing the lace-like pattern of foam and the big boulders, and +painting the water a wonderful green, with here and there a streak of +purple; but still he has not caught the Tavy. He goes down from the moor +and shows a stately stream, descending slowly a lew valley between +hills, partly wooded, partly cultivated; shows the smoke of scattered +Bartons mixing lazily with the clouds and going with them sea-ward; shows +cattle feeding and bluebells nodding; a general atmosphere that of +Amaryllis and her piping shepherd, though the lad is only a dull clod +and his pipe is of clay, and Amaryllis has dirty finger-nails; but again +the elusive Tavy has escaped somehow. Once more he tries. There is the +Tavy, like an ocean flood, coming across mud-flats, mingled with brother +Tamar of the border; a dull unromantic Tavy then. The magic mist of +bluebells has given way to the blue steel of the railroad, and wooden +battleships, their task over, float upon its waters instead of +fern-fronds. Not a fairy-tale is to be told, nor any pretty fancy to be +weaved there. The pictures go into galleries, and win fame, perhaps; but +the river of Tavy chuckles over his rocks, and knows he is not there. + +It is a river of atmosphere. Only a dream can produce the Tavy; not the +written word, nor the painted picture. Unpleasant dreams some of them, +like nightmares, but human thought produces them; and human thought is +the dirtiest, as well as the noblest, thing created. + +In one of the secret places among the rocks Pendoggat waited, and +Thomasine came to meet him there. She came because she had been told to, +and about the only thing that her mind was capable of realising was that +she must be obedient. Country girls have to do as they are told. They +are nearly as defenceless as the rabbits, and any commoner may trap them +as one of his rights. So Thomasine came down among the rocks. She had +not been out with Will Pugsley lately, because it was not allowed. She +wanted to, but Pendoggat had refused permission. He had indeed gone +further, and had threatened to murder her if she went with any other +man. Thomasine accepted the inevitable, and told her Will she could not +go out with him any more. Pugsley, having saved a little money, desired +to spend it upon matrimony, and as he could not have Thomasine he was +going about looking for another maid. One would serve his purpose as +well as another, so long as she had plenty of blood in her. + +Such a thing as love without lust was unknown to Pendoggat. His only +idea of the great passion was to catch hold of a woman, maul her, enjoy +her flesh, and her warmth, and the texture of her clothes; the coarse, +crude passion which makes a man ruin himself, and destroy the life of +another, for the pleasure of a moment's madness; that same anarchy of +mind which has dethroned princes, lost kingdoms, and converted houses of +religion into houses of ill-fame. Pendoggat would not have gone mad over +Thomasine had she been merely pretty. It was that face of hers, the +blood in her, something in the shape of her figure, which had kindled +his fire. All men burn, more or less, and must submit; and when they do +not it is because Nature is not striving very hard in them. Much is +heard of the morality of Joseph; nothing concerning the age or ugliness +of Potiphar's wife. These conventional old tales are wiped out by one +touch of desire, and nothing remains except the overmastering thing. The +trees cannot help budding in spring. Nature compels it, as she compels +the desire of the human body also. + +They were out of the wind. The heavy fragrance of gorse was in the hot +air. It was a well-hidden spot, and somewhat weird, a haunted kind of +place. The ruins of a miner's cot were close by, and what had been its +floor was then a mass of bracken. The stones were covered with flowering +saxifrage. There was a scrubby brake here and there, composed of a few +dwarf trees, rowan and oaks, only a few feet high, ancient enough but +small, because their roots obtained little nutriment from the +rock-bedded peat. Their branches twisted in a fantastic manner, reaching +across the sky like human limbs contorted with strange agony. They were +the sort of trees which force themselves into dreams. Some of them were +half dead, green on one side and black upon the other; while the dwarfed +trunks were covered with ivy and masses of polypodies; overgrown so +thickly with these parasites that the bark was nowhere visible. Such a +thickness of moss coated some of the boulders that the hardness of the +granite was not perceptible. Beneath the river tumbled; a rough and wild +Tavy; the river of rocks, the open, sun-parched region of the high moor; +the water clear and cold from Cranmere; and there was a long way to go +yet before it reached cover, the hanging trees, and the mossy bogs pink +with red-rattles, and the woods white with wind-flowers, and the stretch +of bluebell-land, the ferns, bracken, asphodel, and the pleasant winding +pathways where fairy-tales and decent love abide, and the little folk +laugh at moonlight. + +"It be a whist old place," Thomasine said; the words, but not the +thought, frightened out of her by Pendoggat's rude embrace. Like most +girls of her class she was no talker, because she did not know how to +put words together. She could laugh without ceasing when the occasion +justified it, laughter being with her what tail-wagging is to a dog, the +natural expression of pleasure or good-will; but there was not much to +laugh at just then. + +"You haven't told any one about our meetings? They don't know at Town +Rising?" said Pendoggat. + +"No, sir," answered Thomasine. + +"It wouldn't do for them to know. They'd talk themselves sick. You don't +wear much, my maid. Nothing under your blouse. If it wasn't for your fat +you'd take cold." He had thrust his hand into the front of her dress, +and clutched a handful of yielding flesh. + +"Don't ye, sir. It ain't proper," entreated Thomasine. + +She hardly dared to struggle because she was afraid. Instinct told her +certain behaviour was not proper, although it had not prevented her from +coming to that "whist old place." It was fear which had brought her +there. + +"How would you like to come to the Barton, and be my married wife? I +want a fine maid to look after me, and you're a fine lusty sweetheart if +ever there was one. 'Tis a job that would suit you, Thomasine. Better +than working for those Chegwiddens. I'd find you something better to do +than sitting in a cold kitchen, keeping the fire warm. There's a good +home and a sober master waiting for you. Better than young Pugsley and +twelve shillings a week. Say the word, and I'll have you there, and Nell +Crocker can go to the devil." + +Thomasine did not say the word. She had no conversation at all. She did +not know that Pendoggat was giving her the usual fair speech, making her +the usual offer, which meant nothing although it sounded so much. She +had heard Nell Crocker referred to as Mrs. Pendoggat, never before by +her actual name. She had come to meet him, supposing him to be a married +man, not because she wanted his company, but because she had to accept +it. She could only conclude that he really did love her. Thomasine's +ideas of love were simple enough; just to meet a man, and walk with him +in quiet places, and sit about with him, and be mauled by him. That was +the beginning and end of love according to Thomasine, for after marriage +it was all hard work. If a man made a girl meet him in secret places +among the rocks, it could only be because he loved her. There could be +no other reason. And if a man loved a girl he naturally suggested +marriage. The matter was entirely simple. Even she could understand it, +because it was elementary knowledge; the sort of knowledge which causes +many a quiet moorland nook, and many an innocent-looking back garden, to +become some smothered infant's grave. + +"You'd like to come to the Barton, wouldn't you, my maid?" said +Pendoggat in a wheedling tone. + +"Iss," murmured Thomasine at last. She didn't dare say anything else. +She was afraid he would strike her if she struggled. She was staring +without much expression at the little dwarfed oaks, and the blood was +working vigorously up and down her exposed neck and bosom as though a +pump was forcing it. She had a thought just then; or, if not quite a +thought, a wish. She wished she had taken a situation which had been +offered her at Sourton, and had never come to Town Rising. She felt +somehow it might have been better for her if she had gone to Sourton. +She might have escaped something, though she hardly knew what. She could +not have got into a town, as she was too ignorant and dull for anything +better than a moorland Barton. + +"You've done with young Pugsley?" Pendoggat muttered. + +He pulled her hair down roughly, hurting her. Thomasine had good brown +hair in abundance. He wanted to see it lying on her skin. Anything to +add fuel to the fire! + +"Iss, sir." + +"That's well. If you and he are seen together there'll be hell," he +cried savagely. "You're mine, blood and flesh, and all that's in you, +and I'll have you or die for it, and I'd kill the man who tried to get +you away from me, as I'd kill you if you played me false and ran off to +any one else. You young devil, you--you're as full of blood as a whort +is full of juice." + +While speaking he was half dragging her towards the ruined miner's cot, +and there flung her savagely on the fern. + + * * * * * + +Much lower down, where the Tavy fretted less, being freer from rocks; +where there were trees, and a shelter from the wind, and flowers also in +their season, honeysuckles and rose-bays, with fern in great +abundance--there could be no fairyland without ferns--and green water +oozing from the banks, and a fragrant kind of mist over it all; there, +where the river slanted perceptibly towards the lowland, "more down +under like," as Peter would have expressed it, two little people were +trying to strangle one another with pure affection. They were not +pixy-folk. They were only Boodles and her boy going on with the story. +They would have been out of place upon the high Tavy, on the rock-strewn +side of the cleave, among the ruins of the mines. There was nothing hard +or fierce about them. They were children, to be treated with tenderness; +kept out of the strong wind; put among the flowers where they could roll +and tumble without hurting themselves; wrapped in the clinging mist full +of that odour of sweet water and fresh foliage which cannot quickly be +forgotten when it has been enjoyed. + +"I thought I was not going to see you any more," said Boodles with a +fine indifference. + +"Should you have cared very much, sweetheart?" + +"Not a bit, really. A girl mustn't expect too much from a sailor boy. +They are fickle, and keep a sweetheart at every place they stop at. +Girls at every port. Red, white, and yellow girls. A whole heap of +them!" + +"But only one all the time," said Aubrey. "One best beautiful girl who +makes all the others seem nothing, and that's always the girl he leaves +at home and comes back to. You were always in my thoughts, darling." + +"But you never wrote," murmured she. + +"I promised mother I wouldn't," he said, with a little hesitation. + +"Then she does know," cried Boodles quickly. "Well, I think she ought +to, because we can't go on being so chummy--" + +"Lovers," he amended. + +"No, we can't," she said decidedly. "Your people must know all about it, +and like me, and tell me I'm nice enough, if we are going on in the same +old way. You see, boy, I had got used to the idea of doing without you, +and I don't want to start again, and then your people to say I'm not +nice enough. We are growing up now. I'm in long frocks, and--and at our +age things begin to get serious," went on the seventeen-year-old girl of +the radiant head somewhat dolefully, as if she was rather afraid she was +past her prime. + +"I'm going to take you to see mother. I promised her I would," said +Aubrey. "Before going away I told her I was awfully in love with you, +and she made me promise not to write, but to see what my feelings were +when I came back. And now I've come back, and I love you more than ever, +because I love you in a different way. I was only a boy then, and now I +am a man, and it is as a man that I love you, and that sweet golden head +and your lovely golden face; and if my people behave properly, I shall +get a ring, and put it on this little finger--" + +"You silly boy. That's my right hand," she laughed. + +"Then there will be only two more years to wait." + +"I shall be only a baby," sighed Boodles. + +"Darling, you will be as old as I am now; and I'm nineteen," said +Aubrey, with all the dignity and assurance of such longevity. + +"Fancy such a child with an engagement-ring! It would be absurd!" said +Boodles. + +"I shan't be well off, darling," he said, making the confession with a +boy's usual awkwardness. + +"Then I won't have you," she declared. "I must have a boy with heaps of +money, who will give me all the luxuries I have been used to. You know +we live very expensively at Lewside. We have a joint of meat every week, +and father has two eggs for breakfast, and I have two new frocks every +year--I get the stuff and make them myself. If I had a hungry boy to +keep, I should want a lot of housekeeping money, though I can make a +penny do the work of three halfpence." + +"Dear Boodles!" + +"Does that 'dear' mean expensive? Well, I am. Some of the stuff for my +frocks costs I don't know how much a yard, and it's no use trying to be +pretty to a draper, for you can't smile them down a single penny." + +"You are very silly, darling. As if I should let you make your own +frocks!" + +"You are much sillier. So silly that you are hardly fit to live. Telling +me you won't be well off! I think if it was all over between us now I +shouldn't care a bit." + +They came out upon an open space beside the river. It was clear of +trees, and the sun was able to shine upon the girl's head, so Aubrey +stopped and took off her hat with reverent hands. She looked up with a +pretty smile. He drew her close and they kissed fondly. It was a clean +healthy kiss, with less folly in it than most, as sweet as the water, +and fresh as the mist; the sort of kiss that makes the soul bud and +bring forth blossoms. They had changed a good deal since those days when +they had first entered fairyland. There was womanhood in Boodles, and a +good deal of the man in Aubrey. They felt the change. It added +responsibility, as well as pleasure, to that kiss. In much the same way +their appearance had altered. Boodles was rather thinner; she had not +quite the same soft, dumpling-like, school-girl cheeks. Aubrey had still +the girl's face, but it had become a little hardened and had lost its +down. Training and discipline had added self-reliance and determination +to his character. They were a pretty pair, little housewife Boodles and +her healthy boy. It was a pity they were transgressing the great +unwritten law of respectability by loving one another. + +"The hair hasn't altered much," murmured the radiant child. + +"Only to become more lovely. It is a deeper gold now, sweetheart--real +gold; and before it was trying to be gold but couldn't quite manage it." + +"This face is just the same to me, except for the nutmeg-graters on the +chin and lips. You have been shaving in a hurry, Aubrey." + +"You know why. I had to come and meet some one." + +"I think you are such a nice boy, Aubrey," faltered Boodles. + +Her eyes were so soft just then that he could not say anything. He took +the glowing head and placed it on his shoulder, and warmed his lips and +his heart with the radiant hair. What a life it would have been if they +could have gone on "happy ever after," just as they were then. The first +stage of love is so much the best, just as the bud is often more +beautiful than the flower. + +They walked on between the sun and the fragrant mist, having by this +time got quite away from the dull, old place called earth. Boodles +carried her hat, swinging it by the strings, and placed her other hand +naturally on his arm. Aubrey had quite made up his mind by that time +about many important matters. He would marry Boodles whatever happened. +He was fond of his parents, but he could not permit them to come between +him and his happiness. As there was only one girl in the singularly +sparsely-populated world a big price must be paid for her. Even nineteen +can be determined upon matters of the heart. + +"You know Mr. Weevil is not my father," she said timidly, hardly knowing +why she thought it necessary to make the admission; and then, rather +hurriedly, "I am only his adopted daughter." + +She had to say that. She did not want him to have unpleasant thoughts +concerning her origin. She wanted to be perfectly honest, and yet at the +same time she dreaded his learning the truth about herself. She did not +realise how ill-suited they were from the ordinary social and +respectable point of view, although she wanted to justify her existence +and to convince him how unwilling she was to deceive. + +"I am coming to see him soon," said Aubrey at once. He did not give the +matter a serious thought either. He was much too young to bother his +head about such things, and besides, he supposed that his sweetheart was +the daughter of some relation or connection of Weevil's, and that she +had been left an orphan in her childhood, and had been adopted as a +duty, not as an act of charity, by the eccentric old man. He had very +kindly thoughts of Weevil, because he knew that Boodles had been well +taken care of, and always worshipped in a devout and proper manner by +the tenant of Lewside Cottage. + +"I have told him all about you," the girl went on. "I am sure he thinks +you quite a suitable person to take perpetual charge of his little maid, +only he is funny when I talk to him about you. It must be because he +doesn't like the idea of getting rid of me." + +Aubrey supposed that was reasonable enough. He judged Weevil by his own +feelings. The idea of losing Boodles would have made him feel "funny" +too. + +"It does seem selfish and ungrateful," the child went on. "To be brought +up and petted, and given everything by a dear old man, and then one day +to run off with a nice young boy. It's very fickle. I must try and feel +ashamed of myself. Still I'm not so wicked as you. If you would leave me +alone I should abide with him always--but then you won't! You come and +put selfish thoughts into my head. I think you are rather a bad boy, +Aubrey." + +The young sailor would not admit that. He declared he was quite a +natural creature; and he reminded Boodles that if she hadn't been so +delightful he would not have fallen in love with her. So it was her own +fault after all. She said she was very sorry, but she couldn't help it. +She too had only behaved naturally. She was not responsible for so much +glowing hair and golden skin. Others had done that for her. And that +brought her back to the starting-point, and she felt vaguely there was +something she ought to say about those unknown persons, only she didn't +know what. So she said nothing at all, and they went on wandering beside +the river where it was wooded and pleasant, and thought only of the +present, and themselves, and how very nice it was to be together; until +a jarring note was struck by that disagreeable thing called Nature, who +never changes her mood, but works seven long days of spitefulness every +week. + +Aubrey had brought his dog with him, and the little beast had put aside +his social instincts in that glorious hunting-ground, and had gone to +seek his own pleasures, leaving his master to the enjoyment of his. Just +then he returned, somewhat sheepishly, as if afraid he ought to expect a +beating, and slunk along at Aubrey's heels. Boodles at once set up a +lamentable cry: "Oh, Aubrey! he's got a bun, a poor little halfpenny +bun!" + +The dog had caught a young rabbit about the size of a rat. He dropped it +with wicked delight, touched it up with his nose, made the poor little +wretch run, then scampered after it, caught and rolled upon it with much +satisfaction, shook it, tossed it in the air, made it run again, and +captured it as before. He was as happy as a child with a clockwork toy. + +"Take it away," pleaded Boodles. "It's so horrid. Look at the poor +little thing's eyes! It's panting so! If he would kill it at once I +wouldn't mind, but I hate to see him torture it." + +The boy called his dog, who refused to obey, thinking it all a part of +the glorious game. He would let Aubrey come near, then make the victim +run, and scamper after it. The clockwork was getting out of order. The +rabbit was nearly run down. Aubrey caught the dog, took the little +creature away, struck it smartly upon the back of its neck, and the +rabbit gave a little shriek, some small shivers, and died. Boodles +turned away, and felt miserable. + +"Shall I beat him?" said Aubrey, who was very fond of his dog. + +"No--please! I don't care now the poor bun is dead. That tiny scream! +Oh, you nasty little dog! You are not a bit like your master. Go away. I +hate you." + +"He can't help doing what his nature tells him, dear." + +"Is it his nature?" wondered Boodles. "I suppose it is, but it seems so +funny. He's so gentle and affectionate to us, and so very cruel to +another animal. If it is his nature to be gentle and affectionate, why +should he be cruel too?" + +That was too deep for Aubrey, although in his confident boy's fashion he +tried to explain it. He said that every animal respects those stronger +than itself, and is cruel to those that are weaker. Boodles was not +satisfied. She said that was the same thing as saying that affection is +due to fear, and that a dog only loves his master because he is afraid +of him. She was sure that wasn't true. + +They did not pursue the subject, however, for at that moment Nature +again intervened in her maliceful way. The dog was trotting on ahead, +his stump of tail erect, quite happy with himself. Suddenly he yelped, +and rushed off into the wood. + +"Now he's been and trodden on an ants' nest," said Aubrey, with some +satisfaction. + +"Or perhaps he saw a pixy under the bracken," said Boodles. + +As she spoke Aubrey caught her, swung her back to a sound of furious +hissing, and Boodles saw a viper upon a patch of bleached grass, head +erect, swaying to and fro, and exceedingly angry at being disturbed. It +was a beautiful, as well as a malevolent, creature. Its black zig-zag +markings were vivid in the sunlight, and its open mouth was as red as a +poppy-leaf. + +"You were just going to tread upon it," cried the boy. + +"The poor dog!" lamented Boodles, all her sympathies naturally with the +suffering animal. + +Then she had to be sorry for the reptile, for Aubrey declared it must +die, not so much because it had bitten the dog, as because it might have +bitten her ankle, and he went and destroyed it with his stick. + +By that time Boodles was wretched. She felt that most of the pleasure +had gone out of their walk. They had been so happy, in a serene +atmosphere, and then the weather had changed, as it were, and the +cruelty and malevolence of Nature had come along to remind them they had +no business to be so happy, and that the place was not an ideal +fairyland after all. There was an atmosphere of suffering all around, +though they could not always see it, and cruelty in every living thing. +Even the sun was cruel, for it was beginning to make the radiant head +ache. + +They went after the dog, and found him much distressed, because he had +been bitten in the neck, and swelling had commenced. Living upon +Dartmoor, Boodles knew all about viper-bites, and she ordered Aubrey to +take the dog back and attend to the wound at once. Then she had to gulp +down a lump in her throat and rub her eyes. The weather had changed +badly, and things had gone quite wrong. When they had walked in the wood +as little children nothing unpleasant had ever happened, or at least +they had never noticed anything disagreeable. Now they were grown up, as +she thought, all sorts of troubles came to spoil their ramble. The dog +had tortured the rabbit; the viper had bitten the dog; Aubrey had killed +the viper. The tale of suffering seemed to be running up the scale +towards herself. Was there any creature, stronger than themselves, who +could be so brutal as to take pleasure in biting or torturing such +harmless beings as Aubrey and herself? + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +ABOUT A KNAVE AND A FOOL + + +Clever men are either philosophers or knaves; and as the world is +crawling with fools the clever men who are philosophers spend their time +making laws which will protect the fools from the clever men who are +knaves. Sharp practice can only be punished, not stopped, so long as +simpletons are willing to give a florin for a purse which they think +contains two half-crowns, which is the sort of folly which gives rise to +wonder how many men are really rational beings. The fool will believe +anything if the knave talks long enough. No sort of folly is too +hopeless when there is a clever man at the head of it. Shouting will +establish a patent pill, found a new religion, produce a revolution; do +any marvel, except make people decent. + +Pendoggat was a clever man in his own way; and Pezzack would have been a +fool anywhere. The minister had piped to others, a little jig of mines +and speculations, and some of them had danced in a half-hearted way. In +his quaint but sincere fashion he had preached of gold and precious +jewels; of bdellium and the onyx stone. It was the doctrine of "get +rich" that he proclaimed, and his listeners opened their ears to that as +they would scarcely have opened them to any more orthodox message of +redemption. "Do good to your body, and your soul will do good to +itself," was in effect what Pezzack was teaching, although he didn't +know it, and would have been grieved had any one suggested it. He +desired to place his listeners in comfortable circumstances, from the +retired grocer of Bromley to the Dartmoor widow who had five pounds' +worth of pence saved up in a teapot; to take unto himself a helpmeet; +last and least--although again he did not put it in that way--to rebuild +Ebenezer. So he preached of treasures hidden in the earth, and promised +his hearers that every sovereign sown therein would germinate without a +doubt, and bring forth in due season a healthy crop of some ten per +cents, and some twenty per cents. + +People did not tumble over one another in any haste to respond. They +might not be clever, but they could be suspicious, and they asked at +once for particulars, desired to see the good thing for themselves, and +some of them wanted the twenty per cent, paid in advance by way of +guarantee against loss. There were plenty of wild stories concerning the +treasures of the moor. Were there not, upon every side, evidences of the +existence of precious minerals in the shape of abandoned mines? There +were tales of rich lodes which had been lost, but were sure to be picked +up again some day. The mining tradition was strong; but it was notorious +that copper and tin could hardly be worked at a profit. Pezzack answered +that he had discovered nickel, which was something far better, and his +announcement certainly did cause some of the flutter which Pendoggat had +looked for. The retired grocer took advantage of an excursion train to +Plymouth, ascended upon the moor, and having been sworn to secrecy was +conducted by Pendoggat, acting as Pezzack's manager, to the treasure +cave, and shown the ripe nickel running down its sides. Pendoggat also +knocked off a piece of the wall and appeared to give it to the retired +grocer as a sample. What he actually gave him was a fragment of +dirty-grey metal, which had not come from that cave or anywhere near it, +but had been procured by Pendoggat at some expense, seeing that it +really was a sample of nickel. The retired grocer had come down in +doubt, but returned converted to Bromley, submitted the sample to an +analyst, and subsequently acted foolishly. He was meddling with what he +did not understand, which is one of the most attractive things in life. +Adulterated groceries he could comprehend, because he had won retirement +out of them; but the mining industry was something quite outside his +experience. Apparently he thought that nickel could be taken off the +sides of a cave in much the same way as blackberries are picked off a +hedge. He confided the matter to a few friends, making them swear to say +nothing about it; and when they had told all their acquaintances +applications for shares in the good thing began to reach the retired +grocer, who unfortunately had nothing to occupy his time. He was soon +feeling himself a man of some importance, and this naturally assisted +him to entertain a very avuncular regard for nephew Pezzack, and a +friendly feeling for the "simple countryman Pendoggat" and the precious +metal called nickel. He thought of himself as a financial magnate, and +subscribed to the _Mining Journal_. He talked no more of prime Dorset, +nor did he discuss concerning the most suitable sand to mingle with +sugar; but he rehearsed the slang of the money-market instead, remarked +that he had struck a gilt-edged security, looked in the paper every +morning and observed to his wife that copper was recovering, or that +diamonds continued to droop. The head-quarters of the Tavy Cleave Nickel +Mining Company were really not upon Dartmoor at all, but at Bromley in a +straight little jerry-built street; which was exactly what the "simple +countryman Pendoggat" wanted. + +A meeting of prospective shareholders was held in the chapel, but it +turned out a wet stormy evening and very few attended. Brother Pendoggat +led in prayer, which took a pessimistic view of things generally; +Pezzack delivered an impressive address on the need of more stability in +human affairs; and when the party had been worked into a suitable state +of enthusiasm, and were prepared to listen to anything, they got to +business. + +The minister was destined to be astounded that evening by his brother in +religion and partner in business. Eli told the party what it was there +for, which it knew already, and then unfolded his prospectus, as it +were, before their eyes, telling them he had discovered a rich vein of +nickel, and contemplated forming a small company to work the same. It +was to be quite a private affair, and operations would be conducted as +unobtrusively as possible. The capital suggested was L500, divided into +five-shilling shares. While Eli talked Pendoggat sat motionless, his +arms folded, and his eyes upon his boots. + +"Where's the mine?" asked a voice. + +Pezzack replied he was not at liberty to say at that stage of the +proceedings; but he had brought a sample to show them, which was +produced and handed round solemnly, no one examining it with more +interest than Pendoggat, who had provided it. Every one declared that it +was nickel sure enough, although they had never seen the metal before, +and had scarcely an idea between them as to its value or the uses to +which it could be put. + +"Us had best talk about it," suggested one of the party, and every one +agreed that was a sound idea, but nobody offered to say anything, until +an old farmer arose and stated heavily-- + +"Us knows there be rich trade under Dartmoor. My uncle, he worked on +Wheal Betsey, and he worked on Wheal Virtuous Lady tu, and he told I +often there was a plenty of rich trade down under, but cruel hard to get +at. He told I that many a time. Wouldn't hardly pay to work, 'twas so +hard to get at, he said. Such a main cruel lot o' watter, he said. Fast +as they gotten it out back it comed again. That's what he said, but he +be dead now." + +The old fellow sat down with the air of a man who had cleared away +difficulties, and the others dragged their boots upon the boards with a +melancholy sound. Then some one else rose and asked if water was likely +to interfere with the mining of the nickel. Eli replied that there +certainly was water, and that announcement brought the old farmer up to +say: "It wun't pay to work." He added reasons also, in the same strain +as before. + +An interval of silence followed. A deadlock had been reached. Those +present were inclined to nibble, but they all wanted the nickel for +themselves. They did not like the idea of taking shares and sharing +profits. They wanted to be told the precise locality of the mine, so +that they could go and help themselves. Pezzack had nothing more to say. +The old farmer had only his former statements about his uncle to repeat; +and he did so several times, using the same words. + +At last Pendoggat got up, began to mumble, and every one leaned forward +to listen. Most of them did not like Pendoggat because they were afraid +of him; but they believed him to be a man of superior knowledge to +themselves, and they were inclined on the whole to follow his +leadership. + +"We all trust the minister," Pendoggat was saying. "He's found nickel, +and he thinks there is money to be got out of it. He's right enough. +There is nickel. I've found it myself. That sample he had handed round +is as good a bit of nickel as ever I saw. But there's not enough of it. +We couldn't work it so as to pay expenses. It's on the common too, and +we would have to get permission from the Duchy, and pay them a royalty." + +"Us could get out of that," a voice interrupted. "Them who cracks +granite be supposed to pay the Duchy royalties, but none of 'em du." + +"Mining's different," replied Pendoggat. "The Duchy don't worry to +collect their granite royalties. 'Twould cost 'em more trouble than the +stuff is worth. There's more money in minerals than in granite. They +don't let a mine be started without knowing all about it. Minister has +told us what he knows, and we believe him. He won't deceive us. He +wouldn't tell a lie to save his life. We are proud of our minister, for +he's a good one." + +"He be," muttered a chorus of approving voices. + +"Looks like a bishop, sitting up there," exclaimed one of the admirers. + +"So he du. So he be," cried they all. + +The meeting was waking up. Eli sat limply, gazing at Pendoggat, very +unhappy and white, and looking much more like a large maggot than a +bishop. + +"There's the trouble about the water," Pendoggat went on. "The whole +capital would go in keeping that pumped out, and it would beat us in the +end. All the money in the world wouldn't keep Tavy Cleave pumped dry. +I'm against the scheme, and I've got up to say I won't have anything to +do with it. I'm not going to put a penny of my money into any Dartmoor +mine, and if I did I should expect to lose it. That's all I've got to +say. The minister's not a commoner, and he don't know Dartmoor. He don't +know anything about mining either, except what he's picked up from +folks. He's a good man, and he wants to help us. But I tell him, and I +tell you, there's not enough nickel on the whole of Dartmoor to pay the +expense of working it." + +Pendoggat shambled back into his chair, while his listeners looked at +one another and admitted he had spoken wisely, and Eli writhed +worm-like, wondering if there could be anything wrong with his ears. He +had been prepared to hear a certain amount of destructive criticism; but +that the whole scheme should be swept aside by Pendoggat as hopeless was +inexplicable. The old farmer seized the opportunity to stand upright and +repeat his former observations concerning his uncle, and the wheals, and +the "cruel lot o' watter" in them. Then the meeting collapsed +altogether. Pendoggat had killed it. The only thing left was the +mournful conclusion of a suitable prayer; and then to face the rain and +a wild ride homewards. There was to be no local support for the Nickel +Mining Company, Limited. Pendoggat's opposition had done for it. + +The tenant of Helmen Barton had risen several points in the estimation +of those present, with the obvious exception of the staggered Pezzack. +He had proved himself a bold man and fearless speaker. He had not shrunk +from performing the unpleasant duty of opposing his pastor. Eli always +looked like a maggot. Now he felt like one. Pendoggat had set his foot +upon him and squashed him utterly. He would not be a wealthy man, there +was no immediate prospect of matrimony, nor would there be any new +Ebenezer, the presence of which would attract a special blessing upon +them, and the architecture of which would be a perpetual reproach to +that portion of the moor. It was an exceedingly troubled maggot that +wriggled up to Pendoggat, when the others had departed, and the door had +been fastened against the wind. + +"This is an appalling catostrophe, Mr. Pendoggat." Eli often blundered +over long words, never having learnt derivations. "The most excruciating +catostrophe I can remember. I am feeling like chaff scattered by the +wind." + +He was trying to rebuke Pendoggat. He was too much in awe of him to +speak more bitterly. Besides, he was a good Christian, and Eli never +lost sight of that fact, knowing that as a minister it was his duty not +to revile his fellow-creatures more than was necessary. + +Pendoggat stood under a cold lamp, which cast a cold light upon his +black head, and his eyes were upon his boots. Eli stumbled against a +chair, and in trying to regain his balance fell against his companion, +causing him to lose control over himself for an instant. He struck out +his arm and sent Pezzack sprawling among the chairs like an ash-faggot, +a prospect of long black coat and big flat boots. Eli did not mind +tumbling, because he was used to it, not having been endowed with much +sense of gravity. He went about on a bicycle, and was constantly falling +off, and cutting fantastic figures in the air, between Brentor and +Bridestowe. But just then he had an idea that brute force had been used +against him. Pendoggat had struck him, not like the righteous who smite +in friendly reproof, but like the heathen who rage together furiously. +"Why did you strike me, Mr. Pendoggat?" he muttered, dragging himself to +a sitting posture upon a chair and looking whiter than ever. "You cast +me aside like a potter's vessel. Your precious palm might have broke my +'ead." + +"Why can't you stand up, man?" said Pendoggat amicably. "You fell +against my arm where I pinched it this morning in the linny door. I +couldn't help pushing you away, and maybe I pushed harder than I meant, +for you hurt me. You tumbled over your own feet. Not hurt, are ye?" + +"Yes, Mr. Pendoggat," whispered Eli. It was so silent in that dreary +chapel that the least sound was audible. "Not 'ere, not in my body, but +in my 'eart; not by the push you gave me, but by the words you 'ave +spoken. I stood up to-night, and I spoke like a fool, and I felt like a +fool. I was doing the work that you gave me to do, Mr. Pendoggat, and +you spoke against me." + +Eli was growing bold. He had scraped some skin from his leg, and the +smart gave him courage. He was feeling bitter also, and life seemed to +be a failure just then. There was nothing for it but to grub along and +preach the Gospel in poverty, a very laudable existence, but equally +unsatisfying. He was waking from a golden dream to discover himself in +the cold, just as Brightly dreamed of mythical Jerusalem and remained +upon the dungheap. A little more of such treatment and Eli might have +developed a tendency towards chronic misanthropy. + +Pendoggat was amused. He realised that the minister was really +suffering, both in body and mind. Eli was like some wretched rabbit in +the iron jaws of a trap; and Pendoggat was the one who had set the trap, +and was standing over it, able to let the creature out, and intending to +do so, but not until a fair amount of suffering had been exacted. +Pezzack was as much in his power as the rabbit in the hands of the +trapper. He was weak and Pendoggat was strong. Eli was a poor stunted +thing grown in a London back yard; Pendoggat was a tough moorland +growth. + +"I reckon you did speak like a fool," he said, while Eli wondered what +he was looking at: himself, the floor, or the granite wall with its +little beads of moisture glistening in the lamplight. "You put it to +them all wrong. If I hadn't stood up they might have got it into their +heads you were trying to trick 'em. You spoke all the time as if you +didn't know what you were talking about. You're a good preacher, +Pezzack, though not outspoken enough, but you're no good at business. +You wouldn't make a living outside the pulpit." + +Eli was crushed again. His anger had departed, and he was nursing his +leg and his sorrows patiently. He believed that Pendoggat, with all his +roughness, was a man in whom he could trust. The commoner did not come +with a smooth smile, canting to his face, then departing to play him +false. He behaved like the honest rugged man he was; giving him a rough +grasp of the hand, pushing him off harshly when he hurt him, telling him +plainly of his faults, chiding him for his folly, speaking that which +was in his mind. Eli thought he knew something about human nature, and +that knowledge convinced him that if he should refuse to follow +Pendoggat he would lose his best friend. Pendoggat might behave like a +bear; but there was nothing of the bear about him except the skin. + +"I was doing my best. I said all I could, but I know my words must 'ave +sounded poor and foolish," he said mournfully. "Now it's all over, and I +must write to Jeconiah, and tell her we can't be married just yet. It is +a cruel blow, but the things of this world, Mr. Pendoggat, are but as +dross. The moth corrupteth, and the worm nibbleth, and we are shadows +which pass away and come not again." Eli shivered and subsided. He was +mournful, and the interior of Ebenezer was as cold as an ice-house. + +Pendoggat came forward and fastened his hands upon Eli's bony shoulders. +He thought it was time to take him out of the trap. The creature was +becoming torpid and indifferent to suffering, and there was no more +pleasure to be obtained from watching it. Besides, he was hungry, and +wanted to get home that his own needs might be satisfied. + +"We'll do it yet," he said in his low mumbling voice. "We can get along +quite well without these folks. They haven't got much money, and if any +of 'em had invested a few pounds they would have been after us all the +time and given us no rest. We'll rely on your uncle and his friends. I +reckon they can invest enough among them to start the affair. I'll pull +you through, Pezzack. I'll make a rich man of you yet." + +Pendoggat was proving his title to be ranked among the clever men who +are knaves. He had served himself well that evening; by making the +neighbourhood think better of him; by exposing himself to Pezzack as a +man of rough honesty; by rejecting local support, which would always +have been dangerous, and was after all worth little; and by fastening +his hopes upon the grocer of Bromley and his friends, who were a day's +journey distant, were worthy ignorant souls, and could not drop in +casually to ascertain how affairs were progressing. He had also seen the +maggot wriggling in his trap. + +"Don't write to the maid," Pendoggat went on. "Have her down and marry +her. It's safe enough. There will be plenty of money coming your way +presently." + +Eli looked up. He could not see the speaker because Pendoggat was +standing behind the chair. The minister could see nothing except the +chilly damps of Ebenezer. But his soul was rejoicing. Pendoggat was +making the rough places smooth. "I knew you wouldn't deceive me," he +said. "You gave me your 'and that night in Tavy Cleave, and told me I +could trust you. When you spoke to-night I did not understand, Mr. +Pendoggat. I almost thought you were going to leave me destitute. I will +write to Jeconiah. I shall tell her you are a generous man." + +"Why not marry?" muttered Pendoggat. "It will be safe enough. The money +will come. I'll guarantee it." + +"There is no immediate necessity, Mr. Pendoggat," said Eli with +ludicrous earnestness. "There has been nothing wrong between us. We are +able to wait. But we desire to enter the 'oly estate. We are always +talking when we meet of the 'appiness that must be found in that +condition. You 'ave always been as good as your word, Mr. Pendoggat. If +you can promise me the money will come, I think--I do really think, my +dear brother, Jeconiah and me might reasonably be welded together in the +bonds of matrimony at a very early date. I might even suggest next +month, Mr. Pendoggat." + +Eli was becoming somewhat incoherent and extravagant in speech. + +"I'll promise you the money. I'll see you through," said Pendoggat. + +The minister could hardly put out the lamps, his hands were shaking so. +He stumbled out of Ebenezer, shivering with delight, and slobbering with +gratitude and benevolence. + +Pendoggat went on his way alone. He was walking, and the road took him +beside Lewside Cottage. Rain was still falling, but he did not feel it +because it was being blown against his back. As he came near the cottage +he heard a sound of singing. The blinds had not been drawn down, and the +lamplight passed across the road to melt into the darkness of the moor. +Boodles was singing merrily. She was happy like Eli, and for much the +same reason, only she expressed her happiness in a delightful fashion, +just because she was a nice little girl, and he was only a poor weak +thing of a man. Pendoggat looked in at the window. The child was +standing under the lamp, sewing and singing industriously. The light was +full upon the radiant head. Opposite the window were some great +gorse-bushes, and the yellow blooms with which they were covered came +also within the lamplight. The girl's head and the gorse-flowers were +somewhat similar in colour. + +Pendoggat suddenly lifted his stout stick at one of the gorse-bushes, +and struck a quantity of the golden blossoms off it. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +ABOUT THE VIGIL OF ST. GOOSE + + +Mary's greatest possession was her umbrella, which was no ordinary +article, and would have been of little service to the orthodox woman, +because she would have lacked strength to raise it aloft in a breeze. +When unfurled it covered about as much ground as a military tent, and +cast a shade like an oak-tree. Not that Mary often unfurled it. The +umbrella was far too precious to be used. She carried it about on those +rare occasions when she went abroad, as a sort of symbol of the state of +civilisation to which she had attained. It was with her very much what +the pastoral staff is to a bishop; a thing unused, but exhibited. +Umbrellas are useless things upon Dartmoor, because the wind makes +wreckage of them at once. The Marian gamp was a monstrous creation, very +old and patched, possibly had been used once as a carriage umbrella, and +it was more baggy than its mistress's bloomers. Its stock was made of +holly, not from a branch, but a good-sized stem, and a yard of twine was +fastened about it to keep the ribs from flapping. Mary carried it +usually beneath her arm, and found it always terribly in the way. + +Grandfather was tacitly admitted to be Peter's property. He had no +proprietary interest in the umbrella. Mary never ventured to touch +Grandfather, and Peter had not been known to place his hands upon the +umbrella. Primitive people like to take their possessions about with +them, that they may show others how well off they are. A little servant +girl goes out to the revel smothered with all her wearing apparel, +winter things on top of summer things, regardless of season, and with +all the cut glass in rolled-gold settings stuck about her that she can +lay her hands on. Two sisters are able to present a fine show by going +out in turn. Annie ventures forth clad with all the property in common, +while Bessie stays at home, not much better draped than a Greek statue. +Mary took her umbrella about, not because she wanted it, but to convince +strangers that she owned something to be proud of. Nobody was jealous. +She could have left the umbrella anywhere, and not a soul would have +touched it. Peter would have taken Grandfather about with him had it +been possible; but as the clock was twice Peter's size, and could not be +attached to a brass chain and slung in his waistcoat pocket, it had to +remain in Number One, Hut-Circles, and wheeze away the hours in +solitude. + +There was suppressed excitement in New Gubbings Land. Peter was more +absent-minded than ever, and Mary was quite foolish. She served up +before her brother the barley-meal which her geese did eat, after +scattering their own dinner to the birds. It was all because they were +going on a long journey. Peter had remained quiescent for years; and, +like most men who have travelled much, he felt at last the call of the +outer world and the desire to be again in motion. Mary had the same +feeling, which was the more strange as she had never travelled. It was +the fault of the concert. Since that festival Mary had become unsettled. +It had taught her there were experiences which she had not enjoyed. Mary +thought she had done a good deal, but as a matter of fact she had never +been in a train, nor had she slept a night out of the parish. When Peter +said he meant to travel again, Mary declared she was coming too. Peter +tried to discourage her, explaining that travelling was expensive, and +dangerous also. A hardened wanderer like himself was able to face the +risks, but she would not be equal to the strain. It was a terrifying +experience to be carried swiftly along the railway, and had frightened +him badly the first time. He advised Mary to walk, and let him have the +money she would otherwise have squandered. Arguments were useless. Comic +songs had ruined Mary's contentment. She was sorry she had not travelled +before, and declared she was going to take her umbrella and begin. So +they decided to venture to Tavistock to keep the festival of St. Goose. + +Mary had been to Goose Fair before, walking there and back; and for +Peter the experience was nothing. Peter had trodden the streets of +Plymouth, and had been long ago to Winkleigh Revel, although he could +recall little of that expedition--the morning after the event he +remembered nothing--but the certainty that he had made the great journey +into the wilds of mid-Devon remained, and there was proof in the +presence of a large mug with a tin handle upon the mantelshelf, bearing +the touching inscription, "Tak' a drop o' gin, old dear," in quaint +lettering, which mug, Peter declared, had come with him from Winkleigh +Revel, although any one curious enough to have turned it upside down +might have discovered "Manor Hotel, Lydford," stamped underneath. + +Peter had always felt superior to his sister, apart from the sublime +fact of his manhood. He was not only highly educated, but he had +travelled, and he feared that if Mary travelled too her eyes would be +opened, and she might consider herself his equal. Therefore he had a +distinct motive in begging her to bide at home, although his eloquence +was in vain, for Mary was going to travel. She stated her intention of +walking across the moor to Lydford and catching the train there, which +was needless expense, as she might have gone down to St. Mary Tavy +station; but she desired to make a great journey, something to boast of +in days to come. + +A vigil suggests sleeplessness, a watching through the night which +precedes the day of the feast; and Mary observed the vigil more +thoroughly than any nun. Plenty of girls were equally devout at the same +time; keeping awake, not because they wanted to, but because excitement +rendered sleep impossible. Thomasine observed the vigil, and even +Boodles watched and wished the dark gone. It was a long night all over +Dartmoor. Even Siberian Princetown was aroused; and those who were being +punished for their sins had the additional mortification of knowing that +they would be behind prison bars on the day when the greatest saint in +the calendar according to the use of Dartmoor, the blatant and waddling +St. Goose, was to be honoured by a special service of excursion trains +and various instruments of music. + +Dawn impelled every maid to glance at the chair beside her bed, to be +sure that the pixies had not run away with her fair-clothes. Thomasine +looked for her completed petticoat, Boodles for her boy's photograph, +Mary for her umbrella. There had been no pixy-pranks, and the day came +in with a promise of sunshine. There were no lie-a-beds that morning. +Even Peter had been restless, and Grandfather possibly noticed that the +little man had not snored so regularly as usual. + +To the dweller in the wilds there is no getting away from fair-day, the +great country holiday of the year. Those who would wish to abolish such +festivals should remember that country-folk have few pleasures, and the +fair is about the last, and is certainly one of the greatest, +inducements to keep them on the land. To a large number it is the single +outing of the year; a thing to talk about for months before and +afterwards; the day of family reunion, when a girl expects to see her +parents, the young man meets his brother, and the old folk keep +associations going. The fair is to country-folk very much what Christmas +is to the better classes. And as for the pleasures they are nothing like +so lurid as have been represented. Individuals are vicious; a +pleasure-seeking crowd is not. There is a vast deal of drunkenness, and +this is by far the worst feature, and one which cannot be eliminated +except by compulsory closing of all houses of refreshment, which would +be only possible under a Saturnian regime. As evening approaches there +is also much of that unpleasantness which is associated with +drunkenness, and is described in police-reports as obscene language. The +fair-ground is not the best place for highly respectable people. It is +the dancing-place of the lower classes; and as such the fair is a +success and practically harmless. The girls are out for fun, and when +they see a good-looking young man are not above making advances; and the +stranger who steps up and introduces himself is sure of a welcome on his +face value. It is all free and natural. Nearly every one is the better, +and very few are the worse, for the holiday. Liquor is the principal +cause of what evils there are. Tavistock Goose Fair after dark is far +more respectable than Hyde Park at midnight. + +Peter and Mary set forth on their walk across the moor to Lydford +station, both of them attired in the festive garments which had been +last assumed for the concert, Mary's large right hand clutching the +umbrella by its ribs, Peter smoking industriously. They made a bee-line +for their destination, heedless of mossy bogs, which were fairly firm at +that time of the year. There were no rocks to hinder them. It is a bald +stretch of moor between St. Mary Tavy and Lydford. Mary was breathing +furiously from sheer excitement and nervousness, being dreadfully afraid +they would miss the train. There was the station "down under," not more +than half-a-mile away, and the train was not due for an hour, but Mary +continued on the double. She did not understand mathematics and +timetables. Peter trudged behind in a state of phlegmatic calm, natural +to an old traveller, who had been to Plymouth by the sea and to +Winkleigh on the hill. + +For some time they had the platform to themselves. Then the moor began +to give forth its living: young men and maidens, old men and wives, all +going a-fairing, some treating the matter irreverently with unmusical +laughter, others regarding the occasion as meet for an austere +countenance. Peter was among those who cackled, while Mary was on the +side of the anxious. She had to remind herself continually that she was +enjoying life, although she would much rather have been at home chasing +Old Sal among the furze-bushes. When the signals fell, and the bell +rang, and the station began to rumble as the train approached, she +clutched Peter and suggested they should return home. "Don't ye get +mazed," said Peter crossly. "Come along wi' I." + +Mary endeavoured to do so, but lost her head entirely when the train +drew up, and went on to behave very much like a dog at a fair. She lost +sight of her brother, scurried up and down the platform looking for him, +and became still more confused when the cry, "Take your seats, please," +sounded in her ears. The guard, who was used to queer passengers, took +her by the arm with the idea of putting her into a carriage, but Mary +defended herself against his designs with her umbrella, and breaking +loose endeavoured to join the engine-driver. Meeting with no +encouragement there she turned back, and was seized by Peter, who told +her plainly she was acting foolishly, and again commanded her to come +along with him. Mary obeyed, and everything was going favourably, and +they were just about to enter a compartment when the umbrella slipped +oat of her nervous hand, bumped upon the edge of the platform, and slid +beneath the train. + +Mary resumed her normal condition at once, caring no longer for train, +crowd, or fair, while the fear of travelling ceased to trouble when she +perceived that the umbrella had departed from her. She stood upon the +platform, and declared with an oath that the system of the railway +should work no more until the umbrella had been restored to her hands. +Time was of no account to Mary. She refused to enter the train without +her umbrella; neither should the train proceed, for she would hold on to +it. Peter upheld his sister. The umbrella was a family heirloom. The +station-master and guard urged and blasphemed in vain. The homely +epithets of the porter were received with contempt and the response, "Us +bain't a-going. Us be going to bide." + +Passengers in the adjoining compartment were perturbed, because it was +rumoured among them that the poor woman had dropped a baby beneath the +train, and they believed that the officials were contending that there +was nothing in the regulations about ordinary humanity, and it was +therefore their duty to let the child remain there. The guard and +station-master became unpopular. The passengers were in no great hurry +to proceed, as they were out for a day's enjoyment; and as for Mary, +great was her lamentation for the lost umbrella. + +"'Tis a little gal, name of Ella," explained a stout commoner with his +head out of the window, for the benefit of others in the carriage. + +"Sounded to me like Bella," replied his wife, differing from him merely +as a matter of principle. + +"There's no telling. They give 'em such fancy names now-a-days," said +another excursionist. + +"Her be screaming cruel," said the stout commoner. + +"I don't hear 'en," declared his wife. They got along very well +together, those two, and made conversation easily, one by offering a +statement, the other by differing. + +"I du," said a young woman in a white frock, which was already showing +about the waist some finger-impressions of her young man, who sat beside +her. "She'm right underneath the carriage. Don't ye hear she, Ben?" + +Ben gave a nervous smile, gulped, arranged his tie, which would keep +slipping up to his chin, moistened his lips, then parted them to utter +the monosyllable which was required. He heard the child screaming +distinctly. Having stated as much, he proceeded to record his +fingerprints accurately upon the young woman's waist. + +A farmer from Inwardleigh, who had entered the train at Okehampton, and +had slept peacefully ever since, woke up at that moment, looked out, saw +the bare moor, remarked in a decided voice that he wouldn't live on +Dartmoor for a thousand pounds, and went to sleep again. The stout +commoner took up his parable and said-- + +"There be a little man got out now, and he'm poking about wi' a stick, +trying to get the baby out. Did ever hear of trying to get a baby up wi' +an ash-stick, woman?" + +His wife replied that she had never heard of a baby getting underneath a +train before, and she thought people ought to be ashamed of themselves +getting drunk so early in the morning. + +"Babies oughtn't to be took to the vair," said the young woman in the +white frock. "I shan't tak' mine when I has 'em." + +This remark caused young man Ben to smile nervously again. + +The Inwardleigh farmer opened his eyes and wanted to know why the train +was motionless. He was getting so thirsty that he could sleep no more. +"Us might sing a hymn," he suggested; and proceeded forthwith to make a +noise like a chaff-cutting machine, preparatory to describing himself in +song as a pure and spotless being whose sins had been entirely washed +away. Had he given his face and hands the attention which, according to +his own statement, his soul had received, he would have been a more +presentable object. The young woman in the white frock knew the hymn, +and joined in vigorously, claiming for her soul a whiteness which her +dress could not equal. The farmer was so delighted with her singing that +he leaned forward and kissed the damsel rapturously. The unhappy Ben +dared not remonstrate with his elders and betters, but merely sat and +gulped. By this time Peter had dropped his stick beneath the train, +where it reposed side by side with the umbrella. + +"They'm going to run the train back," said the stout commoner. + +"The baby 'll be dead," remarked his wife cheerfully. She was not going +to be depressed upon a holiday. + +Peter and Mary stood upon the platform, a statuesque, obstinate pair, +determined to give the railway company no mercy. It was nothing to them +that the train was being delayed. Their property was underneath it, and +all the Gubbings blood in them rebelled. + +"I'll bide till I gets my umbrella. Tak' your mucky old train off 'en," +said Mary, wagging her big hand at the men in authority; while Peter +added that his intention was also to bide until his ash-stick should be +returned to him. + +Finally the train was backed, the umbrella and stick were recovered, and +the savages permitted themselves to be bundled into the first +compartment handy, amid laughter from the heads at the windows and +profanity from the mouths of the officials. The train drew out of the +station, and Mary subsided into a corner and held on tightly, shouting +to her brother, "Shet the window, Peter, du'ye. Us may be falling out." + +Peter tried to explain that would not be easy, but Mary was unable to +listen. Her former fears had returned. She clutched her umbrella, +trembled, and prayed to the gods of Brentor and the gods of +Ebenezer--Mary's religion was a misty affair--for a safe deliverance +from the perils of the railway. She had a feeling as if she was about to +part with her breakfast. She had also a distinct admiration just then +for all those who went down to the towns in trains, and for her brother, +who sat calmly upon the cushions--it was a first-class compartment which +they had invaded--and spat contentedly upon the carpet. The speed of the +train exceeded thirty miles an hour, and poor Mary's bullet head was +rolling upon her shoulders. + +"Aw, my dear life!" she moaned. "I feels as if my belly were running +back to home again. Where be us, Peter?" + +"On the railway," her brother answered, with truth, but without +brilliance. The remark was reassuring to Mary, however. She thought the +train had got upon the moor somehow and was speeding furiously down a +steep place towards destruction upon the rocks. A glance from the window +gave no comfort. It was terrible to see the big tors tumbling past like +a lot of drunken giants. + +"Mind what I told ye," observed Peter. "Yew wun't like travelling, I +ses. 'Tis easy when yew begins young, but yew be too old to begin." + +"Us ha' got legs, and us was meant to use 'em. Us was never meant to run +abroad on wheels," said Mary. "If ever I gets home, I'll bide." + +Peter refilled his pipe, and began to boast of his experiences upon sea +and land; how he had ventured upon the ocean and penetrated to a far +country. Mary had heard it all before, but she had never been so +impressed as she was then by her brother's account of his famous +crossing of the Hamoaze in a fishing-boat, and his alighting upon the +distant shore of Torpoint to stand upon Cornish soil. But while Peter +was describing how he had been rocked "cruel and proper" upon the waves +of what it pleased him to style the Atlantic, brakes fell heavily upon +the wheels, a whistle sounded, and the train dragged itself gradually to +a standstill. There was no station in sight. The moor heaved on both +sides of the line. Even Peter was at a loss to explain the sudden +stoppage for a moment. + +"The train be broke," said Mary, who was bold now that she had ceased +from travelling. "They've run 'en over a nail, and us mun bide till 'em +blows the wheels out again." + +Mary comprehended bicycles, and had contemplated tourists, who were so +foolish as to bring their machines upon Dartmoor, pumping away at +punctured tyres. Peter did not contradict because he was perturbed. He +understood that the train had not broken down; but he believed that an +accident was impending. Out of his worldly wisdom he spoke: "It be a +collusion, I reckon." + +Suspiciously Mary demanded an explanation. + +"'Tis when two trains hit one into t'other," explained Peter, striking +his left fist into his right palm. "That be a collusion. Same as if yew +was to run into a wall in the dark," he added. + +The meaning of these words did not dawn upon Mary for some moments. When +she did grasp them she made for the door, with the intention of +abandoning the railway forthwith; but the train gave a sudden jerk, +which threw her upon the seat, and then began to glide back. Peter +thrust his head out of the window and perceived they were making for a +siding. He and his sister had delayed the train so long that an express +which was due to follow had almost caught them up, and had made it +necessary for the local train, which has to wait for everything, to get +off the main line. Peter did not understand that. Even old travellers +make mistakes sometimes. He considered that the situation was desperate. + +"They'm trying to get away, trying cruel hard," he said drearily. + +"What be 'em getting away from?" gasped Mary. + +"T'other train," her brother answered. + +"Aw, Peter, will 'em du it?" + +"Bain't hardly likely," said Peter dolefully. + +"Be t'other train going to run into we?" + +Peter admitted that it was so, adding: "I told ye to bide to home." + +"Will us get hurt?" moaned Mary. + +"Smashed to bits. They newspapers will tell us was cut to pieces," said +Peter, in his gloomiest fashion. "How much have ye got in the +money-box?" he asked. + +With prophetic insight Peter perceived that he would be spared. Mary +would be destroyed, together with all the other passengers, and Peter +naturally was anxious to know the amount of hard cash he was likely to +inherit. + +But Mary gave no heed to the avaricious question. She groaned and rubbed +her eyes with the umbrella. It was the umbrella she was thinking of +rather than herself. Somehow she could not imagine her own body mangled +upon the line; but a melancholy picture of the wrecked umbrella was +clear before her eyes. + +In the next compartment the farmer was still singing hymns, accompanied +by a chorus. Mary thought they were praying. This was travelling, +enjoying life, a day's pleasure, St. Goose's Day! Mary wished with all +her heart she had never left her geese and her hut-circle. In the +meantime Peter was keeping her well informed. + +"They be running the train off on Dartmoor," he explained. "There's a +gurt cleave down under, and they be going to run us down that. Us mun +get smashed either way." + +"Why don't us get out and run away?" suggested frightened Mary. + +As she spoke the train stopped. It was safe in the siding, although the +savages did not know that. They supposed that the motive power had +failed, or the engine-driver had come to realise that escape was +hopeless, and had abandoned the train to secure his own safety. Peter +saw a man running along the line. He was only a harmless pointsman going +about his business, but Peter supposed him to be the base engine-driver +flying for his life, and he told Mary as much. Even Peter's nerve was +somewhat shaken by this time. Mary said plainly she should follow the +example of the engine-driver. "My legs be as good as his," she cried. "I +hain't a-going to bide here and be broke up like an old goosie's egg. I +be a-going out." + +"They'll fine ye," cried Peter. "There be a notice yonder. For +trampesing on the line a sum not exceeding forty shilluns--" + +"Bain't that better than getting smashed to pieces?" shouted Mary. + +Peter was not sure. He could not translate the phrase "not exceeding," +but he had a clear notion that it meant considerably more than forty +shillings. + +Mary was struggling with the door. In another moment she would have +opened it, but a terrific interruption occurred. There sounded a wild +whistling, and a roar which stunned her, and caused her to fall back +upon the seat to prepare hurriedly for her doom, to recall various +religious memories and family associations, and to mutter fervently such +disjointed scraps of sun-worship and Christianity as: "Our Vaither, +hollered be the name, kingdom come. Angels and piskies, long-stones and +crosses, glory to 'em all. Amen." + +Then the express thundered past, shaking everything horribly. The +tragedy was soon over, and Peter emerged into the light with worm-like +wrigglings. For all his courage and experience he had dived beneath the +seat, conscious somehow that any change of position would be better than +no change. Everything seemed to have become very quiet all at once. They +could hear the wind whistling gently over the moor, and the water +splashing below. Mary had no idea what had happened, but she quite +believed that Peter's worst fears had been realised, and that the +"collusion" had actually occurred. So she groaned, and did not venture +to move, and muttered feebly: "I be cut to pieces." + +"No, you bain't," said Peter cheerfully. "Us got away after all." + +With a little more encouragement Mary stretched herself, discovered that +she and the umbrella were both intact, and from that moment the joy of +life was hers again. They had escaped somehow. The express had missed +them, and Peter assured her it was not likely to return. He admitted +they had gone through a terrifying experience, which was as novel to him +as to Mary; and his conclusion of the whole matter was that the +engine-driver had undoubtedly saved their lives by cool and daring +courage in the presence of fearful danger. + +"He saw t'other train coming, and got us out o' the way just in time. +Yew saw how near t'other train was. Only just missed us," explained +Peter. + +"He'm a cruel larned man," declared Mary. "He ought to be given +something. Ought to be fined forty shilluns." Poor Mary was anxious to +learn the English language; but when she made use of strange words she +betrayed her ignorance. + +"You means rewarded," Peter corrected out of the depths of his +education. + +"Aw ees," said Mary. "Us will reward 'en wi' a shillun." + +Peter did not see the necessity. As they were perfectly safe, and as no +further advantage could possibly accrue to them from the engine-driver's +heroism, he thought they might as well keep the shilling. The train drew +out of the siding, continued its journey, and Mary became quite +comfortable, even venturing to lean forward and look out of the window, +though the telegraph-poles and bridges frightened her at first. They +looked as if they were going to run into her, she said. + +Nothing else eventful happened until they reached Tavistock, although +there was a good deal of human nature at work in the adjoining +compartment, where the Inwardleigh farmer had exchanged hymn-singing for +amorous suggestions, and had proceeded to appropriate the unfortunate +Ben's white-frocked young woman to himself. It was especially hard upon +the poor young clown, as he had paid for the railway tickets; but he had +only a couple of shillings for fairing, and the Inwardleigh farmer had +gold in his fob, so the girl naturally preferred to spend the day with +the man of well-filled pockets. Weak-minded young bumpkins sometimes +murder their sweethearts, and it is not very surprising. Even +degenerates get weary of playing the singularly uninteresting part of +the worm that is trampled on. + +"Tavistock! Good Lord!" exclaimed Mary, with great relief, as the train +entered the station. + +She and Peter tumbled out. Such people always tumble out of railway +carriages. They merely bang the door open, fall forward, and find their +feet somehow. It is easy to tell whether a person is well-bred or not by +the way he or she leaves a railway carriage. A young lady comes forth +after the manner of a butterfly settling on a flower. The country maid +emerges like a falling sack of wheat. Peter and Mary tumbled out, and +were considerably astonished not to find a procession of grateful +passengers advancing towards the engine to thank the driver for the +courage he had displayed in saving their lives. Every one seemed anxious +to quit the platform as soon as possible. Peter was shocked to discover +so much ingratitude. It was ignorance perhaps, indifference possibly, +but to Peter and Mary it seemed utter callousness. They felt themselves +capable of something better. So they pushed through the crowd, reached +the engine, and insisted upon shaking hands, not only with the driver, +but with the fireman also, and thanked them very much for bringing them +safely into Tavistock, and for having; avoided the "collusion," which +they, the speakers, confessed had at one time appeared to them as +inevitable. Peter invited them to come and have a drop of gin, and Mary +asked sympathetically after the "volks to home." + +The men enjoyed the joke immensely. They thought that the quaint couple +were thanking them for having backed the train at Lydford in order that +Mary might recover her umbrella and Peter his ash-stick. They chaffed +them in a subtle fashion, and after a minute's complete mutual +misunderstanding bade them farewell with the ironical hope they might +some day save them again. + +Mary was overflowing with generosity. As she and her brother turned away +she produced two shillings and instructed Peter to reward the heroes +suitably. Peter slipped the shillings unobtrusively into his own pocket. +With all his faults he was a strict man of business. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +ABOUT THE FEAST OF ST. GOOSE + + +The cult of the goose, so far as it concerns Tavistock Fair, is +gastronomic entirely, and has no religious significance. At dedication +festivals of a church some particular saint is flattered with +decorations and services, and his existence upon this world at one time +is taken for granted. In certain places a few bones are produced for the +edification of the faithful, and advertised as the great toe or the jaw +of the patron in question. Goose bones are displayed at the "gurt vair" +in lieu of the living creature, and they are unmistakably genuine, for +there is plenty of sound meat upon them. St. Goose is honoured with the +fun of the fair, while he himself is offered up on a charger. The +congregation of countryfolk devour their canonised bird, and wash him +down with beer and cider. There is not a living goose to be seen about +the town, but the atmosphere of the principal street is thick and +fragrant with sage and onions. + +Peter and Mary trod the wide roads as delicately as large boots could, +feeling far too nervous to enjoy themselves. Peter would not enter into +the pleasure of the fair until he had swallowed several stimulating +pints, and even Mary was willing to take a little cordial for the sake +of her nerves. It was not so much the noises which disconcerted +her--there was plenty of howling wind and roaring water down Tavy +Cleave--as their unaccustomed nature. She was not used to steam +roundabouts, megaphones, and all the drums and shoutings of the showmen. +When Peter proposed an aerial trip upon wooden horses, Mary moved an +amendment in favour of light refreshment. Peter could not object to a +suggestion so full of sense, so they passed beside the statue of Francis +Drake, crossed the road, and were getting clear of the crowd, when a +familiar laugh reached their ears, and Mary saw a fresh and happy pair +of youngsters. Boodles and Aubrey, in high spirits and good health, +laughing at everything merely because they were together for a good long +day. Boodles had never looked nicer. West-country beauty is nothing but +fair hair and tinted skin; but Boodles was all glorious just then. She +was a flame rather than a flower. Her hair had never looked so radiant, +or her skin more golden. She was as happy as she could be; and when a +girl is like that she has to look splendid, whether she likes it or no. + +Mary was soon after her, bellowing like a bullock, lunging with the +umbrella, shouting! "Aw, Miss Boodles! Aw, my dear! I be come to the +vair tu. Me and Peter has come to Goosie Vair. Where be ye going, my +dear?" + +Boodles turned with a look of amazement. She had her flaming hair up, +beneath a big straw hat which was trimmed with poppies, and her dainty +frock just touched her ankles. She looked so deliciously clean that Mary +hardly liked to come near her, and she smelt, not like a chemist's shop, +but like the sweet earth after a shower. Mary drew her right hand +swiftly across her big tongue, rubbed the palm upon her buttock, and +held it out. She always shook hands with Boodles whenever they met. She +felt that the civilising contact lent her some of the womanhood which +nature had withheld. + +"It's so jolly!" cried the child. "Such a lovely day, and everything +perfect. I'm glad you have come--and Peter too! Aubrey, this is Mary who +gives us eggs and butter. She and Peter live upon Tavy Cleave. You +know!" + +Mary cleansed her right hand again. + +"Why, Where's Peter?" cried Boodles. + +Peter was already across the road, following his little turned-up nose +in the direction of a door which suggested pewters. + +"He'm thirsty," explained Mary. + +"Poor Peter!" laughed Boodles. "You must look after him, Mary. Don't +bring him home staggery." + +Mary was not listening. Of course Peter would go home staggery. It was +the proper thing to do. How could a man be said to enjoy a fair if he +went home sober? Mary was regarding the young man. She was able to +reason with a good deal of clearness sometimes. It was not easy to +believe that the title _man_ included beings So far apart as Aubrey and +her brother, just as she found it hard to understand how the word +_woman_ could serve for Boodles and herself. + +"Bain't he a proper young gentleman?" she exclaimed. "A main cruel +butiful young gentleman. Aw ees, my dear! I'd like to kiss a gentleman +like yew." + +Mary had not felt so womanly for a long time. She comprehended there was +something in life beyond breeding geese, and cleaning turnips, and +bringing the furze-reek home; something that was not for her, because +she was too much of a man to be a woman. + +Their answering laughter did not upset her, although it was in a way +expressive of the truth that there could never be any pleasant gilt upon +her gingerbread. + +"It wouldn't do here. Rather too public," said the boy, with a sly look +in his blue eyes, squeezing his sweetheart's fingers as he spoke. + +Boodles had flushed with pleasure. She would rather have heard Aubrey +praised than be praised herself. She was quite right when she had +declared Aubrey was the prettiest boy ever made. It was obvious even to +poor old wooden-faced half-man Mary. + +Boodles and Aubrey hurried on, representatives of fun and laughter, +which were otherwise somewhat wanting. It was too early in the day for +excitement. The countryfolk were not yet warmed up; they were reserved, +and took the holiday seriously; hanging about the streets with a lost +expression, unwilling to change their shillings into pence, oppressed +with the idea that it would be necessary soon to enjoy themselves, +studiously avoiding the pleasure-ground in order that they might cling +to their cash a little longer, and quite content to look on and listen, +and welcome acquaintances with prolonged handshakes. The spending of the +first penny was difficult; the rest would be easy. There were some who +had not a penny to spend, and even they would be happy when the +temperature went up. A poor plain girl from some remote village will +stand in a puddle all day, and declare when she gets home she has never +enjoyed herself so much in her life. It is a sufficient pleasure, for +those who live in lonely places, to stand at a corner and stare at a +rollicking crowd for a few hours. + +There was the fair within the town, and the fair without. That within +was beside the Tavy and among the ruins of the Abbey; that without was +also beside the Tavy, but upon the opposite bank. There was also the +business-fair, where beasts were bargained for: ponies, bullocks, pigs, +sheep, everything except geese. It was a festival which would have +delighted the hearts of Abbot Cullyng's gay monks, who, it is recorded, +wore secular garments about the town, divided their time between hunting +the deer on Dartmoor and holding drunken suppers in their cells, and +cared not at all for religious discipline or black-lettered tomes. Part +of the fair is held upon the former site of those monastic buildings, +and the ruin of Betsey Grimbal's tower looks down upon more honest +pleasures from what was once the Abbey garden. The foundation was +despoiled of its gold and silver images, and the drones were smoked out +of their nest, centuries ago, and what was their refectory is now by the +irony of fate a Unitarian chapel; and St. Goose has become a greater +saint than St. Rumon, who was claimed as a bishop of renown by his +Church, although secular history suggests no such gentleman ever lived. + +Certain objects were against the railings of the church, objects neither +beautiful nor necessary; Brightly and his mongrel, hungry and +business-like as ever. They occupied very little space, and yet they +were in the way, principally because they were not pleasant to look +upon, being rather like heaps of refuse which the street-cleaners had +overlooked. Brightly was not there for the fun of the thing. He did not +know the meaning of such words as holiday and pleasure. Had any one +given him five shillings, and told him to go and enjoy himself, he would +not have known what to do. Both he and Ju were thinner, though that was +only interesting as a physiological fact. Brightly held up his +ridiculous head and sniffed continually. Ju did the same. The atmosphere +was redolent of sage and onions; and they were trying to feed upon it. + +"Trade be cruel dull," muttered Brightly. + +Ju did not acknowledge the remark. She had heard it so often, or words +to the same effect, that she deemed it unnecessary to respond with a +tail-wag. Besides, that sort of thing required energy, and Ju had none +to spare. She was wondering, if she followed up that wonderful odour, +whether she would obtain gratuitous goose at the other end. + +"Tie-clips, penny each. Dree for duppence. Butiful pipes, two a penny," +sang Brightly; but his miserable voice was drowned by the roundabouts +and megaphones. + +Brightly was celebrating the general holiday by exchanging one form of +labour for another. It would have been useless to follow his usual +calling of purveyor of rabbit-skins that day, so he had become for the +time being a general merchant. He had obtained a trayful of small goods +on credit. Brightly had one fault, a grave one in business; he was +honest. So far he had sold nothing. He was merely demonstrating the +marvellous purchasing powers of a penny. It never occurred to him that +he was opposing his miserable little trayful of rubbish to all the +booths and pleasures of the great fair. Tie-clips and clay-pipes were +all he had to offer in competition with attractions which had delighted +kings and princes, if the honesty of the showmen could be accepted as +advertised. Even the fat woman admitted that royal personages had +pinched her legs. If Brightly had followed the fat lady's example, and +declared in a loud enough voice that autocrats smoked nothing but his +clay-pipes, and kept their decorations in place with his tie-clips, he +might have acquired many pennies. + +Above the town, where the cattle-fair was in full swing, various hawkers +had established themselves; men who looked as if they had been made out +of metal, with faces of copper and tongues of brass. One man was giving +away gold rings, and if a recipient was not satisfied he threw in a +silver watch as well. He couldn't explain why he did such things. It was +his evil fate to have been born a philanthropist. He owned he had come +to the fair with the idea of selling his goods; but when he found +himself among so many happy, smiling people, fine young men, beautiful +girls, dear old folks who reminded him of his own parents, all making +holiday and enjoying themselves, with the sun shining and Nature at her +best, he felt totally unable to restrain his benevolence. He couldn't +take their money. It was weak and foolish of him, he knew, but he had to +give them the rings and watches, which, as they could see for +themselves, had cost him pounds, shillings, and pence, because he wanted +to send them home happy. His only idea was to give them a little present +so that they would remember him, and tell their friends what a simple +and generous creature they had encountered at the fair. So he flowed on, +with an eloquence which any missionary would have envied. And then he +produced a black bag, and said he wished to draw their attention to +something which he must really ask them to buy, not because he wanted +their money, but because he knew that people never really valued a thing +unless they gave something for it. It was a fatal thing, this +philanthropy, but it made him happy to be kind to others. Out of the bag +came some more rubbish, and the rascal was soon doing a roaring trade. +What chance had Brightly against a metallic creature like that? + +Higher up the road another gentleman established himself. He was well +dressed, his mottled hands were gleaming with immense rings, and his +clean-shaven face was as red as rhubarb. He assumed an academic cap and +gown, casually informing those who gathered around that he was entitled +to do so, as he was not only a man of gentle birth, but a graduate of +"one of our oldest universities," and a duly qualified physician also. +He stated with emphasis, and a slight touch of cynicism, that he was no +philanthropist. He belonged to an overcrowded profession; he had no +settled practice; and knowing how unwilling country-people were to come +to a medical man until they had to, when it was usually too late, and +knowing also how grievously afflicted many of them were with divers +diseases, he had decided to come out by the wayside and heal them. It +was entirely a matter of business. He was going to cure them of a number +of ailments which they were harbouring unawares, and they would pay him +a trifling sum in return. He wasn't going to give anything away. He +couldn't afford to be generous. He begged the people not to crowd about +him so closely, as there was plenty of time, and he would undertake to +attend to every one. + +This man ought to have been a genius, if he hadn't been a rogue. He went +on to warn his listeners against quack doctors and patent medicines. +They were all frauds, he assured them, and he described in homely +language how he had often restored some poor sufferer whose health had +been undermined by the mischievous attentions of unqualified impostors. +He took a small boy, set him in the midst, and in flowing phrase +explained his internal structure. It was the liver which was the origin +of disease among men; liver, which caused women to faint, and men to +feel run down. Heart disease, consumption, eczema, cold feet, red nose, +and a craving for liquor were all caused by an unhealthy liver, and were +so many different names for the same disease. So far nobody but himself +had discovered any safe cure for the liver. There were a thousand +remedies mentioned in the _British Encyclopaedia_--possibly he meant +pharmacopoeia--but not a genuine medicine among them. He had devoted his +life and fortune to discovering a remedy, and he had discovered it; and +his listeners should be allowed to benefit by it; for it needed but a +glance at their faces to convince him that the liver of every man and +woman in that circle was grievously out of order. + +At that moment Peter and Mary came up, considerably elevated, and gazed +with immense satisfaction at the figure in cap and gown, Mary exclaiming +in her noisy way: "Aw, Peter! 'Tis a preacher." + +The quack wiped his hands and face with a silk handkerchief, opened a +bag, and producing a small green bottle half full of grimy pellets, +continued solemnly; "The result of a life devoted to medical studies, my +friends. The one and only liver cure. The triumph of the human +intellect; more wonderful than the Pyramids of America; long life and +happiness in a small bottle; and the price only one shilling." + +There was not much demand at first for long life and happiness in bottle +form. The listeners had come to Goose Fair to enjoy themselves, not to +buy pills. They were all obviously as healthy as wayside weeds. But the +artful rogue had only been playing with them so far. He made his living +by the gift of a tongue, and so far he had not used it. The time had +come for him to terrify them. He removed his cap, threw his shoulders +back and his arms out, and lectured them furiously; telling them they +were dying, not merely ill, but hovering every one of them on the brink +of the grave; that tan of health upon their faces was a deception; it +was actually a fatal symptom, a sign of physical degeneracy, a herald of +bodily impotence. They were all suffering from liver in some shape or +form, and with the majority, he feared, the disease was already too far +advanced to be arrested by any treatment, except one only--the little +green bottle of pills, which might be theirs for one shilling. He choked +them with eloquence for ten minutes, frightening, converting, and making +them feel horribly ill. He was irresistible, especially when he spoke +with pathos of his devotion for his fellow-creatures, and his pain when +he saw them suffering. That man would have made an ideal preacher, if he +had known how to speak the truth. + +Mary listened open-mouthed. A bee flew in, and she spat it out and +gasped. For the first time in her life she realised she was in a state +of delicate health. + +The quack advanced to Peter, who was looking particularly despondent, +being fully persuaded he had not long to live, and with a grave shake of +the head punched him in the body. "Does that hurt?" he asked. + +"Cruel," said Peter. + +"Enlarged liver, my friend," said the rogue. "It is not too late to save +the patient if he takes the remedy at once. Let me tell you how you +feel," and he went on to describe a condition of ill-health, which most +of his other hearers felt coming upon themselves also under the potent +influence of mere suggestion. + +"Du'ye feel like that, Peter?" demanded Mary with great anxiety. + +"I du," said Peter miserably. + +"So du I," declared Mary. "I feels tired when I goes to bed, just like +he ses." + +"Better have three bottles each," said the friend of mankind. "One +arrests the disease, three remove it." + +That would have meant six shillings, which of course was not to be +thought of. Even ill-health was to be preferred to such an expenditure. +As Peter reminded his sister, he could almost bury her for that sum. +Finally they bought one bottle of pellets. Not even the quack's +conviction that Mary was suffering from an undue secretion of bile could +persuade them to purchase more. The rogue collected a pound's worth of +silver from the circle, and went on his way to capture a fresh lot of +gulls; and so the dishonesty and fun of the fair went on side by side; +while there was half-blind Brightly, squeezing against the railings of +the church, with his ridiculous honesty, and his trayful of pipes and +tie-clips which never grew less. Honesty is a money-making policy in the +land of Utopia, but not elsewhere; and Utopia means nowhere. +Christianity has been preached for nearly two thousand years, and still +the man is a fool who leaves his silver-mounted stick outside the door. + +The next thing was luncheon, as elegant folk have it; or a proper old +guzzle, according to Peter. The savages had made up their minds to do +the fair properly, and eating was certainly a chief item of the +programme. Savoury goose, with plenty of sage and onions, was the dish +of the day. Peter put the pills in his pocket, and forgot that his liver +was out of order, as Mary ignored the untruth that she suffered from +"too much oil." It was useless to try strange words upon her. While she +was eating that portion of goose appointed for the day she tried to make +her brother explain how the oil had got into her system, but Peter was +much too busy to answer. He was guzzling like a monkey, with his face in +the plate, half choking in his hurry, gulping, perspiring, gasping with +sheer greediness, and splashing in the rich gravy very much as the goose +he was feeding on had once flopped through some moorland bog. + +Boodles and Aubrey went to the Queen's Hotel for their goose dinner; a +place where good English fare may still be seen and eaten. Boodles had +witnessed the pleasure-fair only, the gay and noisy side of things, and +though the debased faces of some of the booth proprietors had alarmed +her at first, she had seen nothing actually nasty. Cruelty was not +there, or at least it had been out of sight. She did not go upon the +other side, where the rogues foregathered, and where beasts were bought +and sold; where sheep were penned in a mass of filth, with their mouths +open, tasting nothing but heat and dust; where ponies were driven from +side to side, half mad with fright, while drovers with faces like a +nightmare yelled and waved their hats at them, and brought their cudgels +down like hammers upon their sweating flanks; where calves, with big +patient eyes protruding with pain and terror, were driven through the +crowd by a process of tail-twisting; where fowls were stuffed in crates +and placed in the full heat of the sun; and stupid little pigs were +kicked on their heads to make them sensible. Boodles saw nothing of +that, and it was just as well, for it might have spoilt her day, and +have reminded her that, for some cause unexplained, the dominant note of +all things is cruelty; from the height of the unknown God, who gives His +beings a short life and scourges them through it, to the depth of the +invisible mite who rends a still smaller mite in pieces. Living +creatures were placed in the world, it is said, to perform the duty of +reproducing their species. It seems as reasonable to suggest that their +duty is to stamp out some other species; for the instinct of destruction +is at least as strong as the instinct of reproduction, making the world +a cold place often for the tender-hearted. + +It was not a cold place for Boodles that day, because she was in a happy +state of love and ignorance. She was not worrying herself about Nature, +who vivisects most people under the base old plea of physiological +research. She and Aubrey went up a sage-and-onion-scented street, into +the similarly perfumed hotel, up a flight of stairs fragrant with +stuffing, and into a long room, to find themselves in a temple of +feasting, with incense to St. Goose streaming upward, and two score +famished and rather ill-bred folk licking their lips ostentatiously and +casting savage glances at the knives and forks. + +Everything was on the grand scale. It was just such a meal as the +eighteenth-century post-houses gave passengers on the road before +railways had come to ruin appetites. It was a true Hogarthian dinner; +not a meal to approach with a pingling stomach; not a matter of "a +ragout of fatted snails and a chicken not two hours from the shell"; but +mighty geese, and a piece of beef as big as a Dartmoor tor--the lusty +cook's knees bowed as he staggered in with it--mounds of vegetables, +pyramids of dumplings, gravy enough to float a fishing-smack, and beer +and cider sufficient to bathe in. The diners were in complete sympathy +with the vastness of the feast, being mostly from ravenous Dartmoor. A +beefy farmer was voted to the chair, and carved until perspiration +trickled down his nose. A gentleman of severe appearance insisted upon +saying grace, but nobody took any notice. They were too busy sniffing, +and one who had been already helped was making strange noises with his +lips and throat. Boodles was laughing at his manners, and pinching +Aubrey's hand. "Such fun," she whispered. + +"Ladies first," cried the carver. + +"Quite right," gasped the man who had been served first, having snatched +the plate from the waiter as he was about to pass him. Then he gaped and +admitted an entire dumpling, nearly as big as a cricket-ball, and had +nothing else to say, except "Bit more o' that stuffing," for ten +minutes. + +"What am I to do with it?" sighed Boodles, when the heaped plate was set +in front of her. + +"Eat 'en, my dear!" said a commoner, who was wolfing bread until his +time came. "'Tis Goosie Vair," he added encouragingly. + +"Take it, Aubrey," she said, with a slight titter. + +"Go ahead," he replied. "Eat what you can, and leave the rest." + +"I wish we were alone," she whispered. "These people are pigs." + +Had they been alone they would probably have fed off the same plate, and +given each other kisses between every mouthful. As it was they could do +nothing, except play with each other's feet beneath the table. Everybody +else was hard at work. Faces were swollen on every side, and the sounds +were more suggestive of a farmyard at feeding time than a party of +immortal beings taking a little refreshment. There was no conversation. +All that had been done during the time of waiting. "'Tis a butiful day, +sure enough," and "A proper fine vair," had exhausted the topics. +Boodles was rather too severe when she called the feasters pigs, but +they were not pleasant to watch, and they seemed to have lost the divine +spark somehow. Philosophers might have wondered whether the species was +worth reproducing. + +The young people soon left the table, and a couple very differently +constituted pressed themselves into the vacant places. The others were +not half satisfied. Some of them would stuff to the verge of apoplexy, +then roll down-stairs, and swill whisky-and-water by the tumblerful. It +was holiday; a time of over-eating and over-drinking. They had little +self-control. They unbuttoned their clothes at table, and wiped their +streaming faces with the cloth. + +"I'm glad we went to goose dinner, but I shouldn't go again. It was +gorging, not eating," said Boodles, as they went along the street. + +"Let's go and see the living pictures," said Aubrey. + +"But we've seen them." + +"We'll go again. Perhaps they will turn on a fresh lot." + +They liked the living pictures, because the lights were turned down, and +they could snuggle together like two kittens and bite each other's +fingers. + +"Then we'll go for a walk--our walk. But no," sighed Boodles; "we can't. +It will be time for the ordeal." + +The fairy-tale was getting on. Ogre time had come. Boodles was to go and +drink tea with her boy's parents. + +"Perhaps we can go our walk later on." + +"It won't be a real day if we don't," said she. + +"Our walk" was beside the Tavy, where they had kissed as babies, and +loved to wander now that they were children. They thought they were +grown up, but that was absurd. People who are in love remain as they +were, and never grow up until some one opens the window and lets the +cold wind in. "Our walk" was fairyland; a strange and pleasant place +after goose dinner and Goose Fair. + +Brightly was against the railings, and had done no business, although +the day was far spent. There was no demand for tie-clips or clay-pipes. +Somebody was playing the organ in the church, and Brightly had that +music for his dinner. Everybody seemed to be doing well, and he was the +one miserable exception. He put up his sharp face, and chirped +pathetically: "Wun't ye buy 'em, gentlemen? Tie-clips, penny each. Dree +for duppence. Butiful pipes, brave and shiny, two a penny." + +The roundabout over the way was taking pennies by the bushel; but the +roundabout supplied a demand, and Brightly did not. A fat be-ribboned +dog passed and snapped at Ju. She took it patiently, having learnt the +lesson from her master. Then two young people swept round, and one of +them collided with Brightly, and almost knocked his thin figure through +the railings. + +"I beg your pardon," said a bright young voice. "I hope I didn't hurt +you." + +"You'm welcome, sir," said Brightly, wondering what on earth the young +gentleman was apologising for. + +"Why, it's the man with the rabbit-skins. What does he do with them? Now +he's selling pipes. Aubrey, I'm going to buy some. Oh, look at the poor +little dog! How it shivers! What is the matter with it?" + +"She'm hungry," explained Brightly. + +"You look as if you were hungry too," said Aubrey with boyish candour. + +"I be a bit mazed like, sir," admitted Brightly. + +"I want some pipes, please--a lot. Don't laugh, Aubrey," said Boodles, +looking down on the tray, with moisture in each eye and a frown on her +forehead. She had no money to spare, poor child, only a threepenny-bit +and four coppers; but she would have parted with the lot to feed the +hungry had not Aubrey taken and restrained her charitable little hand. + +"Give him this," he whispered. + +"Feed the little dog," said Boodles, as she gave Brightly the coin, +which was half-a-crown, as white and big, it seemed to Brightly, as the +moon itself. Then they went on, while Brightly was left to see visions +and to dream. He called out to tell them they had taken neither pipes +nor tie-clips, but his asthmatic voice was drowned as usual by the +noises of the fair, and it was quite a different set of faces and +figures that went before him. He picked Ju up, tucked her under his arm, +and shuffled away to buy food. He had seen the girl's face with pity on +it through his big glasses, only dimly, but it was enough to show him +what she was; something out of the church window, or out of the big +black book they read from, the book that rested upon the wings of a +golden goose, or perhaps she had come from the wonderful restaurant +called Jerusalem just to show him and Ju there was somewhere or other, +either in Palestine or above Dartmoor, some very superior Duke of +Cornwall who took a kindly interest in worms, himself, and other +creeping things. Brightly stopped, oblivious to holiday-makers, and +tried to think of Boodles' name. He found it just as he reached the +place where he could obtain a royal meal of scraps for threepence. +"Her's a reverent angel, Ju," he whispered. + + * * * * * + +Beyond the bridge, which crossed the Tavy near the entrance to the field +where the main pleasure-fair was making noises curiously suggestive of a +savage war-dance, Thomasine walked slowly to and fro. She had been doing +that ever since eleven o'clock, varying the occupation by standing still +for an hour or so gazing with patient cow's eyes along the road. +Pendoggat had promised to meet her there, and treat her to all the fun +of the fair. He had told her not to move from that spot until he +arrived, and she had to be obedient. She had been waiting four hours in +her best clothes, sometimes shaking the dust from her new petticoat, or +wiping her eyes with her Sunday handkerchief, but never going beyond the +bridge or venturing into the fair-field. One or two young men had +accosted her, but she had told them in a frightened way she was waiting +for a gentleman. She had seen her former young man. Will Pugsley, pass +with a new sweetheart upon his arm; and although Thomasine was unable to +reason she was able to feel miserable. Pendoggat was upon the other +side, kicking a calf he had purchased along the road, enjoying himself +after his own manner. He had forgotten all about Thomasine, and all that +his promise and the holiday meant to her. Besides, Annie Crocker was +with him like a sort of burr, clinging wherever he went, and not to be +easily shaken off; and she too wanted to be in the fair-field; only, as +she kept on reminding him, it was no place for a decent woman alone, and +she couldn't go unless he took her. To which Pendoggat replied that she +wasn't a decent woman, and if she had been nobody would want to speak to +her. They swore at each other in a subdued fashion whenever they found +themselves in a quiet corner. + +"Come on, my love! Come along wi' I, and have a ride on the whirligig," +shouted a drunken soldier with a big wart on his nose, staggering up to +Thomasine, and grabbing at her arm. The girl trembled, but allowed the +soldier to catch hold of her, because she did not know she had a legal +right to resist. After all this was a form of courtship, though it was +rather rough and sudden. Like many girls of her class Thomasine did not +see anything strange in being embraced by a man before she knew what his +name was. The soldier dragged her to the parapet of the bridge and +kissed her savagely, heedless of the passers-by. Then he began to take +her to the fair-ground, swearing at her when she hung back. + +"I've got to bide here," she pleaded. "I'm waiting for a gentleman." + +The drunken soldier declared he would smash the gentleman, or any one +else, who tried to take his prize from him; but he proved to be a man +whose words were mightier than his deeds, for when he saw a big +policeman approaching with a question in his eye he abandoned Thomasine +and fled. The girl dusted her clothes in a patient fashion and went on +waiting. + +The next local excitement was the arrival of Peter and Mary in a kind of +whirlwind, both of them well warmed with excitement and Plymouth gin. +Thomasine nodded to them, but they did not see her. Mary had been buying +flower-seeds for her garden, a whole packet of sweet-peas and some +mignonette. Peter had objected to such folly when he discovered that the +produce would not be edible. Their garden was small, and they could not +waste good soil for the purpose of growing useless flowers. But Mary was +always insisting upon being as civilised as she could. "Miss Boodles du +grow a brave lot o' flowers in her garden, and she'm a proper young +lady," she said. Mary knew she could not become a proper lady, but she +might do her best by trying to grow "a brave lot o' flowers" in her +garden. + +Later Thomasine saw Boodles and Aubrey pass over the bridge, walking +solemnly for the first time that day. The little girl was about to be +tried by ordeal, and she was getting anxious about her personal +appearance. Her shoes were so dusty, and there was a tiny hole in her +stocking right over her ankle, and her face was hot, and her hat was +crooked. "You did it, Aubrey," she said. She wasn't looking at all nice, +and her hair was tumbling, and threatening to be down her back any +moment. "And I'm only seventeen, Aubrey. I know they'll hate me." + +They went up the hill among the green trees; and beneath the wall, where +nobody could see them, Aubrey dusted his sweetheart's shoes, and put her +hat straight, and guided her hands to where hairpins were breaking loose +from the radiant head, and told her she was sweetness itself down to the +smallest freckle. "Well, if they are not nice I shall say I'm only a +baby and can't help it. And then you must say it was all your fault, +because you came and kissed me with your pretty girl's face and made me +love it." + +Thomasine watched Boodles as she went out of sight, trying to think, but +not succeeding. She regarded Boodles as a young lady, a being made like +herself, and belonging to her species, and yet as different from her as +Pendoggat was different from old Weevil. Boodles could talk, and +Thomasine could not; Boodles could walk prettily, while she could only +slouch; Boodles adorned her clothes, while she could only hang them upon +her in a misfitting kind of way. The life of the soul was in the eyes of +Boodles; the life of the body in Thomasine's. It was all the difference +between the rare bird which is costly, and the common one which any one +may capture, had Thomasine known it. She knew nothing except that she +was totally unlike the little girl of the radiant head. She did not know +how debased she was, how utterly ignorant, and how vilely cheap. She had +been accustomed to put a low price upon herself, because the market was +overstocked with girls as debased, ignorant, and cheap, as herself; +girls who might have been feminine, but had missed it somehow; girls +whose bodies cost twopence, and whose souls a brass ring. + +The Bellamies had a pretty home on the hill above Tavistock overlooking +the moor. There was a verandah in front where every fine evening the +mistress sat to watch the tors melting in the sunset. She and her +husband were both artistic. Aubrey might have been said to be a proof of +it. Tea was set out upon the verandah, where Mr. Bellamie was frowning +at the crude noises of the fair, while his wife observed the old fashion +of "mothering" the cups. They were a fragile couple, and everything +about them seemed to suggest egg-shell porcelain--their faces, their +furniture, and even the flowers in their garden. It was useless to look +for passion there. It would have broken them as boiling water breaks a +glass. They never lost their self-control. When they were angry they +spoke and acted very much as they did when they were pleased. + +"Here is the little girl," said Mr. Bellamie in his gentle way. "The red +poppies in her hat go well with her hair. Did you see her turn then? A +good deal of natural grace there. She does not offend at present. It is +a pretty picture, I think." + +"Beauty and love--like his name. He is always a pretty picture," +murmured the lady, looking at her son. "I wish he would not wear that +red tie." + +"It suits on this occasion, with her strong colour. She is quite +artistic. The only fault is that she knocks her ankles together while +walking. That is said, though I know not why, to be a sign of innocence. +She is Titianesque, a combination of rich surface with splendid tints. +Not at all unfinished. Not in the least crude." + +"Mother, here she is!" cried Aubrey, "I had to drag her up the hill. She +is so shy." + +"It's not true," said Boodles. She advanced to Mrs. Bellamie, her golden +lashes drooping. Then she put up her mouth quite naturally, her eyes +asking to be kissed; and it was done so tastefully that the lady +complied, and said: "I have wanted to see you for a long time." + +"A soft voice," murmured Mr. Bellamie. "I was afraid with that colour it +might be loud." + +"They are very young. It will not last," said the lady to herself. "But +she will not do Aubrey any harm." + +Boodles was soon talking in her pretty sing-song voice, describing all +their fun, and saying what a jolly day it had been, and how nice it was +to have Aubrey at home, and she hoped he would never be away for so long +again, until Mr. Bellamie roused himself and began to question her. The +child had to describe Lewside Cottage and her quiet dull life; and it +came out gradually--for Boodles was perfectly honest--how poor they +were, and the respectable Bellamies were shocked to hear of the numerous +housekeeping difficulties, and the limited number of the little girl's +frocks, and what was still worse, the fact that old Weevil was no +relation; until Mr. Bellamie began to fear that things were getting +inartistic, and his fragile wife asked gently whether the child's +parents were still living. + +"I don't know," said Boodles, flushing painfully because she felt +somehow she had done wrong. + +Aubrey could not stand that. He jumped up and tried to choke his +sweetheart with small cakes, while Mr. Bellamie began to examine her +concerning her favourite pictures, and found she hadn't any, as she had +not been east of Exeter, and knew nothing whatever about the big town, +which is chiefly in Middlesex and Surrey, and partly in most of the +other counties. Mr. Bellamie was rather upset. No girl could be really +artistic if she had not seen the picture galleries. He began to feel +that it would be necessary either to check Aubrey's amorous propensities +or to divert them into some more artistic channel. Mrs. Bellamie had +already arrived at much the same conclusion. Girls who know nothing of +their parents could not possibly be well-bred, and might easily become a +source of danger to those who were. Aubrey, of course, was not of their +opinion. While his father was weighing Boodles in the aesthetic balance +and finding her wanting, he went round to his mother, passed his arm +about her neck, and whispered fervently: "Isn't she sweet? I may get her +a ring, mother, mayn't I?" + +"Don't be foolish, Aubrey," she whispered back. "You are only children." + +They went soon afterwards, but not back to the fair, which was beginning +to be marred by the drunkard and his language; they went into the very +different atmosphere of Tavy woods; and there picked up the thread of +the story, with the trees and the kind weather about them. But it was +not the same somehow. Boodles had been to the gate of Castle Dolorous, +had looked inside, and thought she had seen the skulls and bones of the +young men and maidens, who had wandered in the woods to hear +nightingales and pick the tender grapes of passion, but had been caught +instead by the ogre, that he might trim his mantle with their hearts. +She began at last to wonder whether it could be a sin to have no +recognised parents and no name. Even the mongrel can be faithful, and +the hybrid flower beautiful; and in their way they are natural, and for +themselves they are loved. But they have no names of their own. The +plant may cast back in its seed to the weed stage, and the owner of the +mongrel may grow ashamed of it at last. Such a splendid name as Bellamie +could hardly be hyphened with a blank. Still Boodles was very young, +only a baby, as she said; and she soon forgot the ogre; and they went +down by the river and smeared their kisses with ripe blackberries. + +Aubrey's parents strolled in their garden, and agreed that Miss Weevil's +head was perfect. They also agreed that the boy had better fall in love +with some one else. + +"He is so constant. It is what I love in him," said the mother. "He has +been devoted to the child always, and now that he is approaching the age +when boys do foolish things without consulting their parents, he loves +her more than ever. I thought the last time he went away he would come +back cured. What a nose she has!" + +"She is a perfect Romney," said, her husband. + +"I don't believe she knows her name. Boodles, she told me, means +beautiful, and her foster-father is called Weevil. Boodles Weevil does +not go at all with Aubrey Bellamie," said the lady. + +The fragile gentleman agreed that the girl's name violated every canon +of art. "If Aubrey will not give her up--" he began, breaking off a twig +which threatened to mar the symmetry of the border. + +"I shall not influence him. It is foolish to oppose young people. Leave +them alone, and they usually get tired of each other as they get older. +She is a good child. Aubrey is perfectly safe. He may go about with her +as much as he likes, but we must see he does not run off with her and +marry her." + +"We had better find out everything that is to be known," said Mr. +Bellamie. "I will go and see this old Weevil. He may be a fine old +gentleman with a Rembrandt head for all we know. She may be well-born, +only it is remarkable that she remembers nothing about her parents. She +would be a daughter to be proud of, if she had studied art. She offended +slightly in the matter of drapery. I noticed a hole in her stocking, but +it might have been caused during the day." + +"You did not kiss her, I think?" said his wife quickly. + +"No, certainly not," came the answer. + +"I don't want you to. Her mouth is pretty." + +"We must go in," said Mr. Bellamie decisively. "They are beginning to +light up the fair. How horribly inartistic it all is!" + +Peter and Mary were being pushed about in the crowd below, still +enjoying themselves, although somewhat past riding on wooden horses, for +Mary was stupid and Peter was sleepy and absent-minded. They had +followed custom and done the fair thoroughly, and had not forgotten the +liquor. It was an unusual thing for Mary to have a head like a swing and +a body like a roundabout, but Peter was used to it. He had been throwing +at cocoa-nuts, without hitting anything except a man's knee; and for +some time he had admired the ladies dancing in very short skirts to the +tune of a merry music-hall melody until Mary, who was terribly hampered +by her big umbrella, dragged him away from a spectacle so degrading. It +was time for them to return home. They got clear of the crowd, and set +their faces, as they supposed, towards the station. + +Thomasine was upon the bridge no longer. She had been joined by Will +Pugsley, who had lost sight of his new sweetheart, as they had managed +to drift apart in the crowd, and were not likely to meet again. She had +probably been picked up by some one and would be perfectly happy with +her new partner. Thomasine went off with young Pugsley, and it was only +in the natural order of things that she should meet Pendoggat at last, +not alone, but accompanied by Annie Crocker. It was unfortunate for +Thomasine that she should have Pugsley's arm round her waist, although +it was not her fault, as he had placed it there, and she supposed her +waist had been made for that sort of thing. It was impossible to tell +whether Pendoggat had seen her, as he never looked at any one. It was +not a happy holiday for Thomasine, although she did go home between +Pugsley and another drunken man, a young friend of his, who ought to +have made her feel common, had she been capable of self-examination. + +It was at the bridge that Peter and Mary went wrong. They ought to have +crossed it, only they were so confused they hardly knew what they were +doing. It was another bridge of sighs. Lovers, who had probably met for +the first time that day, were embracing upon it; and a couple of young +soldiers were outraging the clear water of the Tavy by being sick over +the parapet. Peter and Mary stumbled on, found themselves in darkness +and a lonely road, and soon began to wonder what had become of the town +and the station. They had no idea they were walking straight away from +Tavistock in the direction of Yelverton. + +"Here us be!" cried Mary at length. "A lot o' gals in white dresses +biding for the train. Us be in time." + +"There be hundreds and millions of 'em," said Peter sleepily. + +The road was very dark, but they could see a low wall, and upon the +other side what appeared to be a host of dim white figures waiting +patiently. They went up to a building and found an iron gate, but the +gate was locked, and the house was in darkness. It looked as if the last +train had gone, and the station was closed for the night. + +"Us mun climb the wall," said Mary. She began to shout at the girls in +the white dresses: "Open the gate, some of ye. Open the gate." + +There was no reply from the white figures; only the murmuring of the +river, and a dreary rustling of dry autumnal foliage. Peter rubbed his +eyes and stared, and put his little peg-nose over the wall. + +"It bain't the station," he muttered, with a violent belch. "It be a +gentleman's garden." + +"Aw, Peter, don't ye be so vulish. It be vull o' volks biding to go +home." + +They climbed the wall, far too sleepy and intoxicated to know they were +in the cemetery; and finding themselves upon soft grass they went to +sleep, using the mound of a young girl's grave for their bolster, adding +their drunken slumbers to the heavier sleep of those who Mary thought +were "biding to go home." + +About the middle of the night Peter awoke, much refreshed and less +absent-minded, and discovered the nature and the dampness of their +resting-place. The little man was not in the least dismayed. He aroused +Mary with his fist and facetious remarks. "Us be only lodgers. Us bain't +come to bide," he said cheerfully. + +Mary also saw the fun of the thing. It was a fitting climax to her +travelling experiences. Without being at all depressed by her +surroundings she said: "Aw, Peter! To think us be sleeping among the +corpses like." To the novelty of this experience was to be added the +fact that she had slept at last outside her native parish. + +They went back to Tavistock, to find the town at rest, and the fair dark +and silent. Returning to the house where they had eaten at midday, they +banged upon the door and shouted for sleeping accommodation, which was +at last provided. Peter felt a thrill of satisfaction when he +comprehended that he was putting up at what he was pleased to style an +hotel. While he was examining the furniture, the insecure bed, the chair +without a back, the cracked crockery, and all the other essentials of +the civilised bedroom, Mary began to shout violently-- + +"Aw, Peter, du'ye come along and see the light! 'Tis a hot hair-pin in a +bottle on a bit o' rope, and yew turns 'en on and off wi' a tap like +cider." + +Peter had to admit that electric light was something startling. He +perceived that the same phenomenon occurred in his bedroom, and he was +at a loss to account for it. Mary's shouts had alarmed the young slut of +a maid who had introduced them to their rooms, and she hurried up to see +what was wrong, well accustomed, poor wench, to be on her feet most of +the day and night. She found Peter and Mary regarding their luminous +bottles with fear and amazement, not venturing to go too close lest some +evil should befall them. + +"Where be the oil?" asked Mary. + +The ignorant little wench said there wasn't any oil; at least she +thought not. She knew nothing about the light, except how to turn it on +and off. It had only been put into the house lately, and she confessed +it saved her a lot of work. She believed it was expensive, as her master +had told her not to waste it. A man had come in one day and hung the +little bottles in the rooms, and they had given light ever since when +they were wanted. They did not seem to wear out, and nothing was ever +put into them. Some telegraph-wires had been put about the house at the +same time, but she didn't know what they were for, as they did not +appear to have anything to do with the post-office. That was all the +little slut could tell them. She demonstrated how easy it was to turn +the light on and off. She plunged them into darkness, and restored them +to light. She couldn't tell them how it was done, but there was a big +barrel in the top attic, and perhaps the light was kept in that. + +Peter was unable to concur. He had recovered from his first +bewilderment, and his learning asserted itself. He considered that the +light was natural, like that of the sun. It was merely a matter of +imprisoning it within an air-tight bottle; but what he could not +understand was where the light went to when the tap was turned. This, +however, was nothing but a little engineering problem, which a certain +amount of application on his part would inevitably solve. He could make +clocks and watches; at least he thought he could, though he had never +tried; and the lighting of Ger Cottage with luminous bottles would, he +considered, be an undertaking quite within his powers. + +"Us wun't have no more lamps," he said. "Us will hang up thikky bottles. +Can us buy 'em?" he asked the little slut. + +"There be a shop where they sells 'em, bits o' rope and all. I seed 'em +in the window," said the girl. + +"Us will buy two or dree in the morning," declared Mary. "Can us hang +'em up, du'ye reckon, Peter?" + +Her brother replied that the task would be altogether beyond her; but it +was not likely to present any serious difficulties to him. He promised +to hang up one light-giving bottle in his own hut-circle, and another in +Mary's. She would pay for the fittings, and he would in return charge +her a reasonable sum for his services. + +The proprietor of the lodging-house made a poor bargain when he took in +Peter and Mary. They spent most of the remainder of the night turning +the wonderful light on and off, "like cider," as Mary said. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +ABOUT THE OCTAVE OF ST. GOOSE + + +Things had gone wrong with Peter and Mary ever since the festival. +Excitement, Plymouth liquors, and ignorance were largely to blame for +the general "contrairiness" of things; but the root of the trouble lay +in the fact of their refusal to be decent savages; of Peter's claims to +be a handy man, and of Mary's desire to be civilised. + +Old Sal had last been seen wandering towards Helmen Barton; that was the +principal grievance. Others were the complete failure of Peter as an +electrical engineer; the discovery that nearly a pound's worth of +precious shillings had been dissipated at the fair in idle pleasures +alone; and the loss of a number of little packages containing such +things as tea, sugar, and rice, which Mary had bought in Tavistock and +placed, as she thought, in a position of safety. The pills and +flower-seeds had proved also a source of trouble. A bottle of almighty +pills had been thrust upon Peter for his liver's sake, and Mary had +later on acquired packets of sweet-peas and mignonette in order that her +garden might be made glorious. + +The loss of the groceries caused the first lamentation. Mary had a clear +recollection of buying them, or at least she remembered paying for them, +but beyond that memory did nothing for her. She had no impression of +walking about the streets with her arms full of packages; they were not +in her pocket, nor had they ever been in Peter's; she could not have +left them in the shop; she was ready to swear she had not dropped them. +The only possible conclusion was that the pixies had stolen them. Peter +the hypocrite grunted at that. Although he offered sacrifice continually +to the pixies that dwelt in Grandfather's bosom, he declared there were +no such things. School-master had told him they were all dead. Education +had in some obscure way shot, trapped, or poisoned the lot. + +"You'm a gurt vule," was Mary's retort. "Dartmoor be vull o' piskies, +allus was, and allus will be. When I was a little maid and went to +schule wi' Master, though he never larnt I more than ten fingers and ten +toes be twenty, though I allus remembered it, for Master had a brave way +of larning young volks--What was I telling, Peter? Aw ees, I mind now. +'Twas when I went to schule wi' Ann Middleweek, her picked up a pisky +oven and broke 'en all to bits, 'cause her said the piskies were proper +little brutes, and her was beat cruel that night wi' brimmles and +vuzzy-bushes 'cause her'd broke the oven, and her was green and blue +next day. 'Twas the piskies stole my tea and sugar, sure 'nuff. If I'd +ha' spat on 'em, and marked 'em proper wi' a cross betwixt two hearts, +they'd ha' been here now." + +Mary worried so much over her lost groceries that she felt quite ill. As +Peter also became apprehensive of the state of his health every time +that he looked at the bottle of pills, they decided to take a few. Then +Peter went out into the garden to sow the flower-seeds, while Mary +tramped over the moor to search for her missing goose. + +Peter imagined that he had mastered the science of horticulture. At +least he would not have accepted advice upon the subject from any one. +Vegetables he had grown all his life, and in exactly the same way as +they had been grown in his boyhood, and he was quite as successful as +his neighbours. He was a ridiculous little man, and in several ways as +much of a savage as his ancestors, but he had inherited something from +them besides their unpleasant ways. His pretensions to being skilled +with his hands and clever with his brain were grotesque enough; but he +possessed a faculty which is owned by few, because it is not required by +civilised beings, a faculty which to strangers appeared incredible. When +a bullock or a pony was pointed out to him, as it stood outlined against +the sky on the top of some distant tor, or even as it walked against the +dull background of the moor, he would put his hand to his eyes, and +almost at once, and always correctly, give the owner's name. He earned +several shillings at certain seasons of the year, and could have earned +more had he not been lazy, by going out to search for missing animals. +Peter was always in demand by the commoners about the time of the drift. + +Flowers were useless things according to Peter, and concerning their +culture he knew nothing. However, Mary insisted upon the seeds being +planted, to give her garden a civilised appearance, so Peter set about +the task. The packet of sweet-peas had broken in his pocket during the +fair, and upon returning he had placed them in a small bottle. The +mignonette was his first care. The instructions outside stated that the +seed was to be sown "in February, under glass." Peter shook his head at +that. February was a long way off, but he went on to argue that if the +seed would grow during the winter it was certainly safe to sow it during +the far warmer month of October. It was the "under glass" that puzzled +him. This was evidently something new in gardening, and Peter objected +to new-fangled methods. It occurred to him that the expression might +have been intended for "under grass," but that seemed equally absurd. +School-master would know, but Peter was not going to expose his +ignorance by asking questions. Besides, it would mean a long walk, and +Master's cottage possessed the distinct disadvantage of being a +considerable distance from the inn. Peter had no idea what sort of a +plant mignonette might be, but he supposed it was a foreign growth which +managed to flourish upon certain nutritive qualities possessed by glass. +There were plenty of bottles in the linhay. Peter broke up a couple with +the crowbar, collected the fragments--the instructions omitted to state +how much glass--scattered the seeds in an unimportant corner of the +garden, strewed the pieces of glass over them, and trod the whole down +firmly. Then he dug a trench and buried the sweet-peas. + +Soon afterwards he began to feel ill; and when Mary returned without +news of Old Sal she said she was "cruel sick-like tu." They conferred +together, agreed that the trouble was caused by "the oil in their +livers," and concluded they had better go on with the pills. Presently +they were suffering torments; the night was a sleepless time of groans +and invocations; and in the morning they were worse. Peter was the most +grievously afflicted, at least he said he was; and described the state +of his feelings with the expressive phrase: "My belly be filled wi' +little hot things jumping up and down." + +"So be mine. Whatever be the matter wi' us?" groaned Mary. + +"They pills. Us ha' took tu many." + +"Mebbe us didn't tak' enough. Us ha' only took half the bottle, and he +said dree bottles for a cure." + +"Us wun't tak' no more. I'll smash that old bottle on they seeds. 'Twill +dung 'em proper," said Peter, shuffling painfully across the floor and +reaching for the bottle. + +A moment later he began to howl. He had discovered something, and terror +made him own to it. + +"Us be dead corpses! Us be pizened! Us ha' swallowed they peas!" he +shouted. + +"Aw, my dear life! Where be the pills, then?" cried Mary. + +"I've tilled 'em," said Peter. "They be in the garden, and them peas be +growing in our bellies." + +"Aw, Peter, us will die! I be a-going to see Master," groaned Mary. + +Peter said he should come too. He was afraid to be left alone, with +Grandfather ticking sardonically at him, and sweet-peas germinating in +his bowels. If it had been only Mary who was suffering he would have +prescribed for her; but as he was himself in pain he argued that it +would be advisable to seek outside assistance. Master was a "brave +larned man," and he would know what ought to be done to save their +lives. They made themselves presentable, and laboured bitterly across +the moor to St. Mary Tavy village. + +Master was never out. He lived in a little whitewashed cottage near the +road, gazing out of his front window all day, with a heap of books on a +little table beside him, and pedantic spectacles upon his nose. He was +nearly eighty, and belonged to the old school of dames and masters now +practically extinct, an entirely ignorant class, who taught the children +nothing because they were perfectly illiterate themselves. Master was +held in reverence by the villagers. That pile of books, and the +wonderful silver spectacles which he was always polishing with knowing +glances, were to them symbols of unbounded knowledge. They brought their +letters to the old man that he might read them aloud and explain obscure +passages. Not a pig was killed without Master's knowledge, and not a +child was christened until the Nestor of the neighbourhood had been +consulted. + +"Please to come in, varmer. Please to sot down, Mary," said Master, as +he received the groaning pilgrims into his tiny owlery, "varmer" being +the correct and lawful title of every commoner. "Have a drop o' cider, +will ye? You'm welcome. I knows you be main cruel fond of a drop o' +cider, varmer." + +Peter was past cider just then. He groaned and Mary moaned, and they +both doubled up in their chairs; while Master arranged his beautiful +spectacles, and looked at them in a learned fashion, and at last hit +upon the brilliant idea that they were afflicted with spasms of the +abdomen. + +"You've been yetting too many worts?" he suggested with kindly sympathy. + +"Us be tilling peas in our bellies," explained Mary. . + +Master had not much sense of humour. He thought at first the remark was +made seriously, and he began to upbraid them for venturing on such +daring experiments. But Mary went on: "Us bought pills to Goosie Vair, +'cause us ha' got too much oil in our livers, and us bought +stinking-peas tu. Us ha' swallowed the peas, and tilled the pills. Us be +gripped proper, so us ha' come right to wance to yew." + +Master replied that they had done wisely. He played with his books, +wiped his spectacles, and dusted the snuff from his nose with a +handkerchief as big as a bath-towel. Then he folded his gnarled hands +peacefully across his brass watch-chain, and talked to them like a good +physician. + +"I'll tell ye why you'm gripped," he said. "'Tis because you swallowed +them peas instead o' the pills. Du'ye understand what I be telling?" + +Peter and Mary answered that so far they were quite able to follow him, +and Mary added: "A cruel kind larned man be Master. Sees a thing to +wance, he du." + +"Us ha' got innards, and they'm called vowels," Master went on. "Some +calls 'em intestates, but that be just another name for the same thing. +Us ha' got five large vowels, and two small ones. The large ones be +called _a, e, i, o, u_, and the small ones be called _w_ and _y_. I +can't tell ye why, but 'tis so. Some of them peas yew ha' swallowed have +got into _a_, and some ha' got into _o_, and mebbe some ha' got into _w_ +and _y_. Du'ye understand what I mean?" + +The invalids replied untruthfully that they did, while Peter stated that +Master had done him good already. + +"They be growing there, and 'tis the growing that gripes ye. Du'ye +understand that?" continued Master. + +Peter ventured to ask how much growth might be looked for. + +"They grows six foot and more, if they bain't stopped," said Master +ominously. + +"How be us to stop 'em?" wailed Mary. + +"I'll tell ye," said Master. "Yew mun get home and bide quiet, and not +drink. Then mebbe the peas will wilt off and die wi'out taking root." + +"Shall us dig up the pills and tak' some?" Suggested Peter. + +"Best let 'em bide. They be doing the ground good," said Master. "It +bain't nothing serious, varmer," he went on. "Yew and Mary will be well +again to-morrow. Don't ye drink and 'twill be all right. The peas will +die of what us calls instantaneous combustion. If yew was to swallow +anything to pizen 'em 'twould pizen yew tu. Aw now, you might rub a +little ammonia on your bellies just to mak' 'em feel uneasy-like. I'll +get ye a drop in a bottle. Nothing's no trouble, varmer." + +"It taketh a scholard to understand it," said Mary. "When he putched +a-telling I couldn't sense 'en, but I knows now it bain't serious. A +brave larned man be Master. There bain't many like 'en." + +The invalids were pretty well by that evening. Their pains were +departing, and Mary was able to hunt again for Old Sal and bewail her +lost groceries, while Peter turned his attention towards establishing +electric light into the two hut-circles. He had brought back from +Tavistock two little bottles with taps, hairpins, and bits of rope +complete, also mystic circles made of china, which, he had been +informed, were used for securing the completed article to the roof, and +nearly a mile of thin wire, which he had picked up very cheaply, as it +was getting rusty. + +The wire had excited Mary's amazement, but Peter refused to give her any +information concerning it. He had enjoyed an instructive conversation +with the man in the shop, who perceived that Peter was a savage, but did +not on that account refuse to sell him the required articles. Peter +asked how the light was made, and the answer "with water," or words to +that effect, so stunned him that he heard nothing for the next few +moments. If it could be true that fire and heat were made out of water +he was prepared to believe anything. The man seemed to be serious and +not trying to make a fool of him; for he went on to explain that the +light was conveyed from the water by a wire which communicated with the +little bottles--he showed Peter that what he had mistaken for a piece of +rope was in reality twisted wires--over any distance, although more +power would be required if the house to be lighted was far from the +water. The word "power" was explained to Peter's satisfaction as meaning +a strong current, preferably a waterfall. The entire art of electrical +engineering became clear to Peter at once. He remembered how the +ignorant little girl in the lodging-house had mentioned the telegraph +wires which had been put about the house. The child could not be +expected to understand what the wires were for--Peter had not much +tolerance for such stupidity--but it was evident, after the shopman's +explanation, that those wires communicated with the Tavy and brought the +light into the lodging-house from its waters. If the river at Tavistock, +which is wide and shallow, could give forth light of such excellent +quality, what might not be expected from the rushing torrent of Tavy +Cleave? Peter perceived that every difficulty had been smoothed away. + +"Best tak' they old lamps to the village and sell 'em," he said, with +vast contempt for old and faithful servants. "Us ha' done wi' they. Us +will ha' lights in our bottles avore to-night." He had hung them up +already, one in his own hut, the other in Mary's, and they looked +splendid hanging from the beams. "Like a duke's palace," according to +the electrician. + +"Aw ees, I'll sell 'em," said Mary, getting out a bit of sacking to wrap +the old lamps in. "Us won't be mazed wi' paraffin and wicks and busted +glasses. I'll tak' 'em' to Mother Cobley, and see if her will give us +two or dree shilluns for 'em." + +Mary went off with the lamps, which Peter's science was about to render +superfluous, while the little man took up his bundles of wire and +stumbled down the cleave, to put the hidden radiance of the Tavy into +communication with their humble dwellings. + +It was very pleasant down by the river that crisp October afternoon; the +rich autumnal sun upon the rocks, the bracken in every wonderful tint of +brown and gold, the scarlet seed-clumps of bog asphodel, and the +trailing red ropes of bramble sprinkled with jetty berries, full of +crimson blood like Thomasine's cheeks. It was nearly a month past +Barnstaple Fair, and yet the devil had not put his foot upon the +blackberries. The devil is supposed to attend Barnstaple Fair in state +and tread on brambles as he goes home; which is merely the pleasant +Devonshire way of saying that there is generally a frost about +Barnstaple Fair week which spoils the fruit. The fairy cult was much +prettier than all this demonology, but when education killed the little +people there was only the devil to fall back upon; and though education +will no doubt kill him in due time it has not done so yet. + +Peter trampled among the brambles and swore at them because they caught +his legs. He saw nothing beautiful in their foliage. It was too common +for him to admire. The colours had been like that the year before; they +would be the same the year after. Peter appreciated bluebells and +primroses because they were soft to walk upon; but the blood-red +"brimmles" only pricked his legs and made him stumble; and the golden +bracken was only of use in the cow-shed, or in his hut as a +floor-litter; and the gracious heather was only good for stuffing +mattresses; and the guinea-gold gorse would have been an encumbrance +upon the side of the moor had it not been so useful as a thatch for his +hut, and a fence for his garden, and a mud-scraper for his boots. Peter, +though very much below the ordinary moorman, was artistically like them +all--insensible to beauty which is not of the flesh. Not a Dartmoor +commoner would pause a moment to regard the sun setting and glowing in a +mist upon the tors. Yet a Cornish fisherman would; and a Norman peasant +perhaps would take off his hat and cross himself, not so much with a +sense of religion, as because there is something in his mind which can +respond to the beauty and poetry and romance of the sun in a mist. +Possibly, with the Dartmoor commoner, it is his religion which is to +blame. His faith is as dark and ugly as the bottom of a well. The +Cornish fisherman has his Cymric blood, his instincts, his knowledge of +folklore, to help him through. The Norman peasant has the daily help of +gleaming vestments, glowing candles, clouds of sun-tinted +incense--pretty follies perhaps, but still pretty--the ritual of his +mass, and the Angelus bell. But the Dartmoor commoner has little but his +hell-fire. + +In the midst of all the splendour of Tavy Cleave on fire with autumn, +Peter the ridiculous unwound a portion of the first roll of wire, and +pondered deeply. It seemed absurd even to him to place the end into the +water and leave Nature to do the rest; but he couldn't think of any +other method. The shopman had distinctly mentioned wire and waterfalls, +and both were ready to hand. As Peter went on to consider the matter it +became clearer in his mind. The ways of Nature are incomprehensible. +There were lightning-conductors, for instance. They were just bits of +wire sticking aimlessly into the air, and apparently they caught the +lightning, though Peter was not sure what they did with it. To put a +piece of wire into a waterfall to attract light could not be more absurd +than to erect a bit of wire into space to catch lightning. It was +amazing certainly, but Peter had nothing to do with marvels, except to +turn them to practical account. Once, when he was ill, a doctor had come +to visit him armed with a little instrument which he had put against his +chest and had then looked right inside him. Peter knew the doctor had +looked inside him, because he was able to describe all that he saw. That +was another marvellous thing, almost as wonderful as extracting light +and heat from cold water. + +There was a waterfall lower down, and below it a pool fringed with fern +and boiling with foam. It was an ideal spot, thought Peter, so he went +there, and after fastening his wire to a stone, dropped it into the pool +at the foot of the falls. The silver foam and the coloured bubbles +laughed at him, and had Peter been blessed with anything in the form of +an imagination, he might have supposed they were inviting him to play +with them, and the sunlight made a rainbow out of flying foam. The scene +was so full of radiance that Peter easily believed how brilliantly the +hairpins in the bottles would presently be glowing. + +It was a lengthy business laying the wire up the side of the cleave +among the boulders, fern, and brambles, and the task was not finished +until twilight. The wire was rotten stuff, breaking continually, and had +to be fastened together in a score of places. + +Peter reached the top of the cleave at last, and discovered Mary waiting +to inform him in an angry way how Mother Cobley had given her only a +shilling for the two lamps, and that only under pressure, because they +were old and worn out. Mary wanted light in her bottle at once, as she +had to mix the bread and make the goose-feed. "That Old Sal be a proper +little brute. He bain't come home, and I can't hear nothing of 'en," she +concluded. + +Peter replied that he would not be able to introduce the light into both +huts that evening. Mary would have to wait for hers, for it did not +occur to him that it would be possible to illumine Mary's hut before his +own. + +"How be I to work in dimsies?" said Mary. + +"Can't ye mix bread in my house?" replied Peter. + +Mary admitted the thing was possible, so she stalked off for the +bread-pan, while Peter completed the installation by running the wire +through his door, along the roof, and twisting it about the "bit o' +rope" holding the little bottle which he fondly imagined would soon be +radiant. + +"Bain't a first-class job, but I'll finish him proper to-morrow," he +said. + +"Turn thikky tap!" cried excited Mary. "Aw, Peter, wun't the volks look +yaller when they sees 'en?" + +The folks were not destined to look yellow, but Peter and Mary were soon +looking blue when repeated turning of the tap failed to lighten their +darkness. It was not such a simple matter as tapping a cask of cider +after all. They turned and twisted until the hut was dark and dreary, +but not a farthing's worth of rush-light was produced. + +"Mebbe the wire's been and broke," suggested Peter hopefully. + +He lighted his lantern, and they tramped together down the cleave, +following the wire all the way to the river and finding it intact. +Presumably it was the waterfall which was not doing its duty. + +They returned to their gloomy huts, the one sorrowful, the other angry. +"You'm a gurt dafty-headed ole vule! That's what yew be!" cried the +angry one, when they reached the top of the cleave. + +Peter received this opinion with unwonted humility; and replied as +meekly as any Christian martyr: "He be gone wrong somehow. I'll put 'en +right to-morrow." + +"Put 'en right, will ye?" cried Mary scornfully. "How be I to mix bread' +and get supper? You'm a proper old horniwink, and I hopes the dogs 'll +have ye." + +These curses aroused Peter. He spat upon the ground, and drew mystic +figures with his boot between Mary and himself. Having done what he +could to avert the evil, he turned upon Mary and threatened her with the +lantern. She continued her insults, having lost her temper completely, +not so much because Peter had failed in his electrical engineering, as +because she had an idea he had been making a fool of her. They were both +ignorant, but one did not know it and was brazen, while the other was +aware of it and was sensitive. She went on calling him weird names, and +hoping the whist hounds would hunt him, until he lost his temper too. +They had never quarrelled so violently before, but Peter was helpless in +spite of his big threats, for Mary could have tackled and beaten two men +as strong as her little brother. When he came to close quarters she +picked him up, lantern and all, cuffed him, carried him into her hut, +and snatching up her bulging umbrella whacked him well over the head +with it. + +Peter was immediately overwhelmed, not merely by the umbrella, but with +packages which tumbled upon his shoulders, then to the floor, and were +revealed to Mary's eyes by the dull gleam of the lantern, which was +giving a very different light from that which had been anticipated from +what had been the little glass globe hanging from the roof--had been and +was not, for Mary had utterly demolished it with an upward sweep of her +immense umbrella. + +"Lord love us all!" she cried, her good-humour returning at once. "If +there hain't the tea, and sugar, and t'other things what I bought to +Goosie Vair, and thought the piskies had been and took!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +ABOUT VARIOUS EMOTIONS + + +Pendoggat stood beneath the penthouse of his peat linhay, looking at a +newspaper. The issue was dated Friday, and it contained the news of the +week; not the news of the world, which was of no local interest, but a +condensed account of the great things begun, attempted, and accomplished +in the rural districts of Devon. The name of the parish was printed in +big letters, and under it appeared the wonder of the week: how little +Willie Whidden, while tramping to school, had picked a ripe strawberry +from the hedge; or how poor old Daniel Ashplant had been summoned for +drunkenness--P.C. Copplestone stating that defendant had behaved like a +madman--and fined half-a-crown, despite his solemn oath and covenant +that he had never tasted liquor in his life. Unimportant items, such as +the meeting of Imperial Parliament, and a great railway disaster, served +as stop-gaps in cases where advertisements just failed to fill the +column. + +Pendoggat was looking for something. The testimony of a Wesleyan +minister after twenty years of faithful service, accompanied by his +photograph, caught his eye, and he thought he had found what he was +searching for. He was astonished to learn that friend and pastor Pezzack +was so popular; but when he read on he discovered it was only an +advertisement for a nerve tonic. He turned over a page, and at last came +upon the heading which he required. The title was that of a small +sub-parish north of the moor, celebrated for a recent pronouncement of +the curate-in-charge, who had congratulated the inhabitants upon their +greatly increased sobriety, as during the late year only forty-seven +persons, out of a total population of seventy-two, had been guilty of +drunkenness. Printers had blundered and mixed things up rather. A +hedge-builder had in the course of his duties come across a hole +containing a rabbit, a hedgehog, and a rat; and in the same paragraph +the Reverend Eli Pezzack had been safely married to Miss Jeconiah +Sampson, with a good deal of bell-ringing, local excitement--the bride +being well known in the neighbourhood for her untiring zeal in the +matter of chapel teas--and an exhibition of such numerous and costly +presents as a pair of brass candlesticks, an American clock, a set of +neat doyleys, and an artistic pin-tray. + +It was one of Pendoggat's peculiarities that he did not smile. His idea +of expressing pleasure was to hurt something; just as a boy in moments +of excitement may slash at anything with his stick. Pendoggat dropped +the paper suddenly, ran at a goose which was waddling across his court, +captured the big strong bird, and wrung its neck. He flung the writhing +body on the stones and kicked it in his joy. The minister could not side +against him now. He had burdened himself with a wife, and there would +soon be the additional burden of a child. Pezzack was a free man no +longer, and had become dependent upon Pendoggat for food and home and +boots. He would have to obey his master and be his faithful dog, have to +keep his mouth shut when he discovered that the nickel-mine was a fraud, +for his home's sake and his wife's sake. Pendoggat could strip him naked +at a stroke. + +Annie Crocker crossed the court towards the well with a crock in her +hand. Pendoggat noticed that her hair was growing grey, and that she was +getting slovenly. + +"Who killed that old goose?" she said, standing and staring at the big +white body. + +"I did," muttered Pendoggat. + +"You'll have to pay," she said shrilly. "That be Mary Tavy's Old Sal, +what she thinks the world of. Killed him, have ye? I wouldn't be you, +Farmer Pendoggat, when Mary comes to hear on't. Mary's as good a man as +you." + +"Shut your noise," he growled. "Who's to tell her?" + +"Who? What's my tongue for? The first time you lift your hand to me Mary +knows." + +Annie carried her crock to the well and lowered the bucket, muttering to +herself, and keeping a watchful eye upon the man who kept her; while +Pendoggat took the bird by the neck and dragged it towards the +furze-brake. He was afraid when he learnt that it was Mary's Old Sal, +for Mary was a creature whom he could not tackle. She seemed to him more +a power of Nature than a strong hermaphrodite; something like the wind, +or the torrential rain, or the storm-cloud. No commoner in his heart +disbelieves in witchcraft; and even the girls, who twist a bridal veil +across their faces when they are going to be married, know that the +face-covering is not an adornment, but a fetish or protection against +the "fascination" of the Evil Eye. + +"Going to bury him!" sneered Annie. "Aye, he bain't the only one in +there. Bury him in the vuzz till Judgment, if ye can. The Lord will send +fire from heaven one day to consume that vuzz, and all that be hidden +shall be revealed. Drag him in by the neck, du'ye? Maybe they'll be +dragging you to a hole in the ground avore long." + +She staggered across the court, splashing water like curses from the +crock, and slammed the house door violently. Pendoggat said nothing. He +bore with Anne because he was used to her, and because she knew too much +about him; but he felt he would murder her some day if he didn't get +away. He pushed the dead body of Old Sal as far into the furze as he +could with the pole that propped up the washing-line, then went into the +linhay, sat down upon the peat, and muttered hoarsely to the spiders in +the roof. + +Two things he required: the return of Pezzack, and winter. He had +received through the minister nearly two hundred pounds from the retired +grocer and his friends, and he hoped to get more; but Pezzack the +secretary was a miserable correspondent without Pendoggat's assistance, +and nothing could be done until he came back to resume the duties which +were being interfered with by the honeymoon. Frost and snow were also +essential for his plans, because the fussy grocer, to whom had been +thrown the sop of chairman of the company--a jobbing printer had +prepared an ill-spelt prospectus, and the grocer never moved a yard +without a pocketful--was continually writing to know how things were +going, and Pendoggat wanted snow as an excuse for deferring mining +operations until spring. He would have left Dartmoor before then. He was +going to take Thomasine with him, and enjoy her youth until his passion +for her cooled; and then she could look after herself; and as for Annie, +the parish would look after her. He had reckoned on getting five hundred +pounds out of the visionary mine, only those respectable people of +Bromley were so chary of parting with their money, even though they had +Pezzack's unquestioned morality and good character to rely upon. His +only fear was lest the grocer should take fright and get it into his +head that the mine was a wild-cat scheme. It was hardly likely, as +Dartmoor is to Bromley minds an unknown and almost legendary district. + +"I gave him five pounds of his uncle's money to get married on," +Pendoggat muttered, without a trace of humour. "For the next few weeks +I'll give him fifteen shillings to live on, and then he may smash, if he +can't preach his pockets full." + +He was more afraid of Annie than any one else. The suspicious nature of +women is one of their most animal-like characteristics. There had never +lived a man better able to keep a secret than Pendoggat; and yet Annie +knew there was something brewing, although he did not guess that she +knew. It was a matter of instinct, the same instinct which compels a dog +to be restless when, his master is about to go away. The animal knows +before his master begins to make any preparation for departure; and by +the same faculty Annie knew, or perhaps only guessed, that Pendoggat was +meditating how he could leave her. She was in the miserable position of +the woman who has lived for the best part of her life with a man without +being married to him, having no claim except a sentimental one upon him, +but compelled to cling to him for the sake of food and shelter, and +because he has taken everything from her whatever of charm and beauty +she might have possessed, and left her without the means of attracting +an honest man. She had passed as Mrs. Pendoggat for nearly twenty years. +Every one in the neighbourhood supposed she was married to her master. +Only he and she knew the truth: that her marriage-ring was a lie. +Pendoggat was a preacher, and a good one, people said. He was severe +upon human frailties. He preached the doctrine of eternal punishment, +and would have been the first to condemn those who straightened a +boundary wall or led a maid astray. He could not have maintained his +position had it been known that she who passed as his wife was actually +a spinster. Pendoggat did not know the truth about himself. When in the +pulpit religious zeal seized hold upon him, and he spoke from his heart, +meaning all that he said, believing it, and trying to impress it upon +the minds of his listeners. Outside the chapel his tempestuous passions +overwhelmed him. Inside the chapel he could not feel the Dartmoor winds, +although he could hear them; but the stone walls shielded him from them. +Outside they smote upon him, and there was nothing to protect him. He +was a man who lived two lives, and thought he was only living one. His +most strongly-marked characteristic, his inherent and incessant cruelty, +he overlooked entirely, not seeing it, not even knowing it was there. He +could steal a fowl from his neighbour's yard, and quote Scripture while +doing it; and the impression which would have remained in his mind was +that he had quoted Scripture, not that he had stolen the fowl. When he +thought of his conduct towards Pezzack he saw no cruelty in it. The only +thought which occurred to him was that the minister was a good man and +did his best, but that he, Pendoggat, was the better preacher of the +two. + +It was Thursday; Thomasine's evening out, and her master's day to get +drunk. Farmer Chegwidden was regular in his habits. Every Thursday, and +sometimes on Saturdays, he went to one of the villages, drank himself +stupid, and galloped home like a madman. It was a matter of custom +rather than a pleasure. He had buried his father, mother, and sister, on +different Thursdays; and it was probably the carousal which followed +each of these events which had fixed Thursday in his mind as a day for +drowning sorrow. + +Mrs. Chegwidden was one of the minor mysteries of human life. People +supposed that she lived in some shadowy kind of way, and they asked +after her health, and wondered what she was like by then; but nobody +seemed to have any clear notion concerning her. She was never visible in +the court of Town Rising, or in the garden, and yet she must have been +there sometimes. She never went to chapel, or to any other amusement. +She was like a mouse, coming out timidly when nobody was about, and +scuttling into some secret place at the sound of a footfall. She passed +her life among pots and pickle-jars, or, when she wanted a change, among +bottles and cider-casks, not drinking, or even tasting, but brewing, +preserving, pickling all the time. Chegwidden did not talk about her. He +always replied, "Her be lusty," if inquiries were made. The invisible +lady had no home talk. She was competent to remark upon the weather, and +in an occasional burst of eloquence would observe that she was troubled +with rheumatism. There are strange lives dragged out in lonely places. +No doubt Mrs. Chegwidden had been conceited once; and perhaps the +principal cause of her retirement into the dark ways and corners of Town +Rising might have been traced to the fact that she was bald. A woman +with no hair on her head is a grotesque object. Thomasine was really the +mistress of the house, and she did the work well just because she was +stupid. She worked mechanically, doing the same thing every day at the +same time. Stupid women make the best housekeepers. Thomasine was a +useful willing girl, who deserved to be well treated. Her master had not +meddled with her. + +Young Pugsley had been round to the kitchen door after dark since Goose +Fair, and had urged Thomasine to wear a ring. The poor girl was willing, +but she could not accept the offer, for more than one reason. Young +Pugsley was not a bad fellow; not the sort to go about with a revolver +in his pocket and an intention to use it if his young woman proved +fickle. His wages were rising, and he thought he could get a cottage if +Thomasine would let him court her. He admitted he was giving his company +to another girl, and should go on with his attentions if Thomasine would +not have him. The girl went back into the kitchen and began to cry; and +Pugsley shuffled after her in a docile manner and sought to embrace her +in the dark; but she pushed him off, with the saying: "I bain't good +enough for yew, Will." Pugsley felt the age of chivalry echoing within +him as he replied that he was only an everyday young chap, but if he was +willing to take her it wasn't for her to have opinions about herself; +only he couldn't hang on for ever, and she must make up her mind one way +or the other, as he was doing well, getting fourteen shillings now, and +with all that money it was his duty to get married, and if he didn't he +might get into the way of spending his evenings in the pot-house. +Thomasine only cried the more, until at last she managed to find the +words of a confession which sent him from her company for ever. On that +occasion it was fortunate for the girl that she could not think, because +the faculty of reason could have done nothing beyond suggesting to her +that the opportunity of leading a respectable life had gone from her, +like her sweetheart, never to return. + +She dressed herself in her best, and went to the old tumble-down linhay +on the moor where Brightly had taken shelter after his unfortunate +meeting with Pendoggat. She had been told to go there after dark and +wait. She did not know whether she was going to be murdered, but she +hoped not. She mended her gloves, put on her hat, twisted a feather boa +round her neck, though it would be almost as great a nuisance in the +wind as Mary's umbrella, but she had nothing else, gave a few tidying +touches to the kitchen, and stepped out. It was very dark, and the sharp +breeze pricked her hot face and made it smart. + +She reached the linhay and waited. The place smelt unpleasantly, because +beasts driven from the high moor by bad weather had taken shelter there. +A ladder led up to a small loft half filled with dry fern except in +places where moisture dripped through the roof. It was very lonely, +standing on the brow of the hill where the wind howled. A couple of owls +were hooting pleasantly at one another. No drearier spot would be found +on all Dartmoor. Thomasine felt horror creeping over her, and her warm +flesh kept on shuddering. She would not be able to wait there alone for +long. Terror would make her disobedient. She wished she had been walking +along the sheltered road by Tavy station, with young Pugsley's arm about +her waist. It was not an evening to enjoy that bald stretch of moor with +its wild wind and gaping wheals. + +A horse galloped up. The sound of its iron shoes suggested frost, and so +did the girl's breathing. She was wondering what her father was doing. +He was a village cobbler, and a strict Methodist, fairly straight +himself, and without sympathy for sinners. She moved, trod on some +filth, and cried out. A man's voice answered and told her roughly to be +quiet. Then Pendoggat groped his way in and felt towards her. + +He had come in an angry mood, prepared to punish the girl, and to make +her suffer, for having dared to flaunt with young Pugsley before his +eyes in Tavistock. He had brought his whip into the linhay, with some +notion of using it, and of drawing the girl's blood, as he had drawn it +with the sprig of gorse at the beginning of his courtship. But inside +the dreary foul-smelling place his feelings changed. Possibly it was +because he was out of the wild wind, sheltered from it by the cracked +cob walls, or perhaps he felt himself in chapel; for when he took hold +of Thomasine and pulled her to him he felt nothing but tenderness, and +the desire in him then was not to punish, nor even to rebuke her, but to +preach, to tell her something of the love of God, to point out to her +how wicked she had been to yield to him, and how certain was the doom +which would come upon her for doing so. These feelings also passed when +he had the girl in his arms, feeling her soft neck, her big lips, her +hot blood-filled cheeks, and her knees trembling against his. For the +time passion went away and Pendoggat was a lover; a weak and foolish +being, intoxicated by that which has always been to mankind, and always +must be, what the fragrance of the lime-blossom is to the bee. Even +Pendoggat had that something in him which theologians say was made in +heaven, or at least outside this earth; and he was to know in that dirty +linhay, with moisture around and dung below, the best and tenderest +moments of his life. He was to enter, if only for once, that wonderful +land of perennial spring flowers where Boodles and Aubrey wandered, +reading their fairy-tales in each other's eyes. + +"Been here long, my jewel?" he said, caressing her. + +Thomasine could see nothing except a sort of suggestion of cobwebby +breath and the outline of a man's head; but she could hear and feel; and +these faculties were sharpened by the absence of vision. She did not +know who the man was. Pendoggat had galloped up to the linhay, Pendoggat +had entered and seized her, and then had disappeared to make way for +some one else. He had, as it were, pushed young Pugsley into her arms +and left them alone together, only her old sweetheart had never caressed +her in that way, with a devotional fondness and a kind of religious +touch. Pugsley's courtship had been more in the nature of a duty. If she +had been his goddess he had worshipped her in a Protestant manner, with +rather the attitude of an agnostic going to church because it was right +and proper; but now she was receiving the full Catholic ritual of love, +the flowers, incense, and religious warmth. This was all new to +Thomasine, and it seemed to awaken something in her, some chord of +tenderness which had never been aroused before, some vague desire to +give a life of attention and devotion to some one, to any one, who would +reward her by holding her like that. + +"Who be ye?" she murmured. + +"The man who loves you, who has loved you ever since he put his eyes +upon you," he answered. "I was angry with you, my beautiful strong girl. +You went off with that young fellow at the fair when I'd told you not +to. He's not for you, my precious. You are mine, and I am going to have +you, and keep you, and bite the life out of you if you torment me. Your +mouth's as hot as fire, and your body pricks me like a furze-bush. Throw +your arms around me and hold on--hold on as tight as the devil holds us, +and let me love you like God loves." + +He buried his lips in her neck, and bit her like a dog playing with a +rabbit. + +"I waited on the bridge all day," faltered Thomasine, merely making the +statement, not venturing a reproof. She wanted to go on, and explain how +young Pugsley had forced himself upon her and compelled her to go with +him, only she could not find the words. + +"I couldn't get away from Annie. She stuck to me like a pin," he +muttered. "I'm going to get away from her this winter, leave her, go off +with you somewhere, anywhere, get off Dartmoor and go where you like. +Heaven or hell, it's the same to me, if I've got you." + +This was all strange language to Thomasine. Passion she comprehended, +but the poetry and romance of love, even in the wild and distorted form +in which it was being presented, were beyond her. She could not +understand the real meaning of the awakening of that tenderness in her, +which was the womanhood trying to respond, and to make her, like +Boodles, a creature of love, but failing because it could not get +through the mass of flesh and ignorance, just as the seed too deeply +planted can only struggle, but must fail, to grow into the light. She +felt it would be pleasant to go away with Pendoggat if he was going to +love her like that. She would be something of a lady; have a servant +under her, perhaps. Thomasine was actually thinking. She would have a +parlour to keep locked up; be the equal of the Chegwiddens; far above +the village cobbler her father, and nearly as good as the idol-maker of +Birmingham. That Pendoggat loved her was certain. He would not have lost +his senses and behaved as he had done if he did not love her. Thomasine, +like most young women, believed as much as she wanted to, believed that +men are as good as their word, and that love and brute passion are +synonymous terms. Once upon a time she had been taught how to read, +write, and reckon; and she had forgotten most of that. She had not been +taught that love is like the flower of the Agave: rare, and not always +once in a lifetime; that passion is a wayside weed everywhere. Perhaps +if she had been taught that she would not have forgotten. + +"We'll go away soon, my jewel," Pendoggat whispered. "Annie is not my +wife--you know that. I can leave her any day. My time at the Barton is +up in March, but we'll go before then." + +"Don't this old place smell mucky?" was all Thomasine had to say. + +They climbed up the ladder, and sat on the musty fern, which had made a +bed for Brightly and his bitch, and Pendoggat continued his pleasant +ways. He was in a curious state of happiness, still believing he was +with the woman that he loved. The walls of the linhay continued to be +the walls of Ebenezer and a shelter against the wind. They embraced and +sang a hymn, but softly, lest any chance passer-by should overhear and +discover them. Pendoggat knelt upon the fern and prayed aloud for their +future happiness, speaking from his heart and meaning what he said. +Thomasine was as happy as the fatted calf which knows nothing of its +fate. It was on the whole the most successful of her evenings out. She +was going to be a respectable married woman after all. Pendoggat had +sworn it in his prayer. He could do as he liked with her after that, now +that she was his in the sight of Heaven. The dirty linhay was a chapel, +and a place of love where they were married in word and deed. + +Farmer Chegwidden came thundering home from Brentor, flung across his +horse like a sack of meal, and almost as helpless. He crossed the +railway by the bridge, and his horse began to plunge over the boggy +slope of the moor. It was darker, the clouds were hurrying, and the wind +was a gale upon the rider's side as he galloped for the abandoned mines, +clinging tighter. His horse knew what Thursday-night duty meant. He knew +he had to gallop direct for Town Rising with a drunken man upon his +back, and that he must not stumble more than he could help. There was no +question as to which was the finer animal of the two. They crossed +Gibbet Hill, down towards the road above St. Mary Tavy about two hundred +yards above the linhay; and there the more intelligent animal swerved to +the right, to avoid some posts and a gravel-pit which he could not see +but knew were there; but as they came down the lower animal struck his +superior savagely upon the ear to assert his manhood, and the horse, in +starting aside, stumbled upon a ridge of peat, came to his knees, and +Farmer Chegwidden dived across the road with a flourish that an acrobat +might have envied. + +These gymnastics were no new thing, but the farmer had been lucky +hitherto and had generally alighted upon his hands. On this occasion his +shoulder and the side of his head were the first to touch ground, and he +was stunned. The horse, seeing that he could do nothing more, sensibly +trotted off towards his stable, and Farmer Chegwidden lay in a heap upon +the road after the manner of the man who went down from Jerusalem to +Jericho and fell among thieves. + +There was no good Samaritan about that part of Dartmoor; or, if there +was one, he was not taking a walk abroad with the idea of practising his +virtues. There was, indeed, no reason why any one should pass that way +before morning, as people who live in lonely places require no curfew to +send them under cover, and the night was wild with the first big wind of +autumn. Still some one did come that way, not a Levite to cross over to +the other side, but Peter, to take a keen interest in the prostrate +form. Peter had been into the village, like a foolish virgin, to seek +oil, and new lamps to put it in. All attempts to install the electric +light had continued to prove that there was still something in the +science which he had failed to master; and as the evenings were getting +long, and the light afforded by the lantern was quite inadequate, Mary +had sent him into the village to buy their old lamps back. Mother Cobley +the shopwoman said she had sold them, which was not true, but she +naturally desired to make Peter purchase new lamps. He had done so under +compulsion, and was returning with a lamp under each arm and a bottle of +oil in his pocket, somewhat late, as an important engagement at the inn +had detained him, when he stumbled across Farmer Chegwidden. He placed +his purchases upon the road, then drew near to examine the body closely. + +"He'm a dead corpse sure 'nuff," said Peter. "Who be ye?" he shouted. + +As there was neither reply nor movement the only course was to apply a +test to ascertain whether the man was living or dead. The method which +suggested itself to Peter was to apply his boot, and this he did, with +considerable energy, but without success. Then he reviled the body; but +that too was useless. + +"Get up, man! Why don't ye get up?" he shouted. + +There was no response, so Peter began to kick again; and when the figure +refused to be reanimated by such treatment he lost his temper at so much +obstinacy and went on shouting: "Get up, man! Wun't ye get up? To hell, +man! Why don't ye get up?" + +It did not appear to occur to Peter that the man could not get up. + +The next course was the very obvious one of securing those good things +which the gods had provided. Farmer Chegwidden had not much money left +in his pockets, but Peter discovered it was almost enough to pay for the +new lamps. Mary had advanced the money for them, so what Peter gained +through the farmer's misfortune was all profit. Then he picked up his +lamps, and hurried back to the village to lodge the information of the +"dead corpse lying up on Dartmoor" in the proper quarter. + +He had not been gone long when Pendoggat rode up. Thomasine had hurried +back to Town Rising by the "lower town," afraid to cross by the moor in +that wind. He too discovered the farmer, or rather his horse did; and he +too refused to pass by on the other side. Dismounting, he knelt and +struck a match. The wind blew it out at once, but the sudden flash +showed him the man's face. Chegwidden was breathing heavily, a fact +which Peter had omitted to notice. + +"Dead drunk! He can bide there," muttered Pendoggat. + +He got upon his horse and rode on. As he crossed the brow, and reached a +point where there was nothing to break the strength of the wind, he +pulled his horse round, hesitated a moment, then cantered back. The wind +was in his lungs and in his nostrils, and he was himself again, a strong +man, not a weak creature in love with a farm-wench, not a singer of +hymns nor a preacher of sermons, but a hungry animal to whom power had +been given over weak and lesser beings of the earth. + +He knelt at Chegwidden's side, and tore the clothes off him until he had +stripped him naked. He dragged the body to the side of the road and +toppled it into the gorse. The clothes he rolled up, took with him, and +higher up flung into an old mine-shaft. Then he rode on his way, +shouting, fighting with the wind. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +ABOUT A STRUGGLE AT THE GATE OF FAIRYLAND + + +Old Weevil walked about the moor, because there was no room in the +cottage or garden, and whispered to the sun: "I wish she wasn't so +happy, I wish she wouldn't laugh so, I wish she wouldn't talk about that +boy." A good many other things he wished for. Mr. Bellamie had written +to present his compliments to Abel Cain Weevil, Esquire--though the old +man was not used to that title--and to announce that he proposed giving +himself the pleasure of calling at Lewside Cottage and enjoying a little +conversation with its tenant. Weevil guessed how he would blunder +through that interview in his simple beetle-hearted way; and then he +would have to break his little girl's heart as carefully as he could. +After all she was very young, and hearts broken early can be put +together again. Plants broken off in the spring grow up as well as ever. +It is when they are broken in the late summer that there is no chance, +and no time, to mend. + +"She will feel it--like a butcher's knife," he whispered. "I was wrong +to pick her up that night. I ought to have left her. It would have been +all over long ago, and she would have been spared the knife. But no, she +is too nice, too good. She will do it! She will fight her way through! +You'll see, Abel-Cain. You watch her, my old dear! She will beat the +Brute yet." He chuckled, snapped his fingers at the sun, waved his hand +at Ger Tor, and trotted back to the cottage. + +Weevil talked in parables with the eccentricity, not of genius, but of +habit. His life had been spoilt by "the Brute." He had done what he +could to fight the monster until he had realised his utter helplessness. +And now his little maid's life was to be spoilt by the Brute, but he +thought she would succeed better than he had done, and fight her way out +into a more serene atmosphere. Old Weevil's Brute was simply cruelty, +the ugly thing that encompassed him. + +He was a silly old man in many ways. People with an intense kindness for +animals are probably freaks of Nature, who has tried to teach them to be +cruel, only they have rejected her teaching. Love for animals is, +strictly speaking, no part of the accepted religion. Hebrew literature, +so far from teaching kindness to animals, as the Koran does, recommends +the opposite; and the founder of Christianity in his dealings with +animals destroyed them. Fondness for animals began probably when men +first admitted beasts into their homes as members of the family, as the +Bedouin Arab treated his horse. Such animals developed new traits and +advanced towards a far higher state of evolution than they would have +attained under natural conditions. With higher intelligence came also a +greater sensitiveness to pain. Those animals, such as the horse and dog, +who have been brought up with men, and acquired so much from them, have +an equal right to be protected by the laws which protect men. Such were +some of Weevil's arguments, but perhaps he was mistaken. He had failed +signally to impart the doctrine of kindness to animals to his +neighbours. He went too far, a common fault among men who are obsessed +with a single idea. He attacked the rabbit-trap violently, which was +manifestly absurd, and only convinced people that he was mad. He +declared that the rabbit, caught and held in the iron jaws of the trap +to perish miserably hour by hour, must suffer agonies. He had himself +put his finger into such a trap, and was unable to bear the pain more +than ten minutes. Naturally people laughed at him. What a fool he must +be to put his finger in a trap! It had always been the custom to capture +rabbits in that savage way, and if it had been cruel the clergy would +have preached against it and the law would have prohibited it. But when +Weevil went on to assert that the rabbits had feelings he got beyond +them entirely, and they could only shake their heads at him, and feel +sorry for his insanity, and despise him for being such a bad sportsman. +Even the village constable felt he must draw the line somewhere, and +objected to paying any tribute of respect to a dafty old man who went +about telling people that rabbits could feel pain. When he met Weevil he +grinned, and looked the other way to avoid saluting him. + +Weevil spent much of his time drafting petitions to Parliament for the +abolition of various instruments of torture, but of course nobody would +sign them; and he indited lengthy screeds to humane societies upon the +same subject, and these were always courteously acknowledged and placed +on file for future reference, which was another way of saying that they +would not be looked at again. He was himself a member of one society, +and some years back had induced it to prosecute a huntsman who had been +guilty of gross cruelty to a cat; but as the man was popular, and the +master of the hounds was upon the Bench in the company of other +sportsmen, the prosecution failed, although the offence was not denied; +and old Weevil had his windows broken the next day. After that he +quieted down, acknowledging that victory must remain with the strong. He +went on preparing his indictments, writing his letters, and drafting his +useless petitions; and whenever he discovered a rabbit-trap in his walks +he promptly sprung it; and if the river happened to be handy, and nobody +was about, that trap disappeared for ever. + +It was unfortunate for Weevil that he was more eccentric in appearance +than in habits. He had a comic face and a nervous smile. The more in +earnest he was the more he grinned; and that helped to convince people +of his insanity. Then he was a loose character, and had evidently +enjoyed a lurid past. People were not going to be lectured by a wicked +old fellow, with a face like a rag-doll and a foolish smile, who lived +in a small cottage with an illegitimate daughter. Weevil had never +openly denied the paternity; he did not want it to be known that Boodles +was a child of shame for her own sake; and he was in his heart rather +proud to think people believed he was the father of such a radiant +little maid. + +"You must do it," he said, as he trotted into the cottage. "You must +prepare the child, Abel-Cain. Don't be a fool now." + +The little sitting-room was very neat. Boodles was not there, but +visible tokens of her industry were everywhere. A big bowl of late +heather from the moor, with rowan and dogwood berries from Tavy woods, +stood upon the table. A little stocking, rather plentifully darned, was +being darned again. A blotting-book was open, and a sheet of paper was +upon it, and all that was written on the sheet was the beginning of a +letter: "My dearest Boy," that and nothing more. It would have been a +pretty little room had it not been for that sheet of paper. The silly +old man bent over it, and a very good imitation of a tear splashed upon +the "dearest Boy" and blotted it out. "You must not be such an old fool, +Abel-Cain," he said, in his kindly scolding voice. + +Then Boodles came in laughing, with a head like the rising sun. She had +been washing her hair, and it was hanging down to dry, and sparkling in +the strong light just as the broken granite on Dartmoor sparkles when +the sun casts a beam across and seems to fill the path with diamonds. + +"Oh, what a grumpy face, old man!" she cried. "Such a toothachy face for +as butiful a morning as ever was! Have you been cruel and caught a wee +mousie and hurt it so much that you couldn't let it go? I think I shall +throw away that trap and get a benevolent pussycat instead." + +Lewside Cottage was infested with mice, very much as Hamelin town was +once overrun with rats, and as Weevil could not pipe them into the Tavy +he had invested in a humane trap which caught the little victims alive. +Then the difficulty of disposing of them arose. Weevil solved it in a +simple fashion. He caught a mouse every night and let it go in the +morning. In spite of these methods of extermination the creatures +continued to increase and multiply. + +"I was going out this afternoon," said Boodles, tugging at her hair with +a comb. "But if you have got one of your umpy-umpy fits I shall stop at +home. I want to go, daddy-man, 'cause my boy hasn't got much longer at +home, and he says it is nice to have Boodles with him, and Boodles +thinks, it is nice too." + +"Boodle-oodle, my darling," quavered Weevil, "the sun may be shining +outside, but it is damp and clammy in here. The Brute has got hold of me +again." + +"No, it isn't clamp and dammy, daddy," she laughed. "It's only a stupid +old cloud going by. There are lots of butterflies, if you will look out. +See! I can nearly tread upon my hair. Isn't it butiful?" + +"You must try and grow up, little girl." + +"Not till I'm twenty," said she. + +"You mustn't laugh so much, my little maid." + +"Why, daddy?" she cried quickly. "You mustn't say that. Oh, I don't +laugh too much; I couldn't. I'm not always so very happy when I laugh, +because it's not always afternoon out with me, but it does us good to +make believe, and I thought it helped you to forget things. You telling +me I mustn't laugh! You've been and killed a mouse." + +"They say fair-haired girls don't feel it like the dark-haired ones," +muttered Weevil. + +"What are you talking about?" cried Boodles. She had stopped laughing. +The clouds were coming up all round and it was nearly snow time; and +there is little laughter in a Dartmoor winter. "Is it the Brute, daddy?" +she said sympathetically. + +"Yes, Boodle-oodle," said the sorrowful old man, with his nervous grin. +"It is the Brute." + +"I wish you could catch him in your trap. You wouldn't let him go," said +Boodles, with a little smile. + +Weevil was kneeling at the table, his comic head jerking from side to +side, while his fingers tried to make a paper-boat out of the "dearest +Boy" sheet of note-paper. + +"I want to talk to you, my little maid," he said. "I want to remind you +that we cannot get away from the Brute. I came to this lonely cottage to +hide from him, because he was making my life miserable. I could not go +out without meeting him. But it was no good. Boodles. Doors and bolts +won't keep him out. Do you know why? It is because he is a part of +ourselves." + +"Such nonsense," said she. "Silly old man to call yourself cruel." + +"The Brute is only ourself after all. I cannot put my foot to the ground +without crushing some insect. I cannot see the use of it--this prolific +creation of things, this waste of life. It drives me nearly mad, +tortures me, makes me a brute to myself." + +"But you're such a--what do you call it?--such a whole-hogger," said the +child. "Try and not worry, daddy. You only make yourself wretched, and +you make me wretched too, and then you're being cruel to me--and that's +how things get cold and foggy," said she. "May I laugh now?" + +"No, Boodles," he said, quite sternly. "I was cruel when I picked you up +that night and brought you in." + +The girl winced a little. She wanted to forget all about that. + +"Nature preserves only that she may destroy," he rambled on. "Take the +plants--" + +"I've taken them," broke in Boodles merrily. + +"Be serious, Boodle-oodle," said the old man, grinning worse than ever. +"The one and only duty of the flower is to bear seed, and when it has +done that it is killed, and that it may do so Nature protects it in a +number of different ways, many of which cause suffering to others. Some +plants are provided with thorns, others with stinging-cells, others with +poison, so that they shall not be destroyed by animals. These are +generally the less common plants. Those that are common are unprotected, +because they are so numerous that some are certain to survive. All the +plants of the desert have thorns, because vegetation is so scarce there +that any unprotected plant would soon be devoured. The rabbit is an +utterly defenceless creature among animals, and almost every living +thing is its enemy; but lest the animal should cease to survive Nature +compels it to breed rapidly. Surely it would have been kinder to have +given it the means of protecting itself. I cannot understand it, +Boodles. There seems to be no fixed law, no limit to Nature's cruelty, +although there is to her kindness. The world is a bloody field of +battle; everything fighting for life; a pitiful drama of cowardice right +through. I don't know whether I am talking nonsense, Boodles. I expect I +am, but I can't speak calmly about these things, I lose control over +myself, and want to hit my head against the wall." + +Boodles slipped her arm about his neck and patted his white whiskers. +The paper-boat was a heap of pulp by this time. + +"Now it's my turn," she said gaily. "Let Boodles preach, and let old men +be silent. Dear old thing, there are lots of queer puzzles, and I'm sure +it is best to leave them all alone. 'Let 'em bide,' as Mary would say. +We can't know much, and it's no use trying. You might as well worry your +dear white head about the queer thing called eternity. You start, and +you go round, and then you go round again faster until you begin to +whirl, and you see stars, and your head aches--that's as far as you can +ever get when you think about queer puzzles. And that's all I've got to +say. Don't you think it rather a good sermon for a babe and suckling?" + +"It's no use. She doesn't see what I'm driving at," muttered poor old +Weevil. + +"My hair is nearly dry. I think I'll go and do it up now," said Boodles. +"I'm going to wear my white muslin. Shan't I look nice?" + +"She doesn't know why she looks nice," murmured the silly old man. "It +is Nature's cruel trick to make her attract young men. Just as the +flowers are given sweetness to attract the fertilising bee. There it is +again--no fixed law. Every sweet flower attracts its bees, but it is not +every sweet girl who may." + +"What's all that about bees?" laughed Boodles. "Oh, I forgot! I'm not to +laugh." + +"Boodle-oodle, do try and take things seriously. Do try and remember," +he pleaded. + +"Remember--what?" she said. + +"We cannot get away from the Brute." + +"But I'm not going to be grumpy until I have to," she said. "It would be +such nonsense. I expect there will be lots of worries later on. I must +be happy while I can. Girls ought not to be told anything about +unhappiness until they are twenty. There ought to be a law made to +punish any one who made a little girl grumpy. If there was you would go +to prison, old man." + +"You must think, Boodles. We are putting it off too long--the question +of your future," he said blunderingly. Now he had got at the subject! "I +am getting old, I have only an annuity, and there will be nothing for +you when I die. I do not know what I shall do without you, but I must +send you away, and have you trained for a nurse, or something of the +kind. It will be bad to be alone again, with the Brute waiting for me at +every corner, but worse to think of you left unprovided for." + +"My dear daddy-man," sighed Boodles, with wide-open eyes. "So that's the +trouble! Aren't you worrying your dear old head about another queer +puzzle? I don't think I shall have to work very dreadful hard for my +living." + +"Why not?" said the old man, hoping his voice was stern. + +"Why?" murmured Boodles prettily. "Well, you know, dear old silly, some +one says that my head is lovely, and my skin is golden, and I'm such a +jolly nice little girl--and I won't repeat it all, or I might swell up +with pride, and you might believe it and find out what an angel you have +been keeping unawares--" + +"Believe," he broke in, catching at the straw as he went down with a +gurgle. "You mustn't believe too much, Boodle-oodle. You are so young. +You don't in the least know what is going to happen to you." + +"Of course I know," declared Boodles; "I'm going to marry Aubrey when +I'm twenty." + +"But his parents--" began Weevil, clutching at the edge of the table, +and wondering what made it feel so sharp. + +"They are dears," said Boodles. "Such nice pretty people, and so kind. +He is just an old Aubrey, and I expect he had the same girl's face when +he fell in love with his wife. She's so fragile, with beautiful big +eyes. It's such a lovely house. Much too good for me." + +"That's just it," he said eagerly, wishing she would not be dense. "It's +much too good for you, darling." + +"Yes, but I don't think you ought to say it," pouted Boodles. + +"We are ordinary people. I am not quite what the Bellamies would call a +gentleman. My father was only a piano-maker," old Weevil faltered, +hoping that the girl would think of her unknown parents when she heard +him refer to his. "I went to a grammar-school, then became a bank-clerk +until I was shelved, partly on account of my grey hairs, but chiefly +because I hit the cashier on the head with a ruler for kicking a dog. I +could not go into Mr. Bellamie's house, Boodles. It is too good for both +of us. There is nothing to be ashamed of in my name, but it is not a +genteel one. We are only unimportant beetles, and the Bellamies are big +bugs," he said, laughing in spite of his feelings at his joke because it +was so seldom that he made one. + +"Aubrey knows all about it. He doesn't care," declared Boodles, nodding +cheerfully. "Besides, I'm not really your daughter anyhow." + +Weevil gasped at her innocent impertinence. Here he was trying to make +her understand that she was a nameless little lady who could not +possibly marry any one of gentle birth, and she was calmly suggesting +she might be superior to him. It was only a thoughtless remark, but it +served to show him that nothing but plain speaking would serve with a +girl in love. She looked at everything through Aubrey's eyes; and Aubrey +was only a boy who could hardly know his own mind. A boy does not care +whether his sweetheart's father is a tinker or a rake; but a man, and an +only son, who has reached an age when he can understand what his family +and society and his profession demand of him, cares a great deal. There +comes a time for every young person when he or she must leave fairyland +and go into the world; and the pity of it is they cannot return. They +look back, but the gate is shut. It is a gate which opens only one +way--to exclude. For every child is born inside. They grow up, and see +their children in that pleasant land, and wish they could join them +there; but if they could go back they would not be happy, for it would +be to them no longer a place of romance and sunshine, but a place of +shadow, and dead selves, and memories. It would not be spring, with +primroses and bluebells in flower, but a Christmas Eve when the dead +life and the dead companions haunt the house, and grim Mother Holle is +plucking her geese and dropping the feathers down the chimney. Aubrey at +twenty adored Boodles. Aubrey at thirty might worry his head about her +parents and her birth-name. Boodles at thirty would be the same as she +was then, loving, and wanting nothing else. Weevil was right in some of +his theories. Every one must suffer from the Brute, except those who +deserve it most. The innocent have to suffer for them. Boodles too was +right. It is no use trying to solve queer puzzles. + +"No, darling; you are not my daughter. I wish you were. I wish you +were." + +"You are too old, daddy-man--at least rather too old," said Boodles +gently. "I should have been born when you were past fifty. Why, what's +the matter? You are dreadful funny to-day, old man." + +Weevil had jumped up nimbly, and running to the window poked his head +out to gulp into his lungs a good mouthful of air. He ran back to the +astonished little girl, took her by the shoulders, shook her severely, +grinned at her; then he stumbled back into his chair and began to laugh +furiously. + +"Shall I tell you a story, Boodle-oodle, a beautiful story of a little +girl who wasn't what she thought she was, though she didn't know who she +was, and didn't care, and wouldn't think, and couldn't listen when +people tried to tell her? Shall I tell you all that, darling?" + +"Not now," gasped Boodles. "I must go and dress. And I shall laugh as +much as I like--mean old thing! Telling me I mustn't laugh, and then +shaking the house down. Dad, if you go on making explosions you'll bring +up rain-clouds, and my afternoon will be spoilt, and so will my frock; +and then I shall have to tell you a story of a horrid old man, who +wasn't a bit like what he hoped his daughter thought he was, though he +didn't know how horrid he was, and didn't care, and wouldn't listen when +people tried to tell him. Well, I'll give you a kiss anyhow, though you +are mad." + +"Not daughter," cried the excited old man. "Remember you are not my +daughter, Boodles." + +"I know. You needn't rub it in." + +"I've got the Brute! I've got him by the neck. He's made me suffer, but +I'll pay him now. Run away, darling. Run away and put on your white +muslin. Laugh as much as you can, and be as pretty as you like. The +Brute shan't touch you. I'll put a muzzle on him. Don't forget to tell +them I am not your father. I've got the whole story in my head. Run +away, little girl, while I think it out." + +Boodles was used to these fits, but usually she understood them. They +were generally provoked by rabbit-traps. She could not understand this +one. Evidently the old man had got hold of something new; but she +couldn't stop any longer, as it was nearly time to go down to the Tavy +and turn up the stones to look for fairies. + +Weevil certainly had got hold of something new. When Boodles had gone he +jumped up and locked the door. Then he looked at his watch. Mr. Bellamie +might arrive at any time; and he was not nearly ready. He began to jump +about the room in a most eccentric way, snapping his fingers, and +grinning at his comic features in the mantel-glass. + +"You've got to be a liar, Abel-Cain, the worst liar that ever lived, as +big a rogue as your namesake Cain, who murdered your namesake Abel. +You're an old man, and you ought not to do it, but if lies can save her +from the Brute lies shall. They'll punish you for it when you're dead, +but if she is saved no matter, none at all. I shall tell them they ought +not to have created the Brute. I won't be afraid of them. Now you +mustn't make a mess of it. I'm afraid you will, Abel-Cain. You're a +shocking old fool sometimes. Put it all down--write it out, then learn +it by heart. The old hands are shaking so. Steady yourself, old fool, +for her sake, for the sake of that pretty laugh. Come along now! +Abel-Cain _versus_ the Brute. We must begin with the marriage." + +He pressed his cold hands upon his hot face, and began to scribble +tremulously on the paper. + +"You were married at the age of twenty-five to a girl who was superior +to you socially. Her name--let me see--what was her name? You must find +one that sounds well. Fitzalan is a good name. You married Miss Fitzalan +at--at, why, of course, St. George's, Hanover Square. She's dead now. +She died of--of, well, it don't matter; she's dead. We had a daughter, +or was it a son? Better keep to one sex, and then there will be no +saying hims for hers, and you mustn't get confused, Abel-Cain, you must +keep your brain as clear as glass. We had a daughter, and called +her--now it must be something easy to remember. Titania is a pretty +name. We called her Tita for short, Titania Fitzalan-Weevil That's it! +You are doing it, Abel-Cain! Keep it up, you old liar. He'll be here +presently. You took the name of Fitzalan-Weevil because it sounded +better, but when your wife died you went back to your own. She was +buried in Hendon churchyard. You don't know why it should be Hendon. Ah +yes, you do, Abel-Cain. Don't you remember how you used to walk along +that road on Sundays and holidays, and have some bread and cheese in the +little tea-garden at Edgware; and then by Mill Hill and Arkley to +Barnet, and back by Hampstead Heath to your lodgings in Kentish Town? +That's why your wife was buried in Hendon churchyard. Then Titania was +married, a very grand marriage, Hanover Square again. It's a pity you +haven't got the press-cuttings, but they are lost--burnt, or something +of the sort--and Titania's husband was the youngest son of the Earl +of--No, that won't do. You mustn't lie too high, or you'll spoil the +story. He was Mr. Lascelles, Harold Lascelles, second son of the late +Reverend Henry Arthur Lascelles, sometime rector of St. Michael's, +Cornhill, and honorary canon of St. Paul's Cathedral. Drag the clergy +in, Abel-Cain. It's respectable. They lived in Switzerland for his +health. You remember he was rather delicate, and Titania wasn't very +strong either; and Boodles was born there. It's working out fine. You +can't be her father, but you can be her grandfather. Boodles was born in +Lausanne, at the hotel where Gibbons wrote his history. + +"Now you come to the mystery; there must be a mystery about Boodles, but +it must be respectable, a tragedy in high life, a regrettable incident, +not a shameful episode. Titania disappeared. What happened to her nobody +knows. You don't know, and Harold doesn't know. She may have gone for a +walk in the mountains and never come back, or she may have gone out in a +boat on Lake Geneva and been drowned, or she may have been murdered by a +madman in a pine-wood. It was all very sad and dreadful, and has +naturally cast a cloud over Boodles's life, though she knows nothing +about it, as she was scarcely a year old when her mother disappeared. +You have never got over it, Abel-Cain, and you don't think you ever +will, as Titania was your only child. You couldn't bear to keep any of +her photographs, so you destroyed them all. + +"Now there is Harold. You can't kill him, Abel-Cain. So much mortality +might be suspicious, and if you let him marry again that would mean a +lot more names to remember. Harold went into the Catholic Church and +became a priest. At the present time he is in charge of a mission in +British Guiana. That's a good long way off, but you must look it up in +the map and make sure where it is." + +The old man leaned back and mopped his face. He was working under a kind +of inspiration, and was afraid it might die out before he had got to the +end of the story. Again he plunged into the narrative, and continued-- + +"Harold didn't know what to do with Boodles. Young Catholic priests +cannot be bothered with babies, so he sent her to you, to old +grandfather, and asked you to bring her up. He couldn't pay anything, as +he had devoted his fortune to building a church and establishing his +mission, and besides, you didn't need it in those days, He was a good +fellow, Harold, an earnest, devoted man, but you haven't heard anything +of him for a long time. You called the child Boodles when she was a baby +because it was the sort of name that seemed to suit her, and you have +never got out of it. Her real name is--There must be a lot of them. They +always have a lot in high life. No girl with a long string of names +could be anything but well-born. Her name is Titania Katherine Mary +Fitzalan-Lascelles." + +He read out the list again and again, grinning and crying at the same +time, and chuckling joyfully: "There's nothing of the Weevil in her +now." + +"Then there came the smash," he went on, resuming his pen to add the +finishing touches to the story. "You lost your money. It was gold-mines. +That is quite safe. One always loses money in gold-mines, and you were +never much of a man of business, always ready to listen to any one, and +so you were caught. You retired with what little you could reclaim from +the wreck of your shattered fortunes--that's a fine sentence. You must +get that by heart. It would convince any one that you couldn't tell a +lie. You retired, broken in health and mind and fortune, to this little +cottage on Dartmoor, and you have lived here ever since with Boodles, +whom you have brought up to the best of your ability, although you have +lacked the means to give her that education to which she is entitled by +her name and birth. It is almost unnecessary to add, Abel-Cain," he +concluded, "that you have told the child nothing about her parents lest +she should become dissatisfied with her present humble position. You are +keeping it all from her until she comes of age." + +It was finished. Weevil stared at the blotted manuscript, jabbered over +it, and decided that it was a strong and careful piece of work which +would deceive any one, even the proudest father of an only son who was +much too precious to be thrown away. He was still jabbering when there +were noises outside the door, and he hurried to open it, and discovered +Titania Katherine Mary Fitzalan-Lascelles, looking every syllable of her +names; her beautiful hair coiled under her poppy-trimmed hat, the white +muslin about her dainty limbs, her lips and little nostrils sweet enough +to attract bees with their suggestion of honey, and about her that +wonderful atmosphere of perfect freshness which is the monopoly of such +pretty creatures as herself. + +"You're looking quite wild, old man. What have you been doing?" she +said. + +"Story-writing. About the little girl who--" + +"I can't stop to listen. I must hurry. I just came to say good-bye," she +said, putting up her mouth. "Be good while I am gone. Don't fall into +the fire or play with the matches. You can say if this frock suits me." + +"If I was a boy I shouldn't bother whether it suited you or not," said +Weevil, nodding at her violently. + +"But as you are only an old daddy-man?" she suggested. + +"It will do, Boodle-oodle. Sackcloth would look quite as well--on you." + +"I'll wear sackcloth presently; when Aubrey goes and winter comes," she +laughed. + +Weevil became excited again. He wished she would not make such heedless +and innocent remarks. They suggested the possibility of weak points in +his amazing story. Another unpleasant idea occurred as he looked at the +charming little maid. She was always walking about the moor alone. The +Brute might seize her in one of his Protean forms, and she might +disappear just as her fictitious mother had done. Weevil had invoked his +imagination, and as a result all sorts of ghostly things occurred to his +mind to which it had been a stranger hitherto. There were traps lying +about for girls as well as rabbits. + +"Where are you going, little radiance?" he said. + +"Down by the Tavy. Our walk. We have only one." + +Boodles answered from the door, and then she went. She had only one +walk. On all Dartmoor there was only one. Weevil caught up his +manuscript and began to jabber again. She must not have that one walk +taken away from her. + +For two hours he worked, like a student on the brink of an examination, +trying to commit his story to memory. Each time he read the fictions +they became to him more probable. He scarcely knew himself what a +miserable memory he had, but he was well aware how nervous he could be +in the presence of strangers, and how liable he was to be confused when +any special eccentricity asserted itself. As the time when his visitor +might be expected approached he went and put on his best clothes, tidied +himself, brushed his hair and whiskers, tried to make himself look less +like a Hindoo idol, burnished his queer face with scented soap, and +practised a few genteel attitudes before the glass. He hoped somebody +had told Mr. Bellamie he was eccentric. + +Weevil was still poring over his manuscript when the visitor arrived. +With a frantic gesture the old man went to admit him. People were not +announced in that household. Mr. Bellamie entered with a kindly +handshake and a courteous manner; but his impressions were at once +unfavourable. Well-bred men tell much by a glance. The grotesque host, +the pictures, furniture, and ornaments, were alike inartistic. Mr. +Bellamie was a perfect gentleman. He had come merely as a matter of duty +to make the acquaintance of the tenant of Lewside Cottage, not because +it was a pleasure, but he had received Boodles at his house, and his +son's attachment for the little girl was becoming serious. He could not +definitely oppose himself to Aubrey's love-making until he had +ascertained what manner of people the Weevils were. The pictures and +ornaments told him. The cottage represented poverty, but it was hardly +genteel poverty. A poor gentleman's possessions proclaim his station as +clearly as those of a retired pork-butcher betray his lack of taste. A +few good engravings, a shelf or two of classical works, and a cabinet of +old china, would have done more for Boodles than all the wild romances +of her putative grandfather. + +"You have a glorious view," said the visitor, turning his back upon art +that was degraded and rejoicing in that which was natural. "I have been +admiring it all the way up from the station. But you must get the wind +in the winter time." + +"Yes, a great deal of it. But it is very fine and healthy, and we have +our windows open most days. Tita insists upon it." + +"Tita?" questioned Mr. Bellamie, turning and looking puzzled. "I +understood that--" + +"Her name is not Boodles," said Weevil decidedly. "That is only a pet +name I gave her when she was a baby, and I have never been able to break +myself of it. She is my grand-daughter, Mr. Bellamie, and her name is +Titania Katherine Mary Fitzalan-Lascelles," he said, reading carefully +from the manuscript. "I think she must have inherited her love of open +windows and fresh air from her father, who was the Reverend Henry--no, I +mean Harold Lascelles, second son of the Reverend Henry Arthur +Lascelles--the late, I should have said--sometime Director of St. +Michael's, Cornhill, and minor canon--no, honorary--honorary canon of +St. Paul's Cathedral. He was rather delicate and lived in Switzerland a +good deal, and died there--no, he didn't, that was Tita's mother. He is +in charge of a Catholic mission in British Guiana." + +Polite astonishment was upon every feature of the visitor's fragile +face. He had not come there to talk about Boodles, but to see Weevil and +Lewside Cottage, that he might judge for himself whether the girl could +by any chance be considered a suitable subject for Aubrey's adoration; +to look at the pictures, and make a few conventional remarks upon the +view and the weather; then to return home and report to his wife. He had +certainly not expected to find Weevil bubbling over with family history, +pedigrees, and social intelligence, regarding the child whom he had been +led to suppose was not related to him. Mr. Bellamie glanced at Weevil's +excited face, at the pencil he held in one hand and at the sheet of +paper in the other; and just then he didn't know what to think. Then he +said quietly: "I will sit down if I may. That long hill from the station +was rather an ordeal. As you have mentioned your--your grand-daughter, I +believe you said, you will, I hope, forgive me if I express a little +surprise, as the girl--and a very pretty and charming girl she is--came +to see us one day, and on that occasion she distinctly mentioned that +she knew nothing of her parents." + +Mr. Bellamie would have murmured on in his gentle brook-like way, but +Weevil could not suppress himself. While the visitor was speaking he +made noises like a soda-water bottle which is about to eject its cork; +and at the first opportunity he exploded, and his lying words and broken +bits of story flew all about the room. + +"Quite true, Mr. Bellamie. Boodles--I mean Tita--was telling you the +truth. I have never known her to do the contrary. She has been told +nothing whatever of her parents, does not know that her daughter was my +mother--" + +"You mean that her mother was your daughter," interposed the gentle +guest. + +"Yes, Mr. Bellamie, that is what I did mean, but I am rather confused. +She does not know that her father is living, nor that her rightful name +is Lascelles, nor that her paternal grandfather was the rector of St. +Michael's, Cornhill, and prebendary of St. Paul's Cathedral--" + +"I understood you to say honorary canon," murmured the visitor. + +"I am not certain," cried the excited old man, who was by no means sure +what a prebendary might be. "It is a long time ago, and some of the +facts are not very clear in my mind. You can easily find out," he went +on recklessly. "The Reverend Canon Lascelles was a very well-known man. +He wrote a number of learned books. I believe he refused a bishopric. +Let me see. I was telling you about my little maid. I have kept +everything from her because I feared she might be upset if she knew the +truth and found out who she was. She mightn't be satisfied to go on +living in this little cottage with a poor shabby old man like me, if she +knew how well born she was. I am going to tell her everything when she +is twenty-one, and then she can choose for herself, whether to remain +with me, or to join her father if he wants her in British Guiana." + +"There must be some reason," suggested Mr. Bellamie gently, with another +wondering glance at Weevil's surprising aspect. "I am not seeking to +intrude into any family secret, but you have introduced this subject, +and you must permit me to say that I feel interested in the little girl +on account of my son's--er--friendship with her." + +"I was just coming to it," cried Weevil, exploding again. He was warmed +up by this time. He had lost his nervousness, felt he was playing a +winning game, and believed he had the story pat. The lies had stuck in +his throat at first, as he was a naturally truthful man, but they were +coming along glibly now. "You have a right to be told. There is a little +mystery about Tita's mother. They were living in Lausanne--Tita was born +in the hotel where Gibbings wrote his history--and one day her mother +went out and disappeared. She has never been heard of since that day. It +is supposed she went for a walk in the mountains. Perhaps she fell down +a glacier," he added, brilliantly inspired. + +"A crevasse," corrected Mr. Bellamie mildly. "It is hardly likely. +Lausanne is not quite among the mountains." + +Weevil had not known that. Hurriedly he suggested a fatal boating trip +upon the lake of Geneva, and was relieved when the visitor admitted in a +slightly incredulous manner that was more probable. + +"You have interested me very much," he went on, "and surprised me. You +are the girl's grandfather on the mother's side?" + +"Yes; and now I must tell you something about myself," said Weevil, with +a hurried glance at his notes which the visitor could not help +observing. "I am not your social equal, Mr. Bellamie, and I cannot +pretend to be. I have not enjoyed the advantages of a public-school and +university education, but I was left with a fortune from my father, who +was a manufacturer of pianos, at an early age, and I then contracted a +marriage with a lady who was slightly older than myself, and very much +my superior socially, mentally--possibly physically," he added, with +another inspiration, as he caught sight of his comic face in the +mantel-glass. "Her name was Miss Fitzalan, and we were married at St. +George's, Hanover Square." + +The visitor inclined his head, and did so just in time to conceal a +smile. Weevil was overacting the part. He was placing an emphasis on +every word. In his excitement he dropped the manuscript, without which +he was helpless. It fluttered to Mr. Bellamie's feet, and before Weevil +could recover it the visitor had a distinct recollection of having read: +"Your wife was buried in Hendon churchyard." It was strange, he thought, +that a man should require to make a note of his wife's burying-place. + +"Titania was our only child," Weevil went on, after refreshing his +memory, like a public speaker, with his notes. "She was something like +Boodles, only her hair was flaxen, and she was taller and more slim. I +am sorry I have not a photograph of her, but after her tragic +disappearance I burnt them all. I could not bear to look at them. There +was one of her in court dress which you would have liked. Some time +after my wife's death I lost my money in gold-mines. It was my own +fault. I was foolish, and I listened to the advice of knaves. I came +here with what little I could reclaim from the wreck of my shattered +fortunes," he said, pausing to notice the effect of that tremendous +sentence, and then repeating it with added emphasis. "I settled here, +and Father Lascelles, as he was by then, sent me my grandchild and asked +me to bring her up as my own. At first I shrank from the responsibility, +as I had not the means to educate her as her birth and name require, but +I have been given cause every day of my life since to be thankful that I +did accept, for she has been the light of my eyes, Mr. Bellamie, the +light and the apple of my eyes." + +Weevil sank into a chair and wiped his face. His task was done, he had +told his story; and he fully believed that Boodles was safe and that the +Brute was conquered. The visitor was looking into the interior of his +hat. He seemed to have found something artistic there. He coughed, and +in his gentle well-bred way observed: "Thank you, Mr. Weevil. You have +told me a piece of very interesting family history." + +Weevil detected nothing of a suspicious or ironical nature in that +admission. He nursed his knee, and wagged his head, and grinned +triumphantly as he replied in a naive fashion: "I took the name of +Fitzalan-Weevil after my marriage, because I thought it sounded better, +but after I lost my wife and fortune I went back to my own." + +Mr. Bellamie took another glance round the room, just to make sure he +had missed nothing. There might be some little gem of a picture in a +dark corner, or a cracked bit of Wedgwood ware, which he had overlooked +in the former survey. There might be some redeeming thing, he thought, +in the environment which would fit in with the amazing story. The same +inartistic features met his eyes: Weevil pictures, Weevil furniture, +Weevil carpet and wall-paper. There was nothing to represent the family +of Fitzalan or the family of Lascelles. The simple old liar did not know +what a powerful advocate was fighting against him, and how his poor +little home was giving verdict and judgment against him. The visitor +completed his survey, turned his attention to the old man, regarding him +partly with contempt and pity, chiefly in admiration. Then he took out +his trap and set it cleverly where Weevil could hardly fail to blunder +into it. + +"I think I knew Canon Lascelles a good many years ago," he said in his +gentle non-combative voice. "He was a curious-looking man, if I remember +rightly. Tall, stooping very much, with a red face which contrasted +strangely with his white hair, and he had a trick of snapping his +fingers loudly when excited. Do you recognise the portrait?" + +Old Weevil gasped, said he did, declared it was life-like, and then +fumbled for his manuscript. Hadn't he made any notes on that subject? +There was nothing to help him in the inky scrawl. He was being examined +upon unprepared subjects. So there had been a Canon Lascelles in real +life, and Mr. Bellamie had known him. Well, there was nothing for it but +to agree to all that was said. His imagination would not work upon the +spur of the moment, and if he tried to force it he would be sure to +contradict himself or become confused. He replied that he distinctly +remembered the Canon's trick of snapping his fingers loudly when +excited. + +"Your daughter married the second son Harold. Of course you knew Philip +the eldest. I think his name was Philip?" + +"Quite right, Mr. Bellamie, quite right. Philip it was. He went into the +Army," gasped Weevil. + +"Surely not," said Mr. Bellamie. "Excuse me for contradicting you, but I +know he went into the Navy, and I think he is now a captain. Aubrey will +tell me. Very possibly my son has met Captain Lascelles, and may indeed +have served under him." + +Weevil was trying to look contemplative, but succeeding badly. He was +digging new ground and striking roots everywhere. There was nothing for +it but to admit his mistake. He was old and forgetful. He had probably +been thinking of some one else. Of course Philip Lascelles went into the +Navy. He had heard nothing of him for years, and was very glad to hear +he had risen to the rank of captain. + +"Then there was a daughter. Only one, I think?" Mr. Bellamie continued, +in his pleasant conversational way. + +"That's right," agreed Weevil, longing to add something descriptive, but +not venturing. He was not going to be caught again. + +"Edith?" suggested the visitor. "I think the name was Edith." + +"No," cried Weevil determinedly--he could not resist it; "Katherine. She +was the godmother of Boodles--Tita, I mean--and the child was named +after her." + +"Yes, it is my mistake this time. Katherine of course," agreed Mr. +Bellamie. "But I am certain she was the eldest child, and she married +young and went to India. She must have been in India when your +grandchild was born." + +"She came over for the ceremony. Harold was her favourite brother, and +when she heard of Tita's birth she came to London as fast as she could," +cried Weevil, not realising what a wild thing he was saying. + +"To London!" murmured Mr. Bellamie. "The child was baptised at St. +Michael's, Cornhill?" he added swiftly. + +"No, in Hendon church." + +"I thought you said she was born in Lausanne at the Hotel Gibbon?" + +"So she was," gasped Weevil, perspiring and distraught. "I mean she was +buried in Hendon churchyard." + +"What! the little girl--Boodles!" said Mr. Bellamie, laughing gently. + +"No, my wife. We were married there." Weevil did not know what he was +saying. The pictures and ornaments, which had been his undoing, were +dancing about before his eyes. + +"You are getting confused," said the gentle visitor. "I understood you +to say you were married at St. George's, Hanover Square." + +"Ah, but I used to go to Hendon," said Weevil eagerly, nodding, and +grinning, and speaking the truth at last. "I used to walk out there on +Sundays and holidays, and have bread and cheese in a tea-garden at +Edgware, and then go on by Mill Hill and Arkley and round to Barnet, and +back across Hampstead Heath to my lodgings in Kentish Town. I was very +fond of that walk, but I couldn't do it now, sir. It would be much too +far for an old man like me." + +Weevil was happy again. He thought he had succeeded in changing the +subject, and getting away from the fictitious family of Lascelles. Mr. +Bellamie was satisfied too. Canon Lascelles was a fiction with him also. +The pictures and furniture had given truthful evidence. Weevil was a +fraud, but such a well-meaning pitiable old humbug that the visitor +could not feel angry. They had fenced at each other with fictions, and +in such delicate play Weevil had not much chance; and his latest and +only truthful admission had done for him entirely. Gentlemen of means do +not walk up the Edgware Road on Sundays and holidays, and partake of +bread and cheese in suburban tea-gardens, and then return to lodgings in +Kentish Town. + +"Thank you for what you have told me," said Mr. Bellamie, rising and +looking into his hat; and then, succumbing to the desire to add the +final artistic touch: "I understand you to have said that you were +married to Miss Fitzalan in Hendon church, and that your daughter +married Mr. Harold Lascelles, who disappeared in an unaccountable +fashion in Lausanne?" + +"No, no," cried Weevil despairingly. He was tired and had put aside his +manuscript. "I never said that. You have got it quite wrong. I was +married to Miss Fitzalan in St. Michael's, Brentor, and our daughter +Boodles married Philip Lascelles--captain as he now is--at Hendon, and +Tita was baptised in St. George's, Hanover Square, and then went to +Lausanne to that hotel where Gubbings wrote his history, and there she +disappeared--no, not Boodles, but her mother Tita. But she may be alive +still. She may turn up some day." + +"Then how about Father Lascelles?" suggested Mr. Bellamie. + +"Why, he married my daughter Tita," said Weevil rather crossly. "And now +he is in British Columbia at his mission. He won't come back to England +again. Boodles doesn't know of his existence, but I shall tell her when +she is twenty-one." + +The visitor smiled rather sadly, and after a moment's hesitation put out +his hand. Old Weevil had been turned inside out, and there was nothing +in him but a foolish loving heart. Mr. Bellamie understood the position +exactly. There was a mystery about the little girl's birth, and it was +probably a shameful one, and on that account the old man had concocted +his lying story, not for his own sake, but for hers. Mr. Bellamie could +not feel angry at the queer shaking figure, with tragedy inside and +comedy on its face. Boodles was his all, the only thing he had to love, +and he was prepared to do anything which he thought might ensure her +happiness. There was something splendid about his lies, which the +visitor had to admire although they had been prepared to dupe him. It +was not a highly moral proceeding, but it was an artistic one; and Mr. +Bellamie was able to forgive anything that was artistic. + +"Good-bye," he said, in a perfectly friendly way. "I hope you will come +and see me at Tavistock, and look at your tors from my windows." + +Weevil returned thanks effusively, happy in the belief that he had +played his part well; but it was characteristic of him that his thoughts +should be for Boodles rather than for himself. "If you would let her +come and see you sometimes it would make her happy. It's a dull life for +the little maid here, and she is so bright and full of laughter. I think +she laughs too much, and to-day I told her so. There is a lot of cruelty +in this world, Mr. Bellamie, and I want to keep her from it. The man who +makes a little maid miserable deserves all the cruelty that there is, +but it shan't touch Boodles if I can put myself before her and keep it +off. I could not see her suffer, I couldn't hear her laugh ring false. I +would rather see her dead." + +Mr. Bellamie walked away slowly. He had prepared a mild revenge, but he +did not execute it. He had intended to tell Weevil a story of a man who +took a dog out to sea that he might drown it; but while fastening a +stone to its neck the boat overturned, the man was drowned, while the +dog swam safely to shore. He thought Weevil might be able to interpret +the parable. But when he heard those last words, and saw the love and +tenderness on that queer grinning face, he said no more. He walked away +slowly, with his eyes upon the ground. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +ABOUT JUSTICE + + +What luck is nobody can know, but it is certainly a gift to be preferred +before natural ability. Luck is that undefinable thing which enables a +man to push his head and shoulders well above the crowd. Make him wise +it cannot, but no man cares about wisdom if he can only be wealthy. +Lucky men pile up big fortunes, and invariably become humbugs in their +old age, and assure young men that their affluence is entirely owing to +the splendid virtues of application, perseverance, and early rising, +which they practised in their youth. No doubt the virtues help, but hard +work alone makes no man wealthy, let him toil like Sisyphus. It is luck +that lodges the stone on the top of the mountain. The idle apprentice +who has luck is far more likely to marry his master's daughter than the +industrious apprentice who hasn't it. The clever man and the lucky one +start out side by side, but they soon drift apart; the lucky man goes to +the right door, the clever man goes to the wrong one; and the end of it +is that the clever man writes from his cottage to the lucky man in his +mansion, begging the loan of a few pounds to keep the bailiffs out. +There is nothing to which a man without luck cannot attain by hard work, +except one thing--success. + +Decidedly there had been no fairy godmothers at Brightly's christening. +None of the good things of life had fallen upon him; and yet he +possessed those virtues which are supposed to make for wealth; no man +could have worked harder or showed more perseverance; and as for early +rising it was easy because he had no bed to rise from. Still he could +not make a living. The elusive coppers refused to increase and multiply +into shillings; and as for sovereigns they were as extinct as dodos. + +Brightly continued his various progresses with that strict attention to +business which had always characterised him, and with the empty stomach +which had become a habit; but without any luck. Any one might have +mistaken him for a poet. + +He was working the same old stretch: Meldon, Sourton Down, Bridestowe, +Lydford, Brentor, and the Tavys, his basket dragging at his arm, and Ju +trotting her poor little life away at his heels. Ju also had been +deserted by canine fairy godmothers. Perhaps she too had dreams--of a +basket, furnished with soft cushions beside a fire, and perennial plates +of bones and biscuits. + +Brightly had a fresh stock of atrocious yellow vases, thanks to the +generosity of the lovers at the fair; and he was hard at work again +collecting rabbit-skins; and still encouraged himself by thinking of the +glorious time when he would jog contentedly along the stony roads in a +little cart neatly littered with fern, with a lamp to be lighted after +dark, and the board bearing the inscription: "A. Brightly. Purveyor of +rabbit-skins," set forth for all to read. It was not a very lofty +ambition, although quite an impossible one. Brightly was getting on in +years; his rheumatism and asthma were increasing; so was his blindness; +he wept sometimes, but that did not assist his business. Sometimes he +thought the time was getting near when he would have to sell his vases +and buy two pennyworth of rat-poison. He thought he would do it with +rat-poison. Perhaps when he woke up, if he did wake up, he would find +himself in Jerusalem among the jugs of milk and honey-pots; and perhaps +there would be somebody like Boodles looking at him with the same moist +eyes. He could not go into the poorhouse. They would frighten him there, +and he would much rather be dead than in that prison. Nature seemed +rather to have overreached herself when she created Brightly. What was +the use of such a defenceless creature, this sort of human rabbit whom +any one could attack? Why turn him out feeble and half blind when he had +his living to make? Even the wayside weed is better cared for. When its +crown-bud is bitten off by a cow Nature sets to work to repair the +injury at once, and the plant grows up as well as ever. Nature did +nothing to repair Brightly's injuries. She did not even permit him to +enjoy tobacco, that one luxury of the lonely and friendless. Probably +she foresaw what a boon tobacco would be to him, so she afflicted him +with asthma. Nature delights in thus adding toil to toil and trouble to +trouble. It is only in the matter of adding pleasure to pleasure that +she is niggardly. + +Brightly was coming up the moor towards St. Mary Tavy. His face looked +smaller and his hands bigger. There was another change, a far more +striking one; he was actually well dressed; there was nothing, of +course, in the shape of useless accessories, such as shirt or underwear, +but the black seal-like raiment had been discarded and a suit of brown +cloth had taken its place. He had picked up those clothes while +burrowing in a wheal to find shelter from a pitiless downpour. It had +been a great find which had rejoiced his heart, for although he was +accustomed to make a living by picking up things which other people +threw away, he had never before discovered anything half as priceless as +a suit of stout garments. It had never occurred to him that they might +not have been thrown away, but merely hidden in the wheal, or that he +had no right to them, or that it could be dangerous for him to be seen +about in them. + +"Us will pitch here," said Brightly, stopping near the moor gate, and +lowering his basket carefully. "It be dinner time, Ju." + +The little dog wagged at the prospect. Dinner time occurred frequently, +but generally without the dinner. She sniffed ravenously at the +handkerchief in the corner of the basket, and decided that the menu of +the day was cheese, largely rind, but still cheese, a slab of bread, and +two onions. It was one of the feast-days. They reposed upon heather, and +Brightly made a division of the food, reserving the onions for himself, +but allotting Ju a bigger piece of rind as compensation. "You'm a lot +littler than I," he explained. "Your belly be filled quicker. It be no +good giving yew an onion, 'cause yew wun't yet 'en. Tak' your +cheese--don't swallow like that, ye little stoopid! Yew don't get the +taste of 'en at all. Yet 'en slow, and tak' a bit o' bread wi' 'en same +as I du. Us wun't get no more to-day like enough." + +The meal was soon over, and then Brightly sat up and began to whistle, +while Ju squatted upon the heather, her tongue lolling out, and her poor +little mongrel head following every motion of her master's body. +Brightly's only recreation was whistling, and he took the pastime +seriously. With his pinched face and big round glasses set towards +Brentor he piped away as hard as he could; first a ballad which he had +heard in an ale-house, then a hymn, and another ballad, and then the +favourite of all, Jerusalem the Golden. He whistled them all wrong, but +he didn't know it. For the time being he was happy enough, as he was a +contented soul, and his chief happiness was to be alone on the moor, +which then seemed to be his own property, with the scented garden of +heather and gorse about him, and the sweet wind blowing upon his face; +and they all seemed to be his own while he was alone. It was only when +he saw a cottage, or a farm, or a man approaching him, that he +understood they were not his own, but the property of the cottage, or +the farm, or the man approaching him, and that he lived only upon +sufferance, and might get into trouble for lying on the heather, and +smelling the gorse, or for permitting the pleasant wind to blow upon his +face. + +After whistling he began to sing, making, it must be owned, a shocking +noise. He did not know the words of the ballads, nor more than a single +line of the Wesleyan hymn which children sing in procession upon chapel +anniversary day. Brightly had often listened as he tramped by, with his +full basket and his empty stomach, but he had never caught the Words +because the children gabbled them so in their hurry to get the religious +exercises over and attack the cakes and splits. "Jesu, Master, us +belongs to yew," he howled discordantly, while Ju howled in dismal +agreement, and began to whimper when her master went on to scream about +Jerusalem and dairy produce. + +"I reckon that be the beautifullest tune as ever was sung," commented +Brightly, "I'll sing 'en again, Ju, and I'll get 'en right this time. I +mun sing him a bit stronger. I reckon the end o' the world can't be over +far off, wi' volks got so cruel wicked, and us mun get ready vor't." + +He folded his hands upon his knees, and was about to resume his noises +when the moor gate clicked. Brightly's faculties were as keen as a +bat's. He could not see much, but he could sense the approach of danger; +and when he heard the gate slam violently, and a thick voice exclaim: +"There a' be!" he started up, anxious to get back to his solitude, +conscious somehow that unfriendly beings were upon him, to steal his +"duppence," and put him out of business by smashing his vases. He stared +through his glasses until he distinguished two fat figures, one in +uniform, the other in shabby raiment, advancing upon him with +threatening movements, one the village constable, the other the village +reprobate; and when he saw them, that grim thing called terror descended +upon Brightly. He had done nothing wrong so far as he knew, but all the +same he could not resist the fear, so he fled away as hard as he could, +the basket dragging upon his arm, and Ju trotting at his heels. He knew +what it meant to fall into the hands of his fellow-men. Pendoggat had +shown him, and most men were Pendoggats to Brightly. + +He went up the moor towards the top of the village, and the stout +constable soon gave up the chase, as he was not used to violent +exercise, nor did he receive any extra pay for exerting himself. +Besides, he was sure of the man. He wiped his face and told the village +reprobate, who was his most obliging servant and had to be, that it was +cruel hot, and he'd got that lusty he didn't seem able to run properly, +and he thought he would return to the village and prepare for more +strenuous deeds with a drop o' cider; and he charged the reprobate to +follow Brightly and head him off at the top of the village, and keep him +close until he, the constable, should have cooled down and recovered +from his fatigue sufficiently to attend in great pomp and arrest the +rascal. He reminded the reprobate he must not arrest Brightly because +that was not allowed by law; but he was at perfect liberty to knock him +down, and trample on him, and inform him that the criminal law of the +land was about to spread its net around him. The constable's state of +mind regarding the law was peculiar. He had no idea that laws were made +to punish crime. He conceived that creatures like Brightly existed to +supply the demands of the law. + +At the head of the village Brightly encountered more man-hunters, but he +managed to escape again, although he had to leave his basket behind. +Some children soon rifled it, and took the gorgeous vases home to their +mothers. With the instinct of the hunted animal the fugitive turned upon +his tracks, fled up a side lane, climbed over a hedge, waited until his +pursuers had passed, then hurried back for his basket, hoping to reclaim +it and get away upon the moor, where he could soon hide himself. But he +had not gone far when he saw a vision; the angel again, the angel of +Tavistock, the angel from Jerusalem, who had dropped out of the church +window and set him up in business with half-a-crown; and she came to +meet him in the road, as angels do, with his basket in her hand, and +just the same pitiful look in her eyes. There was no church just by, +only a little white cottage; but perhaps it was furnished like a church, +with coloured windows, booming organ, and a big black book on the +outspread wings of a golden goose. + +"I have got some of the vases. The children have not taken them all," +said Boodles. "I saw it from the window. What have you done?" + +"They knows, your reverent; I don't," gasped Brightly. He didn't know +how he ought to address the angel, but he thought "your reverent" might +do for the present. He stood upon the road, panting, shivering, and +coughing, while Boodles looked at him and tried to laugh, but couldn't. + +"What a dreadful cough!" she said sorrowfully. + +"It's asthma, your reverent. I allus has it, and rheumatics tu--just +here, cruel, your reverent. I be getting blind. I don't seem able to see +you properly," he said, in the voice of one saying his prayers, and half +choking all the time. + +"Don't call me your reverent," said Boodles. "How silly! I--I'm only a +little girl." + +Brightly had always supposed that celestial beings are modest. He only +shook his head at that remark. He had seen little girls, and knew quite +well what they were like. They didn't have golden skin and a glory about +their heads, neither did they drop down suddenly before starving and +persecuted beings, to give them half-crowns, and save them from their +enemies. + +"Asthma, rheumatics, and getting blind," he repeated, shattering the +words with coughs. He hoped the angel might touch him and heal his +infirmities if he told her all about them. + +She only gave him the basket, and said: "You had better come in and +rest. I don't like to hear you cough so. I hope you haven't been +stealing anything?" she said reproachfully. + +"I ain't done nothing--nothing serious," declared Brightly. "I was +a-sitting on the heather, singing about Jesus and us belonging to 'en, +when policeman comes a-shouting, there 'a be,' and I ran, your reverent. +I was that mazed I didn't hardly know what I was doing. They'm after I +now, and I ain't done nothing that I knows on. I was a-yetting my bread +and cheese and singing. I warn't a-harming a living thing. I warn't +a-harming not a butterfly, your reverent." + +Boodles would have laughed had Brightly been a less pathetic object. She +said she believed he was honest, bent to pat Ju, then took them both +into the cottage and into the little room where old Weevil was preparing +a long screed, to be addressed to some society, and headed: "An Inquiry +into the Number of Earthworms mutilated annually by Agricultural +Implements." He was very much astonished when he saw Brightly, but +became as pitiful as the girl when he had heard the story. + +"I am sure he speaks the truth," said Boodles for the defence. + +"I don't care whether it's the truth or a lie. Another poor thing caught +by the Brute," muttered Weevil. "We must help him to escape. We will +keep him here until dark, and then he can creep away. It's what we are +always doing, all of us--trying to creep away from the Brute." + +Brightly seated himself in a reverential attitude, regarding poor old +Weevil as a patriarch, a sort of modern Abraham who had pitched his tent +in that part of the country for the benefit of the poor and friendless. +He wondered if the patriarch was a prophet also, and could tell him if +he would ever attain to the pony and cart; but he had not the courage to +ask. + +"What are those things in your basket?" said Weevil. + +"Two rabbit-skins, sir. I makes my living out o' they. Least I tries +to," added Brightly drearily. + +"Where have you come from?" + +"To-day from Lydford, sir. Yesterday from Belstone, round Okehampton, +and over Sourton Down. Trade be bad, sir." + +"How many miles is that?" + +"Mebbe nearly twenty from Belstone. I went round about like, and pitched +to Lydford last night." + +"Twenty miles for two rabbit-skins. Merciful God!" gasped Weevil. + +"Amen, sir," said Brightly. + +"Don't you know what the policeman wants you for?" + +"I don't, sir. I was a-sitting on the heather when he come, and I ran. I +got to the top o' the village, and a lot more of 'em were after I, and I +ran again. I got away from 'em, and was a-coming back vor my basket, +when the reverent appeared avore I wi' my basket in the reverent's +hand." + +"That's me," said Boodles, demurely and ungrammatically, in answer to +Weevil's puzzled look. She was feeding Ju with biscuit, stroking her +thin sides at the same time, and making the poor bitch share her +master's impressions concerning the pleasant nature of angelic visions. + +There was a knock upon the door, not the timid knock of a visitor, nor +the obsequious knock of a tradesman, but the loud defiant knock of +authority. The constable had arrived, full of cider and a sense of duty, +and behind him a number of villagers had gathered together, with a +sprinkling of children, some of whom had stolen Brightly's vases, and +seen him enter Lewside Cottage, and then had run off to spread the news +everywhere. + +"Very sorry, miss," said the policeman, with a polite hiccup. "You've +got the man I'm after. Got in when you wasn't looking, likely enough. +He'm a bad lot. I've been after him a long time, and now I've got him." + +"What has he done?" said Boodles, guarding the door, and making signs to +Weevil to get Brightly out at the back. + +"Robbery with violence, attempted murder, and keeping a dog wi'out a +licence," said the happy policeman, in the satisfied manner of a fat boy +chewing Turkish delight. "You must stand aside, if you plase, miss. +Mustn't interfere with the course of law and justice." + +"It's horrid," cried the child. "I'm sure he has done nothing." + +"Come away, my maid. We can't do anything," called Weevil tremulously. +"The man must go to the Brute. Innocent or guilty, it's all the same. +The Brute has us all in turn." + +Brightly sat in the corner coughing, and beside him Ju huddled, +swallowing the last crumbs of biscuit. They were an unlovely but +entirely inoffensive pair. A student of human nature would have +acquitted the pinched little man of guilt at a glance, but the policeman +was not a student of either human nature, law, or morals. He had +promotion to consider, and weak and friendless beings like Brightly were +valuable assets in a place where opportunities for distinction were few. +Brightly had no relations to come behind the constable on a dark night +and half murder him. Little difficulties like that compelled him to look +the other way when commoners set the law aside. But Brightly and Ju were +fair game, and the constable had long regarded them as such. + +"You come along with me," he said pleasantly, pulling at Brightly's +sleeve. "Best come quiet, and I've got to warn ye that anything you ses +will be used agin ye. If you tries to get away again 'twill go hard wi' +ye." + +"What ha' I done, sir?" whispered Brightly, lifting his thin face and +pathetic spectacles. He was not usually of an inquisitive nature, but he +was curious then to learn the particular nature of the villainies he had +committed. + +The policeman winked at Weevil and smiled greasily, meaning to imply +that the prisoner was an old hand and a desperate character. + +"Ain't he a booty?" he said, with professional admiration for a daring +criminal. "Wants to know what he's done. Well, I'll tell ye. Thursday +night, not last week, but week avore, you set on Varmer Chegwidden as he +was a-riding home peaceable across Gibbet Hill, and you pulled 'en off +his horse, and stripped the clothes off 'en, and flung 'en into +vuzzy-bushes, and purty nigh murdered 'en, and you steals his money and +his clothes, and you'm a-wearing his clothes now; and he wants to know +what he've been and done," said the policeman, with another wink at +Weevil's distressed countenance. + +"What nonsense!" cried Boodles. "He pull Chegwidden off his horse! Why, +Chegwidden could keep him off with two fingers." + +"He'm one of the artfullest criminals in the country," explained the +constable. + +"How did you get those clothes?" asked the girl, turning towards the +accused. + +"Picked 'en up in a wheal, your reverent," answered Brightly. + +"Didn't I tell ye?" cried the policeman. "Artful ain't the word for 'en. +If 'twasn't for me, and the evidence I got agin him, he'd purty nigh +make the magistrates believe he was innocent. Walks about in stolen +clothes, he du, and says he never stole 'em. Takes a bit of a bad 'un to +du that." + +Brightly could not understand much about it, but he supposed it was all +right. He was evidently a rascal, but he felt almost proud to learn that +he had dragged Chegwidden off his horse, although he could not remember +having done so. His own impression was that if he had seen Chegwidden +approaching he would have fled like a frightened rabbit. He supposed +they would not hang him, and anyhow, if they did try, the angel would +very likely appear before him and help him to escape, and show him a +short-cut to Jerusalem, or tell him how he could get the pony and cart +without being accused of having stolen them. He got up, ready to go with +the policeman, and Ju rose too and shook herself, knowing nothing of the +law. + +"Where's your dog-licence?" demanded the constable. + +Brightly looked about in his misery, but his glasses were so dim he +could see nothing. He had always been afraid that question would come, +and he had often wondered how he should answer it. He had tried again +and again to save up for that licence in pennies and halfpence, but it +was quite impossible. The sum never reached a shilling. Prosperous +commoners could easily obtain exemption orders for their dogs; but a +large sum of money was demanded from him, although he had none, for the +right to keep his only little friend. + +"I ain't got no paper, sir," he said. "I've tried time and time, but the +pennies wun't keep. I couldn't mak' it up. I'll tell 'en how I tried to +save it, sir." + +Boodles turned to the window and her shoulders began to shake, while old +Weevil was using his handkerchief as if he had a cold. The constable was +grinning more than ever. After such zeal on his part he considered that +his promotion to a more important station was practically assured. + +"Don't tak' the little dog away, sir; don't ye. I ain't got much, sir, +only the basket and bit of oil-cloth to keep the rain off, and the +vases, and two rabbit-skins, and four pennies in my pocket, and she, +sir. I ain't got nothing else, 'cept an old pan to Belstone Cleave what +I cooks in, and a few bits o' cloam, and a blanket I sleeps under. I +never stoled the clothes, sir. I picked 'en up in the wheal, and +reckoned they'd been thrown away. I'll give 'em back, sir. I'll tak' 'em +back to Varmer Chegwidden to wance, sir." + +The policeman did not listen to that nonsense. He had his duty to think +of, and with a loud "Come on here" he fished a bit of rope out of his +pocket and tied it round Ju's neck. The dog shrank back, frightened at +such roughness, so the man promptly kicked her with his big boot and +growled angrily, "Bite me, will ye?" + +There was a yelp of pain from the poor beast, and the next moment the +constable had himself to think of. Brightly lost control over himself. +He could bear most things fairly well, but not cruelty to Ju. He flung +out his raw hands in a blind sort of way, and one went against the +policeman's nose, and the other on his ear, astonishing the fat creature +a good deal, but not hurting him in the least, as Brightly's arms had no +strength in them. + +"Assaulting the police," he cried triumphantly, feeling for his +note-book, "resisting arrest, and keeping a furious animal not under +proper control." + +"She did not try to bite you," choked Boodles in a tearful manner. "He +did not assault you. He was only protecting his dog;" while old Weevil +clutched the table, his head nodding wildly as if it was about to fall +off, muttering continually, "The Brute! the Brute!" + +"You had better be careful," the child went on. "We shall come and give +evidence against you." + +The fat constable was more amused than angry at the threat. As if the +magistrates would believe a silly old man and a foolish young girl, when +he had the crowd of villagers outside to swear that Brightly had knocked +him about and Ju had bitten him. Not that the villagers had seen +anything, but that would not make much difference, as he could easily +tell them what had happened. He had always kept in with them, and winked +at their little peccadilloes, and they would not forsake him in the hour +of need. On the whole the constable was a much bigger rogue than +Brightly. + +Presently there was a scene upon the road and much laughter. The +policeman went before dragging Ju at the end of the rope, and the +villagers followed after, enjoying themselves exceedingly. There was not +much excitement in their lives, and this was as good as a pony-drift or +an otter-hunt, for Brightly had assumed the part of buffoon and was +making a fool of himself for their delectation. The policeman did not +hold him, as he was unlikely to escape again, and besides, Ju was giving +so much trouble. She had to be dragged along over the stones and through +the gorse, with her tongue hanging out and the rope chafing her neck, +and the policeman found it necessary to kick her frequently because she +was "so contrairy like"; while Brightly jumped about like a new kind of +frog, his glasses nearly tumbling from his nose, his big useless eyes +bulging, and his foolish hands flapping in the air, whining and panting +like his dog, and blubbering like a baby. + +"Give I back my little dog. Don't ye tak' my little dog away, sir. You'm +hurting she cruel, and her ain't done nothing. Ah, don't ye kick she, +sir. Let she come wi' I, sir. Her will follow I close. Her wun't run +away. Her be scared of yew, sir, and you'm hurting she cruel." + +The villagers applauded these sayings, and tried to encourage Brightly +to perform again for their benefit. He was funnier than a dancing-bear, +and his dramatic efforts were very much appreciated. "Go at 'en again," +they shouted, and Brightly responded nobly. + +"I'll starve and pinch for the money, sir, if yew lets she go. I'll save +'en up somehow, pennies and duppences, till I gets the seven-and-sixpence +for the paper. 'Tis a cruel lot o' money for a hungry man, but I'll get +it, sir. I'll work day and night and get it, sir." + +"Steal it from one of you, likely," shouted the constable, grinning more +greasily than ever at the tumultuous laughter which welcomed his subtle +humour. He was so delighted at having discovered within him a hitherto +unsuspected vein of humour that he tried again, and won instant +recognition of his brilliant talent with the inspired witticism, "Walks +about in Varmer Chegwidden's clothes, and says he never stole 'em." + +"Purty near killed varmer tu. Tored 'en off his horse and beat 'en +mazed," added the reprobate, who saw no reason why the policeman should +have all the jokes. + +Some of the others regarded Brightly with admiration. He was not only a +clever low-comedian, but he was also the most desperate character on all +Dartmoor. They were well able to appreciate the spirit of lawlessness +because their own careers had been strongly marked with the same +peculiarity. He was not exactly their idea of what a criminal ought to +be, as in appearance he was little better than a half-starved worm, but +the fact remained that he was a criminal, and as such was entitled to +receive their admiration and their stones. + +"Listen to 'en! He'm play-acting again," shouted the reprobate. + +"Du'ye let I have my little dog, sir. Don't ye tak' she away 'cause I +can't pay for the paper," whined Brightly, continuing his strange dance +of agony. "I ain't got nothing now, sir. My vases be took, and my basket +and rabbit-skins, and her be all I have. I'd ha' paid the fine for she, +sir, but trade be cruel dull, and the pennies wun't keep. Don't ye tak' +she away, sir. I couldn't go abroad on Dartmoor wi'out she. I'd think +and wonder what had come to she, and 'twould hurt I cruel." + +"You ain't going to tramp about on Dartmoor. You'm going to prison," +shouted the witty policeman, while the villagers applauded him again, +and Ju struggled, and Brightly went on weeping. + +Not every one would have enjoyed the spectacle, although the constable +and the crowd appreciated it. The rugged little mountains stood about +silently, and became tired perhaps of looking on, for they began to mask +their heads in mist. Even the sun didn't like it, and rolled himself up +in a dark cloud, and came out no more that day. It was autumn, there was +a smell of decay in the air, and a sense of sorrow somehow. The dark +days were near; the time when warm earth, bright flowers, joy of life, +are so unreal, so far away, that it seems sometimes they may not return +again. + +In due course Brightly appeared before the magistrates, as sober a set +of justices as ever lived, as learned in law as a row of owls, but +carefully driven by a clerk, who kept their heads up, and their feet +from stumbling into the ditch. The case was fully stated, and witnesses +were called, among them Chegwidden, who had missed several Thursday +evenings out, and was then only just well enough to attend the court. He +explained that he had been riding home from Brentor on a dark windy +night, and had been suddenly attacked, dragged off his horse, and +stunned by a blow on the head. He remembered nothing more until he found +himself in bed at home. He identified the clothes as his property. In +answer to a question he admitted he had seen no one, but the attack had +been made suddenly, and the night was very dark. Had he been drinking? +Well, he might have taken a glass at Brentor, but not enough to upset +him. He was a sober man. Nobody had ever seen him the worse for liquor, +although he confessed he was not a teetotaler. + +Others, who also owned they were not teetotalers, although they were for +the most part habitual drunkards, swore that Chegwidden was a sober man, +and they had never seen him the worse for liquor. They did not add it +was because they had been probably too drunk to see anything. Their +evidence was accepted, although the magistrates might have known that it +is impossible to obtain evidence which will incriminate a commoner from +his own parishioners. They will give evidence against a man of the next +parish, but not against one of their own. In such a case perjury is not +with them a fault, but a virtue. The members of a parish hang together. +They may hate each other, curse each other, fight with each other, but +they will not give evidence against one another before outsiders. +Brightly lived nowhere apparently, having no parish and no clan; +therefore any one was prepared to give evidence against him, more +especially as he had attacked one of themselves. His guilt was clear +enough. The members of the Bench could not in their hearts believe that +he had overpowered a strong man like Chegwidden; but the testimony of +the clothes could not be set aside. It was obvious he had stolen them. +The constable gave him a bad character. There was no doubt he had been +guilty of all kinds of grievous offences, only he was such an artful +creature that he had hitherto succeeded in evading the law. He feigned +to be asthmatic and half blind in order that he might secure a +reputation for inoffensiveness; and he pretended to go about the moor +buying rabbit-skins, while it was suspected that his real motive was to +steal from farm-houses, or to pass on any information he might acquire in +his wanderings to a gang of burglars who had not as yet been +apprehended. The constable made up a very pretty story against Brightly. + +The little man listened and tried not to be amazed. So he had been a +rascal all the time and had never known it. No doubt it was true, for +the gentlemen said so. He had pleaded not guilty, but he could not be +sure about it, and he began to suspect that he must have told them a +lie. + +The chairman, a kindly old gentleman, who had lived long enough to know +that it is a pleasant thing to be merciful, was inclined to deal with +the case summarily, as it was a first offence; but, unfortunately for +Brightly, there was a clergyman upon the Bench, a very able man, who +received eight hundred a year for keeping a curate to preach twice on +Sundays and perform any little week-day duties that might be required. +He objected strongly, stating it was one of the worst cases he had ever +known, and certainly not one in which the quality of mercy could be +strained. Clemency on their part would be a mistaken kindness, and would +assuredly tend to a regrettable increase of the lawlessness which, as he +and his brother magistrates were so well aware, prevailed to such an +alarming extent in the mid-Devon parishes. They were then given the +opportunity of dealing with an individual who was, he feared, though he +was sorry to have to say it plainly, one of the pests of civilisation. +They were there to do their duty, which was necessarily unpleasant and +even painful. They were there, not to yield to a false sentiment, and to +encourage vice, but to suppress it by every means in their power. If +they did not protect law-abiding people from highwaymen and robbers, of +what use were they? He ventured to think, and to say, none whatever. He +concluded by stating that he was strongly in favour of committing the +prisoner for trial at the Assizes. + +There was another charge against the miserable Brightly. He had kept a +dog without a licence. At that point Boodles stepped forward, with +quaint old Weevil at her side, and said in her pretty girlish way that +if the magistrates would allow it she would pay for the licence. +Brightly began to weep at that, which was a bad thing for him, as only +the worst type of cunning criminals venture upon that sort of appeal to +the court. Boodles had a little money saved, and she had easily obtained +Weevil's permission to spend part of it in this manner. + +The chairman beamed at her through his glasses, and said she was a very +kind-hearted little girl, and he regretted very much they could not take +advantage of her generous offer. They appreciated it very much, but he +assured her that she was wasting her kindness and sympathy upon an +object totally unworthy. It was their duty, he hoped, to encourage +generosity; but it was still more their duty just then to punish vice. +They thanked her very much, but it was quite impossible for many reasons +to encourage her kindness on the prisoner's behalf. He hoped she would +devote the money to some more deserving cause. Boodles listened with her +head down, sighed very much, and then she and Weevil left the court. + +The constable's chance had come. He described Ju as a savage and mangy +cur, and he offered to produce her for the inspection of their worships. +He said the dog had tried to bite him, and he hoped the Bench would +issue an order for the animal's destruction. The magistrates conferred +together, and the clergyman was soon saying that he had enjoyed a very +large experience with dogs, chiefly sporting-dogs he admitted, but he +knew that animals which had been associated with criminals were always +unpleasant, frequently diseased, and generally ferocious. He should +certainly vote in favour of the animal's destruction. + +Brightly confirmed the worst suspicions of the Bench by his foolish and +extravagant conduct. + +The deliberations were soon over. Brightly was committed for trial, and +Ju was sentenced to be destroyed. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +ABOUT WITCHCRAFT + + +One day Peter went into the village to buy stimulants, and found, when +he reached the house of the creaking sign-board, that he was penniless; +a serious discovery, because the landlord was an austere man who allowed +no "slate." Some people are born thirsty, others have thirstiness thrust +upon them, and a third class, to which Peter belonged, acquire +thirstiness by toilsome and tedious endeavour. It was a long walk, and +the moor, like the bones in the valley, was very dry; there was not a +foot of shade, and the wind was parching. Peter had long ago discovered +it was easy to acquire thirst by the simple expedient of proceeding as +directly as possible to the place where it could be quenched. He would +borrow three-halfpence from his sister, or extract it from her box if +she was absent, and then make for the village by the nearest route, +winning the necessary dryness as he went. On this occasion he had +forgotten about money, chiefly because he had not been compelled to +borrow or steal from Mary recently, as Chegwidden had unconsciously +supplied him with the means for enjoyment. + +Peter leaned against the wall, and cursed all living creatures and +things inanimate. He flattered himself with the belief that he was a man +who never wasted time. He had walked from the hut-circles with a +definite object, which was twofold: the acquiring of thirst and the +quenching of the same. The first part had been attained to perfection, +but unfortunately it was the inferior part, it was the laborious side, +and the reward was not to come because he had been absent-minded before +the event, instead of, as was usually the case, afterwards. He wondered +if there was in the immediate neighbourhood any charitable soul who +would lend him twopence, not to be repaid. + +It was a feast-day in the village. Chapel tea and an Ebenezer love-feast +were in full swing, for Pezzack and his bride had arrived that day to +take up their abode in a cottage which had been freshly whitewashed to +symbolise the spotless nature of its new occupants' souls. Children, +dressed in their best, had earlier paraded the street with a yellow +banner, shrill hymn-screaming, and a box to collect the offerings of the +faithful. + +It had been announced that Pezzack would preside over the tea, and that +his bride would pour it out. Eli would recite grace, and all the +children would say amen. Later there would be prayer and preaching, when +Pendoggat was expected to give further proof of his rough eloquence and +of his devotion to the particular form of religion which he favoured and +to the pastor who was its faithful and local representative. Then a +blessing would be given, and the girls and young men would pair off in +the dark and embrace in lonely places. + +Peter saw signs of the love-feast, and tokens of the refreshments, and +the sight increased his thirst. Had beer been on supply within the +chapel, instead of rather weak tea, he would probably have experienced a +sudden ardour for religion, and have hurried there with incoherent +entreaties to be placed on the penitential bench and received into the +Wesleyan fold. As the festivities were of an entirely temperate nature, +so far as things fluid were concerned, he decided to go and visit +school-master. It was not in the least likely that the old man would +lend him twopence, but Peter had enough wit to argue that it is often +the most unlikely things which happen. + +Master was sitting at his window, writing a letter to his son in Canada. +He welcomed Peter gladly, and at once asked him to spell "turnips." It +was a strange question, considering their positions, but Master +explained he was getting so old and forgetful, and never could get the +simple words right. The long and difficult words he could spell readily +enough, but when it came to anything easy he felt so mazed he couldn't +seem to think of anything. + +"I be telling my Jackie how amazing fine the turnips be this fall," he +explained. + +Peter was glad to oblige Master. To help him with such an obscure word +would be worth twopence. Slowly and stertorously he spelt it thus: +"Turnnups." + +"B'est sure that's right?" said Master, rather suspiciously. + +Peter had no doubt whatever. He could spell harder words than that, and +with the same accuracy. + +"Seems to me somehow some spells 'en wi' one _n_," said Master. + +"Us don't. Us allus spells 'en wi' two," said Peter. + +"I reckon you'm right. What yew knows I larnt ye," said Master. "I larnt +yew and Mary to spell, and I mind the time when yew was a bit of a lad +wi' a turned-up nose and squinty eyes. Proper ugly yew was. Didn't I +whack they old breeks o' yourn? Aw now, didn't I? Dusted 'em proper, I +did. In these council schules what they has now there bain't no beating, +but love ye, Peter, in the old village schules us used to whack the lads +every day--aye, and the maids tu. There be many a dame about here and +Lydford whose buttocks I warmed when her was a maid. Them was brave +times, Peter, sure 'nuff." + +"Better volks tu. Us had Dartmoor to ourselves them days," said Peter, +anxious to propitiate the old man. + +"Mun spell all the words proper when I writes to Jackie. He'm vull o' +education," Master went on. "T-u-r-double-n, turnn, n-u-p-s, nups, +turnnups. Aw, Peter, yew ain't forgot what I larnt ye." + +He put down his pen, assumed the mantle of Nestor, and asked: "Can I +oblige ye, Peter?" + +The little man replied that he could, to the extent of twopence. + +Master became grave and sorrowful, wagged his head, and behaved +generally as people will when the integrity of their purse is +threatened. + +"Anything else, Peter--advice, sympathy, loving-kindness, you'm +welcome," he answered. "I be a poor man. I was never treated as I +deserved, yew mind. If I lends two pennies they don't come back. I be an +old man, and I've a-larnt that. They be like little birds, what come to +my window in winter for crumbs, and don't come back 'cept for more +crumbs. I be advising yew, Peter; don't ye borrow money, I ses. And I be +advising myself; don't ye lend it, I ses." + +This was all very wise, only Peter could not appreciate it. Wisdom +slakes no man's thirst. He replied that he had come to the village for +sugar, and Mother Cobley at the shop refused to serve him without the +money, which he had unfortunately forgotten. He added an opinion of +Mother Cobley which was not charitable. + +Master recited other verses from his book of wisdom. To succeed in trade +it was necessary to be severe when people came buying without money. He +admitted that Mother Cobley practised severity to the point of +ruthlessness, he was not prepared to deny that Mother Cobley would +rather permit her closest relations to walk in darkness than advance +them one tallow candle to walk by on credit, but he impressed upon Peter +the fact that Mother Cobley was a "poor lone widdie" who had to protect +herself against the wiles of customers. To sum up the matter: "If yew +buys her sugar her wants your twopence. It bain't no profit to she if +yew has her sugar and she don't ha' your twopence. It gives she what us +calls book-debts, and they be muddlesome and contrairy things." + +With the ethics of business Peter was not concerned while the thirst was +spreading through his body. So far it had been confined to the tongue +and throat, but while Master talked it extended its ravages throughout +the whole of his system. Peter began to be afraid he would not be able +to walk home without liquid assistance. Not the smallest copper coin of +the realm could be hoped for from Master; but Peter was something of a +strategist, he comprehended there were more ways than one out of his +present difficulties, just as there are more ways than one into a house, +and an enemy can be attacked from the rear as well as in front. Master +certainly refused to advance him twopence, but he could hardly in common +charity refuse him what the twopence would have purchased, if he was +convinced that the need was urgent. So Peter put a hand to his throat, +and made strange noises, and said it was coming on again. + +"What be the matter?" asked Master. + +"Hot vuzzy kind o' prickiness all over like. Starts in the throat, and +goes all through. I be main cruel sick, Master." + +"My dear life, but that be serious," cried Master. "What du'ye tak' for +'en, Peter?" + +"Something cooling. Water will du. Beer be better though." + +"I ain't got any beer, but I ha' cider, I'll fetch ye some in a mug," +said Master. + +He trotted off, while Peter sat and chuckled, and felt much better. He +was not wasting his time after all; neither was he spending any money. +When Master returned with a froth-topped cloam Peter adopted something +of the reverential attitude of Sir Galahad in the presence of the +Sangreal, drank deeply, and when he could see the bottom of the mug +declared that the dangerous symptoms had departed from him for a season. +Having nothing else to detain him he rose to go, and was at the door +when Master called him back. + +"Purty nigh forgot to tell ye," he said, pointing to a goose-quill erect +in a flower-pot upon the window-seat. "Put that feather there to mind me +to tell Mary or yew, if so be I saw yew go by. There be volks stopping +wi' Betty Middleweek, artist volks, and they'm got a gurt ugly spaniel +dog what's been and killed a stray goosie. Betty ses 'tis Mary's Old +Sal, and I was to tell ye. Betty ha' got the goosie in her linny. Mary +had best go and look at 'en." + +Peter rubbed his hands and became very convalescent. The heavens were +showering favours upon him. Artist folks could afford to pay heavy +damages. "I'll go and tell Mary to wance," he said. "Us will mak' 'em +pay. Old Sal be worth a sight o' money. Us wouldn't ha' lost she for +fifty pound. Thank ye kindly, Master." + +"Nothing's no trouble, Peter. Hope you'll be better to-morrow," said the +kindly old man. + +Peter brought on another thirst by the haste with which he hurried back +to inform his sister that her Old Sal had been destroyed "by artist +volks stopping wi' Betty Middleweek, at least not by they, but by a gurt +big ugly Spanish dog what belongs to 'em." + +Mary wasted no time. She did not trouble to attire herself suitably, but +merely took a great stick "as big as two years and a dag," as she +described it, and set off for the village; while Peter, who had "got the +taste," as he described it, determined to help himself from Mary's +money-box and follow her later on with a view to continuing the +treatment which had benefited him so greatly in Master's cottage. + +The artists were having their evening meal when Mary arrived and beat +heavily upon the door. They were summoned, the body of the goose was +brought from the linhay, Mary became coroner and sat upon the defunct +with due solemnity. There was no question about its identity. The name +of the bird which had been done to death by the dangerous dog was Old +Sal beyond all argument. + +"Aw now, bain't it a pity, a cruel pity, poor Old Sal!" wailed Mary, and +would not be comforted until the artist produced his purse and said he +was willing to pay, while his wife hovered in attendance to see that he +did not pay too much. "He was a booty, the best mother on Dartmoor, and +he laid eggs, my dear. Aw ees, a butiful lot o' eggs. He was always +a-laying of 'em. And now he'm dead, and wun't lay no more, and wun't +never be a mother again. Hurts I cruel to see him lying there. Would +rather see Peter lying there than him." + +"I understand the market price of geese is eightpence a pound," said the +artist nervously, awed by the gaunt presence of Mary and her patriarchal +staff. "If you will have the bird weighed I will pay you, as I cannot +deny that my dog killed it." + +At that Mary gave an exceeding bitter cry. Eightpence a pound for Old +Sal! That was the market price, she admitted, but Old Sal had been +unique, a paragon among web-footed creatures, a model for other geese to +imitate if they could, the original goose of which all others were +indifferent copies, the very excellence and quintessence of ganders. It +was impossible to estimate the value of Old Sal in mere cash, although +she was willing to make that attempt. It was the perfection of Old Sal's +moral character and domestic attainments that Mary dwelt upon. He had +been all that a mother and an egg-layer should be. He was---- Words were +wanting to express what. He had been the leader of the flock, the +guiding star of the young, and the restraining influence of the foolish. +The loss was irreparable. Such geese appeared possibly once in a +century, and Mary would not live to see the like of her Old Sal again. +Then there were the mental and moral damages to be considered. Money +could not mend the evil which had been done, although money should +certainly be allowed to try. Mary suggested that the experiment might +commence with the transfer of five pounds. + +"This bird is in very poor condition. It is quite thin," said the +artist's wife. + +"Thin!" shouted Mary. "Aw, my dear, du'ye go under avore yew be struck +wi' lightning. He'm vull o' meat. Look at 'en, not a bone anywheres. +He'm as soft wi' fat as a bog be o' moss, and so cruel heavy I can't +hardly lift 'en. Yew don't know a goosie when yew sees one, my dear. +Never killed one in your life, I reckon. Aw now, never killed a goosie, +and ses Old Sal be thin! He was as good a mother as yew, my dear, and +when it comes to laying eggs--" + +The artist's wife thought it was time to "go under," or at all events to +disappear, as Mary was getting excited. + +At that point Betty Middleweek appeared and whispered to Mary; and at +the same time a little boy in quaint costume, with a head two sizes too +large, shuffled up the garden path, and stood staring at the defunct +goose with large vacant eyes. "He bain't your Old Sal after all," said +Betty. "He belongs to Mary Shakerley, and her little Charlie ha' come +for him. He saw the dog go after 'en, and he ran away mazed like to tell +his mother, but her had gone to Tavistock market, and ha' just come +home." + +"He've only got one eye," piped little Charlie in evidence. + +Mary examined the dead body. It was that of a one-eyed goose. + +"Aw now," she said in a disappointed fashion, "I reckon he bain't my Old +Sal after all." + +"I am willing to pay some one. Who is it to be?" asked the artist, who +wanted to get back to his food. + +"Please to pay little Charlie, sir," said Betty Middleweek. "Charlie, +come up to the gentleman." + +"Well, my lad, how much do you want for your goose? Eightpence a pound, +is it?" + +"Dear life!" cried Mary. "He hain't worth eightpence a pound. Look at +'en! He'm a proper old goosie, wi'out a bit o' meat on his bones, and +the feathers fair dropping out o' his skin wi' age. He'd ha' scared the +dog off if he'd been a young bird, or got away from 'en. My Old Sal +would ha' tored any dog to pieces. Don't ye pay eightpence a pound. He +hain't worth it. He never laid no eggs, I reckon, and he warn't no good +for a mother. He'd ha' died purty soon if that dog o' yours hadn't +killed 'en." + +"You seem to have altered your opinions rather suddenly," said the +artist. + +"Well, I bain't a one-eyed old gander," said Mary. "I knows what goosies +ought to be to fetch eightpence a pound, and I can see he ain't got +enough meat on him to feed a heckimal. Aw, my dear life, if I can't tell +a goosie when I sees him who can?" And off went Mary, striking her big +stick noisily on the ground, wiping her nose on the back of her hand, +and muttering an epitaph upon the still missing Old Sal, who, she +supposed, had been carried off by some evil beast and devoured in the +secret places of the moor. + +It was dark by this time, and the Ebenezer love-feast was over, so far +as the eating and drinking and prayer-meeting were concerned. The god of +good cheer had been worshipped, and now the goddess of common wayside +love was receiving incense. Autumn invariably discovers those hardy +perennials of the hedges and ditches--lovers--leaning against gates as +if they were tied there. The fields and the moor are too wet to sprawl +on, so at the end of October the gate season sets in, and continues +until spring dries the grass. The gates are nothing like so damp as the +hedges, and are much softer than boundary walls, although the latter are +not without their patrons. Lovers are orthodox folk, who never depart +from their true religion, or seek to subtract any clause from their +creed. The young girl knows that her mother was courted against a gate, +and that her grandmother was courted against a gate, so she is quite +ready to be courted against a gate. It must be difficult to feel the +necessary ardour, when several degrees of frost are nipping their noses, +and a regular Dartmoor wind whirls up and down the lanes; but these +gate-leaners manage it somehow. + +Peter was having a pleasant day. He had followed up his success at +Master's expense with a little bout at Mary's, and it was with a feeling +of unalloyed satisfaction with himself that he started for home, +returning thanks after his own manner to the god who presides over +beer-houses. The benign influence of malted liquors was over him, +stimulating his progress, rendering him heedless of the dark, and +impervious to the cold. It was an unpleasant night, not frosty, but +choked with clouds, and filled with raw mist. Peter had passed several +gates, most of them occupied by couples finishing the day in a devout +fashion, but he had said nothing, not even the customary "good-night," +because it was not lawful to speak to people when thus privily engaged. +Couples are supposed to be invisible while courting, and with the full +knowledge of this point of etiquette they usually conduct themselves as +if they were. Peter got up upon the moor, where the wind twisted his +beard about as if it had been a furze-bush, and made his way beside one +of the boundary walls which denoted some commoner's field. It was the +usual Dartmoor wall, composed of blocks of granite placed one above the +other in an irregular pattern without mud or method, each stone kept in +place by the weight of those above it; a wall which a boy could have +pulled down quickly one stone at a time, but if unmolested would stand +and defy the storms for ever. It was a long wall, and there were three +gates in it, but no lovers against them; at least not against the first +two. But as Peter approached the last, which was well out on the moor +where nobody but himself would be likely to pass that night, he heard +voices, or rather one voice, speaking loudly, either in anger or in +passion, and he recognised that it was Pendoggat who was speaking. + +Peter crept up stealthily, keeping close beside the wall, which was just +about the height of his nose. When near the gate he went on his hands +and knees. The voice had ceased, but he heard kisses, and various other +sounds which suggested that if Pendoggat was upon the other side of the +wall there was probably a woman with him. Peter crawled closer, lifted +himself, placed the grimy tips of his fingers upon the top stones, which +were loose and rocking, and peeped over. There was a certain amount of +light upon the high moor, enough of a weird ghostly sort of +phosphorescence for him to see the guilty couple, Pendoggat and +Thomasine. They were quite near, upon the peat, beside one of the +granite gate-posts, and directly underneath Peter's nose. The little man +grinned to see such sport. The moral side of the affair did not present +itself before his barbaric mind. It was the spectacular part which +appealed to him. He decided to remain there, and play the part of +Peeping Tom. + +Had Pendoggat been sensible, which was not possible, as sense and +passion do not run together, he must have known that the discovery of +his liaison with Thomasine could only be a matter of time. The greatest +genius that ever lived would find it beyond him to conduct an illicit +love-affair in a Dartmoor parish without being found out in the long +run. He had employed every ordinary caution. It was not in the least +likely that any one would be crossing beside that wall after dark; but +the least likely things are those which happen, not only in Dartmoor +parishes, but elsewhere. + +Peter had not stood there long when very ordinary things occurred, all +of them unfortunate for him. To begin with, he developed a violent +attack of hiccups which could not be restrained. Then the stone to which +he was holding kept on rocking and giving forth grating noises. The wind +was also blowing pretty strongly; and what with the wind externally and +the hiccups within Peter was soon in a bad way. He made up his mind to +beat a retreat, but his decision came rather too late. He felt a hiccup +approaching more violent than its predecessors; he compressed his lips +and held his breath, hoping to strangle it; but Nature was not to be +cheated; his lips were forced asunder, the hiccup came, its sound went +out into the moor, and at the same moment Peter slipped, grabbed at the +stone, and sent it bowling upon the peat on the other side of the wall. +He gave a squeal like a frightened rabbit, and with another parting +hiccup turned and ran. + +He did not get far before Pendoggat caught him. Peter was a stumpy +little creature with no idea of running; and he was captured at the end +of the wall, and received a blow upon the head which nearly stunned him. +Pendoggat stood over him, half mad with fury, striking at him again and +again; while Peter made quaint noises, half passion and half pain. + +Suddenly the clouds parted westward, and Pendoggat could see Ger Tor +outlined against a liverish patch of night sky. By the same light he saw +Peter; and his madness departed, and he became a coward, when he caught +a glimpse of the little man's malignant eyes. Peter was his enemy for +ever, and he knew it. + +Neither of them had spoken a word. Pendoggat had growled and spluttered; +Peter had choked and mumbled; the river far beneath roared because it +was full of rain. These were all incoherent noises. Pendoggat began to +slink away, as if he had received the beating, shivering and looking +back, but seeing nothing except a dull little heap beside the wall, +which seemed to have many hands, all of them scrabbling in the dirt. +Peter panted hard, as if he had been hunted across the moor by the whist +hounds, and had come there to take shelter; but all the time he went on +scraping up the clay, gathering it into a ball, spitting on it, moulding +it, and muttering madly from time to time: "You'm him! You'm him!" + +During those first few moments, after leaving that horrible little man +beneath the wall scrabbling with his hands, Pendoggat swore solemnly +that he would make Thomasine his wife, swore it to himself, to the God +that he believed in, and to her, if only nothing happened. + +Presently Peter went on towards his home; and in his arms was a +fantastic little thing of clay, a thing forked and armed like a human +being, a sort of doll. When he got back he cleared the hearthstone, blew +the peat into a red smoulder with his mouth, then took the doll, spoke +to it solemnly, placed it upon the hottest part of the hearth, and piled +the red embers round it. When Mary came in to call him to supper she +found Peter sitting in a kind of trance before the hearthstone, and +following his gaze she saw the quaint clay doll sitting upright in the +centre of the fire, with the red peat gathered into a fiery little hell +around it on every side. + +"Aw, Peter!" she gasped in a tremulous whisper, falling on her knees at +his side. "Who be the mommet, Peter? Who be the mommet?" + +"Varmer Pendoggat," said Peter. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +ABOUT PASTIMES + + +One cannot help wondering how the early inhabitants of Dartmoor spent +their time. Possibly the men found plenty of work for their hands, while +the ladies talked of their babies, though they could hardly talk of +their clothes. Chapel teas and beer-houses were unknown, and the people +may have led a wandering existence, following their cattle and goats +from place to place, and merely erecting rough shelters at every pasture +ground. It is said that they appeared before the Roman agents, who came +to the Cassiterides, which no doubt included the Dartmoor region, to +procure the precious white metal, clad in black cloaks, with tunics +reaching to their feet, and girdles round their waist. A more unsuitable +costume for the moor could not have been devised, but it is probable +that they were then in holiday attire. They were simple, taciturn, +heavily-bearded men. Of their women nothing is known, because the +historians of those days did not trouble themselves about inferior +details, and ladies had not then commenced to brawl in the streets for +their rights. The numerous hut-circles about the moor were no doubt +built by these men, utilised more as temporary sheltering-places than +permanent homes, and were possibly regarded as common property. The +stone avenues may have been boundaries, and the circles are more likely +to be the remains of pounds than the ruins of temples. The lamp of +architecture had not then been lighted in Britain, and sun-worship is by +its very nature antagonistic to temples. So much is conjecture, and +cannot be anything else. Light is reached when we regard the great +mounds beside the rivers, and the huge stone slabs which span them; and +we know that prehistoric man was a miner, and that he objected to +getting his feet wet. These rivers are mere streams to-day, which any +one can wade across, and they could not have been larger when the +bridges were erected. We know also by the presence of these slabs of +granite, and various other stone remains, that the system of the corvee +must have been practised upon Dartmoor; a good custom which disappeared +centuries ago as an obligation on free people, but is still retained as +an obligation on prisoners in such penal establishments as Princetown. +The existence of rates for the maintenance of roads is a survival of the +corvee in a form of demand upon those who can afford to pay, and not a +few who cannot, for the upkeep of roads which many of them do not use; +the idea of the rate being that the householder pays a sum which shall +exempt him from the labours of the corvee, although without being given +the option of offering his labour in lieu of cash. + +We may safely conjecture that prehistoric men attended to their duties +of obligation as well as to their pastoral affairs; and made a little +profit at odd times in the form of tin which they bartered for salt, +vases, and domestic utensils, with the Roman agents, very much as +Brightly, who was their descendant, bartered his vases for rabbit-skins. +But what about their pastimes? + +History and tradition are alike silent on that point. They could not +have been making love to their wives all their spare time. There must +have been something to take the place of the beer-house, the chapel tea, +the sing-songs, the rough-and-ready carnival. If tradition does not +exactly speak it gives an echo. We listen to that echo, we put against +it our knowledge of human nature, which does not change, and to that we +add our experience of the desires, customs, and pastimes of the men who +have passed into their places and live upon what was their ground; and +then we get near the truth, possibly at the very heart of it. Their +pastime was the shedding of blood. They fought together for the mere +pleasure of inflicting wounds upon each other. They tortured inoffensive +creatures because they were strong, the animals were weak, and the sight +of suffering gave them a kind of pleasure. Since that barbaric age more +than a thousand years of Christianity have done their civilising and +humane work; have taught until there can be surely nothing left to +teach; have practised until the virtues would have been pretty well worn +out had they been practised less theoretically. And to-day one finds-- + +There were notices posted all over the place, upon walls and doors and +gate-posts, little bills announcing a great pigeon- and rabbit-shoot, +with money prizes for the three most successful competitors; the sport +to conclude with a big feed at the inn at so much a head, drinks being +extra. These shoots are among the most ordinary features of village life +upon Dartmoor, and they are usually organised by the landlord of +licensed premises, because at the conclusion of the sporting event the +men gather together for the feed in a state of feverish excitement and +soon drink themselves mad. That sort of thing means a handsome profit +for the landlord. The men's passions are gratified, the victualler's +pockets are filled, so every one is satisfied, and shoots do not lose in +popularity year by year. + +The event was held in a field upon the side of the moor, and all +sportsmen of the district were gathered together, with a few women, and +as many children as could possibly get there. It was a great time for +the small boys; better than a Sunday-school tea or chapel anniversary; +no self-control was required of them at the shoot, they could let +themselves go, and release every one of the seven little devils in them. +Farmer Chegwidden was there, completely restored to health, though he +had an ugly black scar on the side of his head. He was half drunk before +proceedings commenced, because he said he could shoot better when in +that condition, Pendoggat was there, silent and gloomy, but handling his +gun as if he loved it. The old Master was there, tottering about with +two sticks, beaming upon every one, and wishing the young men good-luck; +and the landlord of the inn, who presided over the safe conveyance of +the victims from his barn to the place of massacre, jumped here and +there in a wild state of excitement, explaining the programme and +issuing instructions to competitors. The constable was there, dropping +fatness; and near him Pezzack, with grave and reverend aspect and new +clothes, stood and made the thing respectable with his blessing. + +Two others were there who looked singularly out of place, and stood +apart from the noisy crowd, both of them nervous and uncomfortable. They +were Boodles and old Weevil. Close to them were crates stuffed full of +pigeons, uttering from time to time little mournful notes, and bulging +sacks filled with healthy rabbits. + +"It is so silly," said Boodles, rather petulantly. "You will only be +ill. We had much better go away." + +"I must see it, darling--as much as I can bear. I am going to prepare a +petition about these things, and I want to be fair. I must see for +myself. It may not be so brutal as I believe it is." + +"Yes, it is, and worse. I know I shall be ill," said Boodles. + +"Go home, little girl. There is no reason why you should stay." + +"I'm not going to leave you," declared Boodles bravely. "Only do let's +go further away from those poor things in the sacks. They keep on +heaving so." + +"I must see it all," said the old man stubbornly. "Look the other way." + +"I can't. It fascinates me," she said. + +"Willum!" yelled the landlord. "Come along, my lad. Pigeons first. Dra' +first blood, Willum." + +A young man stepped out, smiling in a watery fashion, handling his gun +nervously. The landlord plunged his hand into a crate, caught a pigeon +by the neck, and dragged it out. The trap was merely a basket with a +string fastened to it, and it was placed scarcely a dozen yards from the +shooter. + +"Kill 'en, Willum!" shouted the landlord as he pulled the string. + +Willum fired and missed. The bird flew straight at him, and with the +second shot he broke its wing. The pigeon fell on the grass, fluttering +helplessly, and Willum walked up to it with a solemn grin, gave it a +kick, then flung it aside to die at its leisure. The small boys pounced +upon it, and assisted its departure from the world. + +"Little devils," murmured Boodles, beginning to bite her handkerchief. + +"I think we are all devils here," said old Weevil. + +"This field is full of them. It is the field-day of the Brute, the +worship of the Brute, the deification of the Brute." + +The shoot proceeded, and the men began to get warmed up. Not a single +pigeon escaped, because those that got away from the field with the loss +of only a few feathers were bound to fall victims to the men who had +posted themselves all round with the idea of profiting by the +competitors' bad shots. The only man who was perfectly composed was +Pendoggat. He shot at the pigeons, and killed them, as if he had been +performing a religious duty. Chegwidden, on the other hand, shouted all +the time and fired like a madman. The little boys were kept hard at work +torturing the maimed birds to death, with much joyous and innocent +laughter. + +"How be ye, Master? Purty fine shooting, I reckon," cried an old crony, +hobbling up with a holiday air. + +"Butiful," said Master. "Us be too old vor't, I reckon." + +"Us bain't too old to enjoy it," said the old crony, + +"Sure 'nuff, man. Us bain't too old to enjoy it. 'Tis a brave sight to +see 'em shoot." + +Then there was a pause. The string had been pulled, the basket had +tumbled aside, but the pigeon would not stir. Possibly it had been +maimed in the crate, or by the rough hand which had dragged it out. +Everybody shouted wildly, waving arms and hats, but the bird did nothing +except peck at the grass to get a little food into its hungry body. The +landlord ran up and kicked it. The pigeon merely fell over, then hopped +a little way feebly, but still refusing to fly, so the landlord kicked +it again, shouting: "He be contrairy. There be no doing nought wi' 'en." + +"Tread on 'en, landlord," shouted a voice. + +"What be I to du?" asked the man whose turn it was to kill. + +"Shoot 'en on the ground. Shoot 'en, man! Don't let 'en get away. Kill +'en, man!" screamed the landlord. + +The competitor grinned contentedly, and at a distance of half-a-dozen +paces blandly riddled the creature with pellets. This was the funniest +thing which had happened yet, and the crowd could not stop laughing for +a long time. + +"Now the rabbits! Fetch out two or dree," shouted the landlord. "Kill +'en quick, lads!" The worthy soul was anxious to have the massacre over, +and start the real business of the day at the bar. + +With the rabbits fun began in earnest. All that had gone before was tame +in comparison, for pigeons die quickly, but rabbits continue to run +after being shot, and still provide excellent amusement, if the vital +parts are untouched. It was not shooting at all; not a particle of skill +was required, as the basket was close to the competitor, and he shot +immediately the animal began to run, and sometimes before; but it was +killing, it was a sort of bloodshed, and nothing more was asked for. +Hardly a rabbit was killed cleanly, as the moormen are, as a rule, +awkward with the gun. As the creatures invariably ran straight away from +the crowd, they were usually shot in the hinder parts, and then would +drag themselves on, until they were seized, either by the man who had +fired, or by the small boys, and carried back to be flung upon the heap +of bodies, some of them dead, and some not. Even feeble old Master +entered into the fun of the thing, and begged permission to break a +rabbit's neck with his own hands, so that he might still call himself a +sportsman. + +"Come away, daddy. I'm getting queer," said Boodles. + +Weevil woke from a sort of trance, and shook his head oddly, but said +nothing. Power of speech was not his just then. He had hitherto kept +himself scrupulously apart from such innocent village pleasures, afraid +to trust himself at them, but what he saw quite confirmed what he had +believed. It was not sport in any sense of the word. It was mere animal +passion and lust for blood. It was love of cruelty, not any ambition to +take a prize, which animated the competitors. It would have meant small +enjoyment for them had the pigeons been made of clay and the rabbits of +clockwork. Because the creatures they shot at could feel, could shed +blood, and were feeling pain, were shedding blood, the men were happy; +not only happy, but drunk with the passion, and half mad with the lust, +of their bloody game. + +Weevil looked about, fighting down his weakness, which was not then +altogether eccentric. He saw the transformed faces of the crowd. Not +only the competitors but the spectators had the faces that a London mob +of old might have presented, watching the hanging, drawing, and +quartering of criminals, and finding the spectacle very much to their +taste. They had become so excited as to be inarticulate. They could not +make their shoutings intelligible to one another. They were +gesticulating like so many Italian drunkards. Their boots were marked +with blood, and it was also upon their hands, and smeared upon their +faces. Blood was upon the ground too, with other matter more offensive. +The ghastly pile of pigeons and rabbits, which were supposed to be done +for, was not without motion. Sometimes it heaved; but there was no +sound. Two little boys were enjoying a rare game of tug-of-war with a +living rabbit. Another youngster was playfully poking out the eyes of a +fluttering pigeon. They would make good sportsmen when they grew up. A +tiny little fellow, nothing more than a baby, was begging a bigger boy +to instruct him in the art of killing rabbits. A little girl was +practising the deed upon her own account. The constable who had arrested +Brightly looked on and said it was "brave sport." There were other +things which Weevil saw, but he did not mention them afterwards, because +he tried to forget them; but the sight made him feel faint, not being a +sportsman, but a rather ignorant, somewhat foolish, and decidedly +eccentric old man. + +"I think I must go. Boodles," he said feebly. + +He turned away, and his eyes fell upon the village. There was a church, +and there was Ebenezer, and a meeting-house also. Surely so many +religious houses were hardly necessary in one small village. Church and +chapels dominated the place; and in those buildings a vast amount of +theory was preached concerning ancient literature, and a place of morbid +imagination called Hell, and a place of healthier imagination called +Heaven; and upon that field on the side of the moor the regular +worshippers at those buildings were enjoying themselves. There was a +failure somewhere, only Weevil had not the sense to find out where. High +above were the tors, and it was there, no doubt, that the early +inhabitants stood to worship Baal; and there possibly a vast amount of +theory was preached concerning the whole duty of man, and a twofold +future state; and then the men went down to fight and plunder. It seemed +to have been a theoretical religion then. It is a theoretical religion +now. Theories have swamped the world, submerging the practical side like +the lost Atlantis. It is not religion which compels men to cease from +doing murder. It is the fear of vengeance. + +Boodles and Weevil left the field, pale and miserable. When they were +outside the old man went away and was violently sick. They abandoned the +field in time, for the men were getting beyond control. When the rabbits +were slaughtered they sought for small birds and shot at them until +their cartridges were exhausted. Even Pendoggat had lost his +self-restraint, although he did not show it like the rest. The smell of +blood was in his nostrils, and he wanted to go on killing. He longed to +shoot at the men around him. The victims were all dead at last. The +happy children had seen to that, and went off home to get their hands +and faces washed, tired out with the day's fun. That clever painter of +human nature, Hogarth, missed something during his lifetime. He could +not have seen a rabbit-shoot in a Dartmoor village. Had he done so, +there might have been a fifth plate added to his Four Stages of Cruelty. + +"I must drink something," said Weevil, when he reached home. "You were +right, little maid. I ought not to have gone." + +"Haunted water, daddy?" suggested Boodles, with a wan little smile. + +"Yes, darling. I think I have earned it. But not badly haunted." + +"Just a gentle rapping, not groans and chain-rattling," she said, trying +to be merry, having no reason to feel unhappy, as she went for the +brandy bottle. That was how the water was to be haunted. Weevil was +practically a teetotaler, in a different sense from Farmer Chegwidden, +but he sometimes took a suspicion of brandy when he was run down, as +then. + +"Boodle-oodle," he said in a feeble way, after refreshing himself, "you +have seen the Brute rampant. What do you think of it?" + +"I don't think, daddy-man. It's no use when you can't do anything. I +just label it a queer puzzle, and put it away along with all the other +queer puzzles. And you would be much happier if you would do the same." + +"I cannot," he groaned. "I suppose those men were enjoying themselves, +but what right have they to an enjoyment which makes other people +suffer? I say they have no right. Animals have to be killed for food; +but what would be done to a butcher who slaughtered his beasts in the +middle of the street? Those men were not killing for any purpose apart +from the love of killing, and they were doing it publicly. They were +mad. They had the faces one sees in a bad dream. And now they have gone +to stuff themselves with food, and then they will swill liquor until +they are mad again." + +"Don't," said Boodles. "It's not fair on me. You will be giving me +umpy-umpy feelings, and I'm going to see Aubrey to-morrow, and it may be +the last time for ages, and I shall feel quite bad enough without having +your worries to carry as well. Let's light up, and draw the curtains, +and make believe that every one is as nice as we are, and that there are +no troubles or worries in the whole wide world." + +Old Weevil only moaned and shuffled about the room in a miserable +fashion. "I can't get rid of the Brute, darling. He sits upon my +shoulders and strangles me. Why should these people be outside the law +because they are commoners? One hundred years ago you might have seen +horrible deeds of cruelty in every London street. There are none to be +seen now, because townsfolk have become civilised, and law-makers have +recognised that what may please the few is distressing to the many. But +in these wild lonely places people may be fiends, and the law does not +touch them. It exists for the populous centres, not for the solitudes." + +"I'm going to get supper. Mind you are good when I come back," said the +little housewife quickly. + +"That is not all," raved the poor old man, still shuffling to and fro, +heedless that he was alone. "The cry of the animals goes up to Heaven. +There are the ponies and bullocks turned out upon the moor all winter, +in weather which would kill the hardiest man, if he was exposed to it, +in a few hours. They get no food. There is not a bit of grass for them. +Many of them are done to death by cruel weather and starvation. In +spring their carcases are found lying upon the moor." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +ABOUT AUTUMN IN FAIRYLAND + + +The devil had passed through Tavy woods late that year, and in his path +blackberries were blasted, the bracken was scorched, and all the foliage +smouldered. He had trampled upon, and burnt, everything; the next time +he passed through he would breathe on them and they would rot away. At +last he would come with his big bellows; clear the wood out, and scatter +a lot of dusty frost about the place to make it look tidy. Directly he +was out of the way a busy little body in green would bustle into the +woods with a big basket of buds on her arm, and she would stick these +buds about upon the honeysuckles and the primroses, and then run away in +a snowstorm laughing. Nobody would notice her; she is too small and +shadowy, and yet observant folk would know she had been because the +plants which had received the buds would smarten up at once. Every one +loves the little green fairy, although she is often quite a plain +creature, and usually is afflicted with a dreadful cold. She beats the +devil and restores all that he has trampled and blown upon. She may +often be seen in April, sweeping up the remains of the hoar-frost and +attending to her buds, sneezing all the time. People call her Spring in +those days. Her cold is quite incurable, but fortunately it does not +kill her. + +Even in fairyland it is not always pretty. Were it so the pleasant place +would lose its charm, for it is the dull time which makes the gay time +glorious. There is no winter for the little people, just as there is no +winter for the flowers; and flowers and fairies are one and the same +thing. They go to sleep until the sun comes to wake them up, and tell +them it is time to dance and blossom as they did last year. There is a +winter, only they know nothing of it. That is why the little people are +so much happier than the big ones. When sorrow comes they simply go to +sleep. Bigger people are not allowed to do that. + +"You are going away, Aubrey," said Boodles. "You are going away." + +She was always saying it, and thinking it when she was not saying it, +and dreaming about it when she was not thinking of it. She was playing +with a toy upon her finger, a hoop of gold, a little ring which he had +given her, whose posy was the usual motto: "Love me and leave me not," +and its symbol the pale-blue forget-me-not. Lovers are fond of adding +poetry to poetry and piling sentiment upon sentiment. + +It was not exactly an engagement-ring, but a present, and a promise of +the full-flowered ring; just as the crown-buds upon the primroses were a +promise of the spring. Boodles was eighteen at last. How slowly the +years passed at that age! And the ring with the blue forget-me-nots was +a birthday gift, although it was given and received as something more, +and put upon a finger which meant much, and worn and fondled as if it +meant everything. The girl's radiant hair was up relentlessly, and her +frocks trailed for evermore. She was a baby no longer. + +It was not a happy walk because it was to be their last for a long time, +and they could not ramble there without treading upon and bruising some +poor little memory; just as the devil had trodden on the blackberries, +although the memories were not spoilt; they were the kisses of those +first days of first love, and they were immortal memories, birth-marks +upon their souls. They had grown up; their bodies were formed, although +their minds were not matured; but whatever happened those memories were +planted in Tavy woods perennially, and nothing could kill them. Tears +would only water them and make them grow more strongly. Their sweet wild +fragrance would cling eternally, because the odour was that of deep +first love; the one gift, the only gift, which passes direct from the +hands of the gods and has no dirt upon it. + +Somehow Aubrey had never appeared as a perfectly distinct personality to +Boodles. Her love was in a mist. He seemed to have come into her life in +a god-like sort of way, to have dropped upon her as a child like rain +from the clouds, saying: "You thought of me, and I have come." While she +went on thinking of him he would remain, but directly she ceased to +think he would vanish again. They had simply come together as children +and walked about; and now they were grown up children still walking +about; and they felt they would like to grow up a little more, then stop +growing, but still go on walking about. First love is a marvellous dose +of fern-seed. They were content to look at one another, and while two +young people remain in that state the gods can give them nothing. But +Boodles was going on with her song: "You are going away, Aubrey. You are +going away." There was a gate at the end of the wood, and it was +something more than the gate of the wood. It opened only one way. + +Aubrey loved the little girl. He was steadier than most young men and +less fickle than most. Even when he was away from Boodles he did not +forget her, and when they were together she absorbed him. She was so +fresh. He had never met any girl with a tithe of her wonderful +spring-like freshness, which suggested the sweet earth covered with +flowers and steaming after a shower of warm rain. Boodles seemed to him +to be composed of this warm earth, sunshine and rain, with the beauty +and sweetness of the flowers added. She had taken him when young, and +planted him in her warm little heart, and tended him so carefully that +he could not help growing there; and he could not be torn up, for that +would have lacerated the heart; the roots were down so deep; and he +might not bear transplanting. First love thinks such things, and it is +good for the lovers. Life gives them nothing else to equal it. + +Still Aubrey had his troubles. It was the last walk for some time. He +was disobeying his parents, and deceiving them. He had promised not to +walk with Boodles again. No boy could have been blessed with kinder +parents; but Mr. Bellamie, after his strange visit to old Weevil, and +subsequent discussion with his wife, conceived that it was his duty to +pull the reins. Aubrey had been allowed a free head long enough, and the +old gentleman was afraid he might get the bit between his teeth and run. +Boodles was a most delightful child in every way, but she knew nothing +about art, and what was far more serious she knew nothing of her +parents. Mr. Bellamie spoke plainly to his son; reminded him of the duty +he owed his family; told him he had been to see Weevil and that the +interview had not been satisfactory; mentioned that the old man either +knew nothing of the girl's origin, or had certain reasons for +withholding his knowledge; explained that to interfere with his son's +happiness was his last wish, and that to interfere with the happiness of +others was equally distasteful; and concluded by impressing upon Aubrey, +what was true enough, namely, that it was not kind to encourage a young +girl to fall in love with him when he could not possibly marry her. The +boy had been then sufficiently impressed to give the promise which he +was now breaking. He felt he could not help himself; he must see Boodles +again, and at least tell her that he would never dream of giving her up, +but that his parents were inclined to be nasty about it. Besides, it was +the little girl's birthday; or rather what Weevil was pleased to style +her birthday, as he could not possibly know the exact day of her birth. +Aubrey eased his conscience by reminding himself that he had forgotten +to urge the point with his father, and if he had done so the old +gentleman would certainly have consented to one more meeting. So he +bought the pretty ring for Boodles, met her, and the mischief was done +again. + +When the first stage of their walk was over, and they were getting +reasonable, and Boodles had ceased singing her plaintive: "You are going +away," Aubrey began to suggest that his father was not in alliance with +them; and poor Boodles sighed and wanted to know what evil she had done. + +"Nothing, darling. But he wants to know something about your parents." + +"I told him. I don't know anything." + +"But Weevil must know." + +Somehow that had not occurred to Boodles. Perhaps Weevil did know, and +for reasons of his own had kept the information from her. + +"I'll ask him," she promised. "But Mr. Bellamie has been to see daddy. +Why didn't he ask him?" + +"Weevil told him he is your grandfather." + +"You mean my old daddy-man is my grandfather?" cried Boodles, very much +astonished. "Why hasn't he told me then?" + +"Hasn't he?" + +"Never." + +Aubrey was too young to care; but he certainly felt suspicions about +Weevil, and thoughtlessly expressed them by saying: "I suppose he was +telling the truth." + +"Of course he was," said Boodles. "Old daddy couldn't tell a lie however +much he wanted to. It would hurt him so badly he would groan and grunt +for a week. What else did he tell your father?" + +"He didn't say. But, darling, you'll find out." + +"Oh, Aubrey," she said pathetically. "Do you care?" + +"Lovely little thing, of course I don't. Your parents must have been the +best and nicest people that ever lived, or you wouldn't have been so +sweet. But you see, darling, my people worry no end about name and +family and all that sort of rubbish, and if they think any one is not +what they call well-born they kick up no end of a smother." + +"Well-born," murmured Boodles. She was beginning to comprehend at last, +to recognise the existence of that grim thing called convention, and to +feel a sort of misty shadow creeping up the wood. She felt something on +one of her fingers, and it seemed to her that the pretty ring, which she +loved so much, was trying to work itself off. "Well-born," the child +murmured to herself. "Whatever does it mean?" + +This was what being eighteen meant. Boodles was learning things. + +"I must have had a father and mother," she said, though in a somewhat +dubious manner. + +Aubrey only hummed something unintelligible, and wished the cloud out of +her eyes. + +"Now I must find out all about them?" + +"I expect my people would like to know, dear," he said. + +"If I can't find out, Aubrey?" she went on, in a moist kind of way. + +"Then you will have to take mine," he said as lightly as he could. + +Boodles stopped, turned away, began to play with a golden frond of +bracken almost as bright as her hair, and began to cry as gently as an +April shower. She had been on the point of it all the afternoon; and she +persuaded herself it was all because Aubrey was going away, although she +knew that wasn't true. It was because she was finding out things. + +"Don't," she sobbed. "It's doing me good," + +However, Aubrey took her in his arms and tried to pet her, and that did +her as much good as anything, although she went on crying. + +"Can't give me yours--you silly! They won't be given. They don't want me +to love you, they hate me, and your mother kissed me--she did--on my +mouth." + +"Mother is very fond of you, darling. She is really," Aubrey whispered +as quickly as he could. "She said you were perfect, and father agreed +with her, and said you would be all that a girl could be, if--if--" + +"Go on," murmured Boodles. "It won't hurt. I've got hold of you. I'm +taking all the starch out of your collar." + +"Never mind what he said." + +"We don't say good-bye until you have told me. I'll hang on to you. Stop +you, perhaps. Oh, Aubrey, you are going away--that's why I'm crying. +Your father said I should be a nice little girl, if--go on." + +"If you had a name," said Aubrey, with an effort. + +Boodles let him go and stepped back. She looked rather nice, with her +eyes in the rain, and her head in the sunshine. + +"What does that mean, Aubrey?" she said, almost fiercely. + +"Nothing whatever to me, darling. Don't be silly," he said tenderly. +"It's only father's nonsense. He thinks so much of his name because it's +a fossilised old concern which has been in the county since Noah. He +doesn't want me to marry you, only because he's afraid your people may +not have lived about here since Noah. If you went and told him you're a +Raleigh or a Cruwys he would lay his pedigree at your feet and ask you +to roll on it." + +"Not well-born. No name," said Boodles, aloud this time. "I think we +have been silly babies. I seem to have grown up all at once. Oh, Aubrey, +was it you and I who used to walk here--years ago?" + +He bent and took her face between his hands and kissed the pretty head. + +"We never bothered about names," sobbed Boodles. + +"We are not bothering now--at least I'm not. It's all the same to me, +darling." + +"It's not. It can't be. How silly I was not to see it before. If your +parents say I'm not--not your equal, you mustn't love me any more. You +must go away and forget me. But what am I to do? I can't forget you," +she said. "It's not like living in a town, where you see people always +passing--living as I do, on the moor, alone with a poor old man who +imagines horrors." + +"Listen, darling." Aubrey was only a boy, and he was nearly crying too. +"I'm not going to give you up. I'll tell you the whole truth. My people +wanted me not to see you again, but I shall tell them that things have +gone too far with us. They won't like it at first, but they must get to +like it. I shall write to you every week while I am away, and when I +come back I shall tell father we must be married." + +"I wouldn't, not without his consent. I shall go on loving you because I +cannot help it, but I won't marry you unless he tells me I may." + +"Well, I will make him," said Aubrey. "I know how to appeal to him. I +shall tell him I have loved you ever since you were a child, and we were +promised to each other then, and we have renewed the promise nearly +every year since." + +"Then he will say you were wicked to make love to the first little +red-headed girl you could find, and he will call me names for +encouraging you, and then the whole world will explode, and there will +be nothing left but lumps of rock and little bits of me," said Boodles, +mopping her eyes with his handkerchief. She was getting more cheerful. +She knew that Aubrey loved her, and as for her name perhaps it was not +such a bad one after all. At all events it was not yet time for the big +explosion. "I'm only crying because you are going away," she declared, +and this time she decided she meant it. "What a joke it would be if I +turned out something great. I would go to Mr. Bellamie and ask him for +his pedigree, and turn up my nose when I saw it, and say I was very +sorry, but I must really look for something better than his son, though +he has got a girl's face and is much prettier than I am. Oh, Aubrey," +she cried, with a sudden new passion. "You have always meant it? You +will be true to your little maid of the radiant head? I don't doubt you, +but love is another of the queer puzzles, all flaming one time, all dead +another, and only a little white dust to show for all the flame. The +dust may mean a burnt-out heart, and I think that is what would happen +if you gave me up." + +He satisfied her in the usual way, declaring that if they ever were +separated it would be by her action, not by his. She would have to +unfasten the lover's knot. Then they went on. It was getting late, and +the short day was already in the dimsies. They stood beside the gate, +saying good-bye, not in two words, but in the old method which never +grows musty. They passed on, the gate slammed, and they were outside; +only just outside, but already they were lost and could not have found +their way back; for the wand of the magician had been waved over "our +walk," and fairyland had gone away like smoke to the place where babies +come from. + +Weevil was sitting in the dark, mumbling and moaning, when Boodles came +in. He was in the seventh Hell of misery, as he had been for a walk and +discovered beneath a hedge a rusty iron trap with its jaws fastened upon +the leg of a rabbit. The creature had been caught days before, as +decomposition had set in, and as it was only just held by one leg it +must have suffered considerably. Such a sight is quite one of the common +objects of the country, therefore Weevil ought not to have been +perturbed; only in his case familiarity failed to breed indifference. He +sat down in the dark, and as soon as the child entered began to quaver +his usual grievance: "What right have they to make me suffer? Why may I +not go a walk without being tortured? What right have the brutes to +torment me so?" + +"Groaning and grunting again, poor old man," said Boodles cheerfully, +rather glad there was no light, as she did not want him to see she had +been crying. "You must laugh and be funny now, please, for I've come +home dreadful tired, and if you go on worrying I shall begin to groan +and grunt too. I'm ready to have my boots taken off." + +"Don't talk like that. Your throat sounds all lumpy," the old man +complained, getting up and groping towards her in the dark. "What have +you been doing--quarrelling?" + +Boodles made noises which were intended to express ridicule, and then +said miserably: "Saying good-bye." + +Weevil knelt upon the carpet and began to unlace the first boot he could +find, groaning and grunting again like a professional mourner. + +"Did it hurt, Boodle-oodle?" he asked tenderly. + +"Horrid," she sighed. + +"It made you cry?" + +"Ees." + +"That was the Brute, darling. I've warned you of him so often. He +doesn't let any of us escape. He shows me rabbits in traps, and he makes +you cry. I believe you are crying now." + +"Not much, daddy. Only a few little tears that were late for the big +weep," said Boodles, burrowing her face into a cool cushion. + +"I want you to laugh. You don't laugh so much now," he complained, +drawing the boot off carefully, and then feeling inside to make sure +that the foot had not come away too. + +"One day you said I laughed too much, and I wasn't to do it any more," +said a doleful voice. + +"Ah, but there was a reason for that," said the old man cunningly. "I +thought the Brute would be angry if he saw you laughing so much. That +was before I took him by the throat and flung him out of the house. He +hasn't been here since--not to worry you anyhow," he chuckled. + +"You must explain that, please, and a lot of other things besides," she +said hurriedly, sitting up and trying to locate the exact position of +his head. + +Old Weevil laughed in a silly sort of way. "It's a little personal +matter between the Brute and me," he chuckled. + +"But I come in. I'm the respondent, or whatever you call it. Now I must +hear all about it," she said. + +"You're not old enough. I shan't tell you anything until you are +twenty-one." + +"Yes, you will. I'm not a baby now. I am eighteen, and I feel +more--nearly eighty-one to-night. I've got one boot on still, and if you +won't answer I'll kick." + +The old man jumped playfully upon the threatening foot like a kitten +upon a ball of wool. + +"Daddy-man, I'm serious. I'm not laughing a bit. I believe there is +another cry coming on, and that will make you groan and grunt dreadful. +Is it true you are my grandfather?" + +The question was out with a rush, and murmuring: "There, I've done it," +Boodles put her face back into the cushion, breathing as quickly as any +agitated maid who has just received an unexpected offer of marriage. + +Whatever Weevil was doing she could not think. He appeared to be +scrabbling about the floor, playing with her foot. Both of them were +glad it was so dark. + +"Who told you that?" he said. + +"Aubrey. You told his father. Why haven't you ever told me?" + +"Boodle-oodle," he quavered, "let me take your other boot off." + +"The boot can wait. Don't be unkind, daddy," she pleaded. "I've been +worried dreadful to-day. Why did you tell Mr. Bellamie you are my +grandfather, if you're not?" + +"I am," cried old Weevil. "Of course I am. I have been your grandfather +for a long time, ever since you were born, but I wasn't going to tell +you until you were twenty-one." + +"Why not? Why ever shouldn't I know? Are you ashamed of me?" + +At that the old man began to throw himself about and make horrible faces +in the dark. + +"I expect you are," Boodles went on. "Mr. Bellamie is ashamed of me. He +says I'm not well-born, and I have no name. Aubrey told me this +afternoon." + +"The liar," cried old Weevil. Then he began to cackle in his own +grotesque way. He couldn't help being amused at the idea that he should +be calling Mr. Bellamie a liar. "How did he know? How did he find that +out?" he muttered. "Nobody could have told him. He must have guessed +it." + +"You are my grandfather," Boodles murmured. "Now you must tell me all +about my father and mother. I've got to let Mr. Bellamie know," she went +on innocently. + +"I told him. I told him the whole story," cried Weevil. "He sat in this +room for an hour, and I gave him the whole history. What a forgetful man +he must be. I will write it out and send it him." + +"Tell me," said Boodles. "How could you say that you picked me up on +your doorstep, and never knew where I had come from?" + +"It's a long story, my darling. I don't fancy I can remember it now." +The old man wondered where he had put that precious piece of paper. + +"Don't squeeze my foot so. Who was my mother? Do you really know who my +mother was?" + +"Tita, we called her that for short, Katherine, Mary--no, that's you. +I've got it all written down somewhere. I must tell her the same story. +Shall I light the lamp and find it?" + +"You must remember. Are you my mother's father?" she asked impatiently. + +"Wait a moment, Boodle-oodle. These sudden questions confuse me so. Mr. +Bellamie would know. I told him. Yes, it was your mother. Miss Lascelles +was her name, and I married her in Switzerland. We stayed at that hotel +where Gubbings wrote his history of the world, and we fell out of a boat +on Lake Geneva, and she was never heard of again." + +"Where was I?" cried Boodles, knowing that impatience would only perplex +him more. + +"You were not born, darling. It was a long time after that when you were +born, and your father was Canon Lascelles of Hendon." + +"Dear old man, don't be so agitated," she said, putting out a hand to +stroke his whiskers. "You are so puzzled you don't know what you are +saying. How could my mother be drowned before I was born?" + +"No, no, darling, you misunderstand me. It was my wife who disappeared +mysteriously, not your mother." + +"My mother was your daughter. That's one thing I want to know," said +perplexed Boodles. + +"Tita, we called her Tita for short," he said, glad of one fact of which +he was certain. + +"And my father, Canon Lascelles--really? A real canon, a man with a sort +of title?" she cried, with a little joyous gasp. + +"He's in British Honduras. I think that was the place--" + +"Alive! My father alive!" cried Boodles. "And you never told me before! +Why haven't I seen him? Why doesn't he write to me? Oh, I think you have +been cruel to me, telling me those wild stories of how I came to you, +keeping the truth from me all these years." + +Old Weevil sat at her feet, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. He was +protecting Boodles, giving her happiness, he thought; but when he heard +that cry it suggested to him that his false story might bring her in the +end more sorrow than the truth. He could not go back now that he had +gone so far. A lie is a rapid breeder of lies; and old Weevil, with his +lack of memory, and natural instinct for the truth, was a man singularly +ill-fitted for fictions. He had overlooked a great many things in his +wild desire to make the child happy. It had never occurred to him that +she would feel a natural love for her parents. + +"I wanted to be kind to you, Boodles," he quavered. "I kept the truth +from you because there were good reasons." + +"What were they?" + +"I can't tell you, darling," he answered truly. "You must not ask me," +he said firmly, because she had touched upon a mystery which his +inventive faculties were quite incapable of solving. + +"And my mother--where is she?" + +"Oh, she is dead," said Weevil cheerfully. He was not going to have any +trouble with the mother, and he was sorry he had not killed the father +too. "I told you she was drowned mysteriously." + +"That was your wife, my grandmother. You are not playing with me? You +are not deceiving me?" said Boodles pitifully. + +"I'm trying to tell you, only it is all mixed up. It happened so long +ago, and the Brute has worried me so much since that I don't seem able +to remember anything very clearly. Your mother went out of the hotel one +day, and never came back." + +"Where?" + +"Lausanne, the hotel where--" + +"But she may be alive still," interrupted the child. + +"Oh no, darling. Quite impossible. She was never heard of again, and it +was nearly thirty years ago." + +"Don't ramble. You are wandering off again. How could it be thirty years +ago, when I'm only just eighteen?" + +Weevil admitted the difficulty, and replied that he had been thinking +just then of his wife. She would keep mixing herself up with the girl's +mother. + +"Now I'm getting at it," said Boodles, with a kind of fierce +seriousness. "My mother is supposed to be dead. My father is in British +Honduras--" + +"British Guiana," corrected Weevil. + +"Are you sure?" + +"Almost certain. I looked it up on the map. I wish I had that piece of +paper," the poor old man muttered. + +"Well, it does not matter much for the present. You say my mother was +Miss Lascelles, and my father was Canon Lascelles; but if my mother was +your daughter her name would have been Weevil." + +"So it was, my dear," he cried, with a new inspiration, "at least it +would have been if--if--I mean, darling, my name is really Lascelles, +only I changed it to Weevil when I lost my fortune." + +"Why ever couldn't you have told me all this before? How is it that +Canon Lascelles had the same name as you? Was he a relation?" + +"Yes, darling, first cousin," he faltered, wondering if the story +resembled that which he had told to Mr. Bellamie. + +"So my name is really Lascelles?" + +"Titania Lascelles. But there are a lot of others. I was nearly +forgetting them. You have a whole string of names, but I can't remember +them now, except Katherine and Mary--ah, yes, and there was Fitzalan. I +never could understand why they called you Fitzalan. I've got them all +written down somewhere, and I'll read them to you presently. We called +you Tita after your mother, but I got into the way of calling you +Boodles, which means beautiful, and have never got out of it." + +"You told all this to Mr. Bellamie?" asked Boodles excitedly. + +"I think so. I tried to," said Weevil hopefully. + +"Then what does he mean by saying I am of low birth and have no name?" +she cried indignantly. + +"Perhaps he did not understand. Perhaps he hadn't grasped it. I tell a +story very badly, dear." + +That point could not be disputed, and the child seized upon it eagerly. +There was no telling what wild rambling statements her grandfather might +have poured into the ears of Aubrey's father. But she could tell him now +she was quite a well-born little dame, and had a splendid name which was +all her own, and she was really good enough for Aubrey after all. She +put her head back upon the cushion and began to laugh because she was +happy, the day was ending nicely, and she believed the story would end +nicely too. She had cried because Aubrey was going away and for no other +reason; at one time that afternoon she had not been sure of it, she had +almost been afraid that the tears had been brought on by Mr. Bellamie's +evil suggestions about her birth; but now she knew that she could hold +up her nose with the best of them. She was accustomed to Weevil's +eccentric language, his contradictions gave her no suspicions; she +swallowed the rambling story whole and wanted more. There were so many +questions to be asked and answered. She thought she would write to +Aubrey and sign herself Titania Lascelles with great flourishes. + +"I am glad to hear you laughing, Boodles," said Weevil tenderly. + +The poor old man was far from the laughing mood. He was indeed getting +frightened at what he had done, and was wondering how he could carry it +on, and how the story would end. Left to himself he would not have told +the child anything; but she had caught him in an unguarded moment with a +direct question, and he had been forced to answer without time to +prepare himself by another rehearsal in private. He had hardly expected +her to take things so seriously, forgetting how much the story meant to +her, so utterly obsessed was his mind with the one great idea, which was +her preservation from the Brute. Love blinds every one. The young it +dazzles, like the sun low down on the horizon, so that they see no +faults. Into the eyes of the old it flings dust to prevent them from +seeing the end of the road. + +"Now we must light the lamp and have supper," he said drearily, gently +removing the child's other boot and pressing her warm little foot in his +cold loving hand. + +"I don't want lamps or suppers," she sighed. "What is that light, over +in the corner?" + +"I think it is the moon shining in between the curtains." + +"The wind has got up. It's howling. I don't care, for I've got a name. +I'm not Boodles Blank any more. I'm tired and happy." + +"I have given you a little happiness. Boodles?" he quavered. + +"Heavensfull. You have always been a funny old daddy-man, and now that +you are my grand-daddy-man you are funnier than ever. Fancy keeping me +in the dark all the time! To-morrow you must tell me everything. What +was my mother like? Go on. Tell me a lot about my mother." + +"I don't know, Boodles--I mean I can't think to-night." + +Weevil had left her, and was tumbling about the room, knocking himself +against things and groaning. He was beginning to understand that his +efforts to destroy the Brute might only end by investing him with new +powers. But the child was happy, and that was everything; she was +singing to herself, and laughing, and thinking of her mother; not the +mother who had tied her up in fern and flung her at his door, but the +mother who existed only in his fantastic brain. Suppose Mr. Bellamie had +found it out. But that was impossible, for nobody knew except that +unknown mother and himself. He was doing what was right. His little maid +was perfectly happy then. Sufficient for that day was the happiness +thereof. There was just one trouble remaining--the problem of Mr. +Bellamie's incredulity. Why had he not accepted the story which she was +so ready to believe? Eccentric manner and contradictory statements did +not explain everything. Mr. Bellamie had no right to put the whole story +aside just because it had been badly told. + +"I can tell you, Boodles. I have just found it out," he cried out of the +darkness with a miserable sort of triumph. "There has been a lot of +scandal about you, which I have never troubled to answer, and Mr. +Bellamie has heard it, and finds it easier to believe than what I told +him. There is the Brute again. He makes people prefer scandal to the +truth. Nobody knows how you came to me, and so they invented a story to +suit them. Everybody knows that story, and as I have not denied it Mr. +Bellamie believes it is true. I think I'll write to him to-morrow." + +"How did I come to you?" asked Boodles. + +"It's a long story," he faltered. "I can't tell you now because I am +feeling so tired. I shall have to think about it all night," he +muttered. + +"Why did you make up that queer story about finding me one night at your +door?" + +"That is true. Your father chose that way of sending you to me," he said +lamely. "I kept the truth from you because I was afraid you might not +want to stay with me if you knew everything. Your father wished you to +be kept in ignorance. I was going to tell you on your twenty-first +birthday." + +"You needn't have told me you thought I was a poor woman's child," she +said reproachfully. + +"I am very sorry, darling. I won't do it again," the poor old creature +promised. + +Boodles jumped up, pattered to the window, and flung aside the curtains. +The room was flooded at once with moonlight, and she could feel the wind +coming through the chinks. Weevil looked up patiently, and she saw his +weary old eyes and wrinkled face, ghastly in that light. It struck her +he was looking very worn and ill. + +"You are dreadful tired," she said very tenderly. + +"Yes, Boodles, the noise of the wind makes me feel very tired." + +"I am not Boodles now. That was my baby-name. I am Tita. And the +others--Katherine, Mary--what are the rest?" + +"I don't know, dear. I will try and think to-morrow." + +"I won't tease you, but there is so much I want to know. Poor great big +old grand-daddy-man, you look quite dead." + +He shuffled towards her, put his arms round her, and began to make +noises as if he was in pain. "I am tired and weak. That is all, darling, +and the rabbit in the trap made me sick. I am weak and old and very +tired, and I know I have done no good in my life. Shut it out, my +maid--shut it out." + +It was the prospect which he wanted shut out. They could see the bare +stretch of moor, upon it the moon shining, and over it the wind rushing. +There is nothing more dreary than a windy moonlit night upon the moor, +filled with its own emptiness of sound, suggestive of wild motion and +yet motionless, covered with light that is not light. + +"It is like a lonely life," said Weevil bitterly. + +Boodles dropped the curtains and tried to laugh. She did not like the +look on the old man's face. + +"The lonely life has gone," she said. "Now we will have some light." + +Weevil shuffled after her, muttering to himself: "You have done it, +Abel-Cain. You must keep it up. You must hold the Brute off her somehow, +or she may have to go out, into the windy moonlight, into the lonely +life." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +ABOUT THE GOOD RIGHT HAND OF FELLOWSHIP + + +One of the creeping-things to be crushed at the forthcoming Assizes was +Brightly. Ju had been already stamped out of existence, and it was meet +and right that the little man should follow her example, and be placed +behind some stone walls where it would be impossible for him to drag +lusty farmers from their horses and half-murder them for the sake of +their clothes. Brightly had not long to wait in prison. Exeter put on +the full panoply of the law during the first week of November; scarlet +and gold were flourished; trumpeters and a special preacher brayed; +bells clanged, the small grocer and the candle-maker were summoned to +serve on the jury, to fail not at their peril, lawyers buzzed +everywhere, and a lot of money was spent just because Brightly and a few +poor yokels had misconducted themselves. It was a curious sort of net, +this Assize net; it was constructed and cast in such a manner that it +permitted a lot of coarse fish and golden carp to escape through its +meshes, while all the little tadpoles and mud-grubbers were caught and +held. + +One of the coarse fish to swim into the judicial circuit was Pendoggat. +He came to Exeter, partly that he might spend a portion of the capital +of the Nickel Mining Company, and partly that he might visit the +Guildhall to see sinners punished. Pendoggat had a keen sense of justice +and a certain amount of dull humour. The Assizes represented to him a +foreshadowing of the fiery pleasures of Hell--they were a pleasure to +his mind because he was secure from them--and it amused him to think +that another man was going to suffer for his wrongdoing. The idea that +he was a sinner had never occurred to him. He had stripped Chegwidden, +and flung him into the furze, because the wind had swept upon him, +urging him to persecute the unconscious man, and he had obeyed. He had +not robbed Chegwidden, nor had he stolen his clothes; and that was the +principal charge against Brightly. If he had stood up in court, and +confessed that he had dragged the farmer from his horse and stolen his +clothes, he would have been telling a lie, which would have been painful +to him. Brightly was not charged with finding Chegwidden unconscious, +stripping the clothes from him, and throwing them down a wheal. Had that +been the charge against him Pendoggat would probably have recognised +that the purveyor of rabbit-skins was a good Christian, who had learnt +the great principles of the gospel, and was willing to sacrifice himself +for another. The mind of Pendoggat when it turned towards theology +became incomprehensible. + +The weather was changing into winter and there was a smell of snow upon +the moor. Pendoggat had played his game, and so far as he could see had +won it. The success was not brilliant, because the people of Bromley had +proved to be a stingy set, and the amount of money subscribed for the +mining venture did not reach three hundred pounds. The chairman of the +company, Pezzack's retired grocer-uncle, who had after repeated failures +at last discovered how to spell the word committee, was continually +writing to know when the first consignment of ore was to be placed on +the market, and, what was of far greater importance, when the first +dividend might be expected. Pendoggat as frequently replied, through the +agency of Pezzack, that operations could not be commenced until spring, +as the climate of Dartmoor was not the same as that of Bromley; but the +grocer could not understand, and went on writing. He appeared to think +that nickel was like the inferior American and disreputable +margarine--which in his business had been labelled respectively prime +Cheddar and best butter--and would not keep. The little grocer deserved +to lose his money, though he was eminently respectable. His position +proved it, as only men of assured respectability can make enough money +to retire and purchase a little suburban villa, with such modern +improvements as walls one brick thick, roofs of thin plaster, and +defective drainage. His front doorstep was whitened daily. His parlour +window was heavily curtained, and in it were geraniums and ferns further +to attest respectability; and behind the curtains and floral display was +a chamber crowded with stately furniture. All was very beautiful in +front, and very dirty behind. The display in front was for the benefit +of the road. The negligence and dirt behind were only visible from the +railway. It was best butter according to the parlour window, and +disreputable margarine judging by the testimony of the back-yard. + +Queer objects of the country had come from all parts of Devon to assert +their intelligence as witnesses in the various trials. Peter was a +witness in the Brightly case, Peter who had comforted his system with +many a pint of beer, paid for with Chegwidden's money, and was then +enjoying himself at the expense of the country, although he had taken +the opportunity to get his railway fare from Mary. Peter was not only +travelling again, but he was principal witness, as he had discovered +Chegwidden lying unconscious and fully dressed upon the road; and Peter +did not underestimate his importance. + +Brightly had not been fortunate of late, but luck was to turn his way a +little at the trial. No doubt sentences upon small prisoners depend very +much upon the state of his lordship's liver. A bottle of corked wine, or +a burnt soup, may quite possibly mean another couple of months to the +man in the dock. Mercy is supposed to have its lodging somewhere in the +bowels, and if they are out of order, or offended by inferior cookery, +mercy may conceivably be out of order too. The judge upon this occasion +was in a robust state of health. His wine had not been corked, nor had +his soup been burnt, and he was quite in the mood to temper the panoply +of the law with a playful kind of mercy which presented counsel with +several somewhat obsolete jokes and one new pun. When Brightly appeared +another pun was instantly forthcoming upon his name. His lordship had at +once a kindly feeling for the prisoner who had contributed towards the +maintenance of his own reputation as a humorist; and he was soon saying +that it was absurd to suppose that such a poor creature could be guilty +of robbery with violence against the person of a strong man like Farmer +Chegwidden. + +A very able young barrister defended Brightly at the request of the +judge, a youngster recently called, who had every inducement to do his +best. That was Brightly's second bit of luck. The health of the judge +was perfect, and he had been allotted a strong advocate, although he +could not understand why the gentleman took such an interest in him and +tried so hard to get him off. The fat constable and the other witnesses +were given a melancholy time by the young barrister, who treated them +all very much as Pendoggat had treated Chegwidden. He stripped the lies +off them and left them shivering in the strangeness of the truth. Peter +was a difficult witness at first, but after a few minutes counsel could +probably have made him swear that when he had discovered Chegwidden the +farmer was undressing himself with a view to taking a bath. + +"In what condition was he when you found him lying upon the road?" asked +counsel. + +"Mazed," replied Peter. "Same as I be," he muttered. + +"Was he drunk?" + +"No," said Peter stoutly. + +"Do you know a drunken man when you see one?" + +Peter thought he did, but was not certain. They were common objects, and +as long as a man could proceed from one place to another, and shout +occasionally, he was, according to Peter, a fairly sober person. + +"Do you suppose he had fallen from his horse and stunned himself?" + +"Likely," said Peter. "He'm a cruel hard rider." + +"You have often seen him galloping over the moor, in what some people +might call a reckless way?" + +"Seen 'en often," said Peter. + +"Thursday evenings usually?" went on counsel, in a pleasant +conversational manner. + +Peter agreed that it was so. + +"You know, of course, that it is the farmer's habit on these evenings to +frequent some public-house; one night at Lydford, another at Brentor, +and so on? There's nothing remarkable about that, but still you are well +aware of it?" + +Peter was. + +"And you know what he goes there for? Everybody knows that. You know why +you go to a public-house. You go to get beer, don't you?" + +"I du," said Peter with some enthusiasm. + +"Sometimes there is a glass too much, and you are not quite sure of the +way home. That's only human nature. We all have our little failings. +When you have that glass too much you might ride 'cruel hard,' as you +express it, over the moor, without caring whether you had a spill or +not. Probably you would have a tumble. Chegwidden comes off pretty +often, I believe?" + +"More often that he used to du," mumbled Peter, not in the least knowing +where he was being led. + +"Well, that's natural enough. He's getting older and less confident. +Perhaps he drinks a bit harder too. A man can hardly find it easy to +gallop over the rough moor when he is very drunk. Don't you feel +surprised that Chegwidden has never hurt himself badly?" + +Peter was not flustered then. Counsel was half-sitting on the edge of +the table, talking so nicely that Peter began to regard him as an old +friend, and thought he would like to drink a few glasses with this +pleasant gentleman who, he fancied, had a distinctly convivial eye. +"'Tis just witchery," he said in a confidential manner, feeling he was +in some bar-room, and the judge might be the landlord about to draw the +beer. "He'm got a little charm to his watch-chain, and that makes 'en +fall easy like." + +"I suppose he hadn't got it on that night?" + +"Forgot 'en, likely," said Peter with some regret, knowing that had +Chegwidden been wearing the charm and chain he would have gained +possession of them. + +Counsel smiled at Peter, and the witness grinned back, with a feeling +that he was adding to his acquaintances. The next question followed +quite naturally-- + +"I suppose Chegwidden was pretty far gone that night. Now I want you to +use your memory, and tell me if you have ever seen him more drunk than +he was that night?" + +"When us gets drunk us comes to a stop like," said Peter thoughtfully. +"Us gets no drunker," he explained to his new friend. + +"You think Farmer Chegwidden had reached that stage? He could hardly +have been more intoxicated than he was when you found him?" + +Peter admitted that the farmer's condition was unquestionably as his +friend had stated. + +"He was dead drunk?" + +"Mucky drunk," said Peter with a burst of confidence. + +"You were not astonished, as you know he is an habitual drunkard?" + +Peter was just going to agree, when he remembered he didn't know the +meaning of the word habitual. + +"He gets drunk frequently. Makes a habit of it," explained counsel. + +"He du," said Peter, in the emphatic manner which makes for good +evidence. + +"Why did you say just now he was not drunk when you found him?" asked +counsel smoothly. + +Peter's eyes were opened, and he discovered he was not in a bar-room, +but in the Guildhall between rows of unsympathetic faces, and his nice +young companion was not a friend at all; and he knew also he had been +giving evidence against a parishioner. It was useless after that to +proceed with the charge against Brightly in its original form; and his +advocate then attempted to show that he was equally innocent of theft. + +Here, however, he failed, and his lordship himself, who felt in the mood +to be merciful, could only point out that circumstantial evidence went +entirely against the prisoner. He didn't believe that Brightly, was a +bad character. A long experience upon the Bench had enabled him to +determine fairly accurately between the hardened criminal and the poor +man who succumbed to sudden temptation. It was a wild cold night, and +the prisoner in his wretched clothes had happened to pass that way, and +when he found the drunken and stunned farmer lying upon the road the +temptation to strip him of his clothing had been too strong. The +subsequent ill-treatment of the senseless man, no doubt to gratify some +old grudge, was the unpleasant feature of the case. It was not +altogether easy for him to believe that Brightly had worked +single-handed. He left the case to the small grocer and the candle-maker +with every confidence that they would bring in a verdict in accordance +with the evidence, and he hoped that their consciences would direct them +aright. The consciences did their work rapidly, Brightly was declared +guilty, and the learned judge found that he would not be doing his duty +to the country if he sentenced him to less than three months' +imprisonment with hard labour. The next case was called, and the police +began as usual to complain about the sentence, and to declare that it +was no use doing their duty when judges wouldn't do theirs. The prisoner +was removed weeping, asking the gentlemen if they wouldn't let him have +his little dog, and begging the warder to take his "duppence" and go out +to buy him some rat-poison. + +Brightly had indulged in several fits of play-acting since his +committal. He was a dull-witted man, and they could not make him +comprehend that he was a criminal of a particularly dangerous type, and +his little Ju a furious beast which it had been found necessary to +destroy. He was, indeed, so foolish that he failed to grasp the fact +that Ju was dead. He was always asking if he mightn't have her to talk +to. When they brought him food he would set a portion aside for Ju, and +beg the warder to see that she got it. When he sang his hymns he put out +his hand and patted the floor, thinking it was Ju. He did not want to go +to the wonderful dairy without his little dog. She would like the milk +and honey too. He would never have the heart to drive about in the +pony-cart, which was sure to come some day if he only waited long +enough, unless Ju was squatting upon the fern at the bottom or on the +seat beside him. It would be dreary Dartmoor indeed without tail-wagging +starving Ju. They could not make him understand that Ju was starving no +longer. Since his committal Brightly had failed to benefit from the +food, which was the best he had ever eaten in his life, though it was +prison fare. He was thinner because he could not feed upon the air and +the solitude, or smell the moor, and he was more blind because the +healing touch of the sun was off his eyes. He often thought of an +evening how beautifully the sun would be shining across Sourton Down, +and he wondered if the gentlemen would let him go, just to get a feel of +it for a few minutes. Sometimes he thought he could hear the Tavy +roaring, but it was nothing but the prison van rumbling in. + +After sentence Brightly became more foolish, and rambled about his +little dog worse than ever. The doctor certified he was totally +incapable of undergoing hard labour, and he was removed to the +infirmary, where kind people visited him and gave him tracts and hoped +he would see the wickedness of his ways before it was too late. At last +Brightly began to comprehend that he was a vagabond of the baser sort. +All the gentlemen had said so, and they would not have impressed it upon +him so frequently if it was untrue. It appeared that he had led a life +of vice from his earliest years. It had been wicked to walk about the +moor trading in rabbit-skins, and vile to live in a cave upon Belstone +Cleave; and he had never known it until then. There was so much that he +didn't know. He learnt a lot about literature in his confinement. A lady +read portions of the Bible to him, and Brightly found some of it +interesting, although he could not understand why the Hebrew gentlemen +were always fighting, and his teacher didn't seem able to explain it. +Another lady tried to teach him "Jerusalem the Golden," and he responded +as well as he could, but the words would not remain in his poor memory, +and he always gave a quaint rendering of his own when he tried to repeat +the lines. He had the same question for every one: might he have his +little dog and talk to her for a bit? At last the doctor made him +understand that Ju was dead, and after that Brightly changed. His soul +became rusty, as it were, and he did not respond to his teachers. He +accepted everything with the same patient spirit, but he showed +indifference. He became like a tortoise, and when people stroked his +shell he refused to put his head out. It was all owing to the same old +fault--he could not understand things. He comprehended that he was a +criminal, and it had been fully explained to him that criminals must be +kept in confinement because they constitute a danger to other people. +But he could not understand what Ju had done that she should be taken +away from him and killed. Apparently she too had been a criminal, and +much worse than himself; for he had only been sent to prison, while she +had been executed. That was what Brightly couldn't understand; but then +he was only a fool. + +Pendoggat left the court after sentence upon Brightly had been +pronounced, and began his homeward journey. The trial had pleased him, +and satisfied his sense of justice. He was hurrying back because there +was a service that evening and he was going to preach. Brightly would +make a good subject for his sermon, the man who was alone because he was +not fit to dwell with his kind, the man who had been caught in his sins +and punished for them. He had always tried to impress his listeners with +the fact that every man is sure to suffer for his sins some day; and he +believed what he said, and could not understand why people were so dull +as to think they would escape. Pendoggat had discovered long ago that +every man regards his neighbours as sinners and himself as a saint. He +behaved in exactly the same way himself. He would not be punished, +because he always made a point of repenting of his sins. He saved +himself by prayer and chapel attendances, and every day would insure his +soul against fire by reading the Bible. And yet he thought himself +different from other people, and was amazed when they had the effrontery +to declare that they too were saved, although neighbour This and +neighbour That ought to have known they were most assuredly and +everlastingly damned. + +The region of the Tavy was cold and clear; a great change from the +low-lying city on the Exe and Greedy where there had been mist and +drizzle. As Pendoggat rode up from Lydford he noticed white pools and +splashes upon the dark tower and roof of St. Michael's church upon its +mount, and his heart warmed at the cold sight. It was to him what the +note of the cuckoo is to many, a promise, not of spring, but of the wild +days when solitude increases and the bogs become blue glaciers. Winter +had come and there would soon be the usual November fall of snow. +Pendoggat prepared his discourse as he rode up. The night was coming +when no man could work, miners least of all. His was not a cold theology +by any means. It contained, indeed, little that was not red-hot. The +old-fashioned lake of fire, surrounded by attendants in a uniform of +tails and hoofs, armed with pitchforks to keep sinners sizzling and turn +them occasionally, was good enough for him. Every one would have to be +burnt some time, like the gorse in swaling-time, except himself. + +Ebenezer was crowded that evening. The week-day services were popular, +especially in winter, when the evenings were long, and there was no +money for the inn. Chapel upon the moor occupies much the same place in +the affections of the parishioners as the music-hall has obtained over +the minds of dwellers in big towns; and for much the same reason, +everybody likes to be entertained, and praying and hymn-singing are +essentially dramatic performances. A warm church or chapel is an +attractive place on a winter's evening, when it is dull at home, and +there is nothing doing outside. Middle-aged men will always speak +lovingly of their village church and its pleasant evening services. They +do not remember much about the prayers and hymns; but they have a very +clear and tender recollection of the golden-haired girl who used to sit +in the next pew but one. + +Pezzack did not come in until Pendoggat had finished his discourse. He +was a sort of missionary, carrying the gospel over many villages, and +his unfortunate habit of tumbling from his bicycle kept many a +congregation waiting. He entered at last, with a bruised nose and tender +ear, and took possession of the reading-desk which his friend and +partner had been keeping warm for him; and then in his usual ridiculous +fashion he undid Pendoggat's good work by preaching of a pleasant land +on the other side of this world of woe. Eli had always been an optimist, +and now that he was happily married his lack of a proper religious +pessimism became more strongly marked than ever. He would never make a +really popular minister while he insisted upon looking at the bright +side of things. Many of his listeners thought him frivolous when he +spoke of happiness after death. They couldn't think wherever he got his +strange ideas from. It seemed as if Pezzack wanted to deprive them of +that glowing hell which they had learnt to love at their mother's knee. + +The congregation melted away quickly to the echo of Eli's blessing, and +the friends found themselves alone, to put out the lamps, lock the +chapel, and leave everything in order. The minister was elated; they had +enjoyed a "blessed hour;" the world was going very well just then; and +he longed to clasp Pendoggat by the hand and tell him what a good and +generous man he was. He stood near the door, and with the enthusiasm of +a minor prophet exclaimed: "'Ow beautiful is this place, Mr. Pendoggat!" + +A more hideous interior could hardly have been conceived, only the +minister was fortunate enough to know nothing about art. Temples of +Nonconformity on Dartmoor, as elsewhere, do not conform to any +recognised style of architecture, unless it be that of the wooden +made-in-Germany Noah's Ark; but Pezzack was able to regard the wet walls +and dreary benches through rose-tinted spectacles; or perhaps his +bruised eye lent a kind of glamour to the scene. It was certain, +however, that Pezzack had never yet seen men or things accurately. He +regarded Pendoggat as a saint, and the chapel as a place of beauty. His +eyes were apparently of as little use to him as his judgment. A blind +man might have discovered more with his finger-tips. + +"You'll never make a preacher, man," said Pendoggat, as the last light +went out. "I'd got them worked up, and then you come and let them down +again. Your preaching don't bring them to the sinner's bench. It makes +them sit tight and think they are saved." + +"I can't talk about 'ell. It don't come to me natural," said Eli in his +simple fashion. + +"Sinners ain't saved by kindness. We've got to scare them. If you don't +flog a biting horse he'll bite again. You're too soft with them. You +want to get manly." + +"I endeavour to do my duty," said Eli fervently. "But I can't talk to +them rough when I feel so 'appy." + +"Happy, are ye?" muttered Pendoggat, his eyes upon the ground. + +"My 'appiness is beyond words. I get up 'appy, and I go to bed 'appy, +and I eat 'appy. It's 'eaven on earth, Mr. Pendoggat, and when a man's +so 'appy he can't talk about 'ell. I owe it all to you, Mr. Pendoggat." + +"The happiness or hell?" said Pendoggat, with a flash of grim humour. + +"The wonderful and beautiful 'appiness. My wife and I pray for you +every night and morning. We are very comfortable in our little cottage, +and when, Mr. Pendoggat," he went on with enthusiasm, "when God sends +our first little olive-branch we shall 'ave all that our 'earts can +desire. Ah, Mr. Pendoggat, you don't know what a blessed thing it is to +be a father." + +"You don't either," said the other sharply. + +"I feel it coming upon me. I feel the pride and the glory and the honour +of it swelling up in my 'eart and making me 'appy with the world and all +that therein is. Amen. I can see myself walking about with it, saying: +'Open your eyes, my dear, and look at the proud and 'appy father of your +being.' 'Ow beautiful it all is, Mr. Pendoggat!" + +Pezzack spoke like a fool. Why such men should swell with pride when +they become putative or actual parents is one of the wonders of the +universe. Gratification is permissible enough, but not a sense of pride, +which implies they have done something marvellous. Pezzack was like a +hen cackling because she has laid an egg, and supposing she has +accomplished something which entitles her to a chief place among hens, +when she has only performed an ordinary function of Nature which she +could not possibly have prevented. + +"You're too soft," muttered Pendoggat, as they turned away from the +gloomy box-shaped chapel and began to ascend the silent road. It was a +clear night, the stars were large, and the wind was cold enough to +convey the idea of heat. There was enough light for them to see the +white track crossed ahead by another narrow road cut out of the black +moor. By morning there would be a greyness upon everything, and the +heather would be covered with frosted gossamers. + +Pezzack was blowing on his big red hands, and stumbling about as if he +had been Farmer Chegwidden. He had never learnt how to walk, and it was +getting late to learn. Pendoggat was carrying a huge black Bible, which +was almost as cumbersome as Mary's umbrella. He always took it to chapel +with him, because it was useful to shake at the doubters and weaker +vessels. Big books in sombre bindings generally terrify the young or +illiterate, whatever their contents; and a big Bible brandished at a +reading-desk suggests a sort of court of appeal to which the preacher is +ready to carry his hearers' difficulties. + +"I think we are going to get some snow," said Eli, falling back +naturally upon the state of the weather. + +"There is a bit on Brentor," said Pendoggat. + +"Then there will be some on Ger Tor. I must take my wife out to-morrow +to look at it. She does not know Dartmoor. It will be a little pleasure +for her." + +The Pezzacks were easily amused. The first sprinkle of snow on Ger Tor +was worth going out to see, and could be discussed during the long +evening. + +"It will mean the closing of the mine. There must be a lot of water in +it," suggested Eli in a nervous manner, although he was anticipating +things rather, seeing that the precious mine had never been opened. + +"Afraid you won't get your fifteen shillings a week, are ye?" said +Pendoggat, in what was for him a pleasant voice. + +"I don't think of that," lied Eli, stumbling along, with his hands +flapping like a pair of small wings. "I am in your 'ands, Mr. Pendoggat, +so I am safe. But my uncle writes every week and sends me a +mining-paper, and wants to know why we don't throw ourselves about a +bit. I think he means by that we ought to be at work. My uncle talks +slang, Mr. Pendoggat." + +"Tell him he's a fool," said Pendoggat curtly. + +"I 'ave," said Eli meekly. "At least I suggested it, but I think he +misunderstood me. He says that if we don't make a start he will come +down and make things 'um a bit. I am sorry my uncle uses such +expressions. They use funny phrases in Bromley, Mr. Pendoggat." + +"He can come down if he likes, and you can give him a pick and tell him +to mine for himself until the commoners catch him," said Pendoggat +pleasantly. "We've done with your uncle. He won't subscribe any more +money, and I reckon his friends won't either. We've done our part. We've +got the money, nothing like so much as we wanted, but still a good bit, +and they can have the nickel, or what they think is nickel, and they can +come here and work it till the Duchy asks them what they're after, or +till the commoners fling them into the Tavy. Write that to your uncle," +said Pendoggat, poking his victim in the ribs with his big Bible. + +The minister stopped, but his companion went on, so he had to follow, +stumbling after him very much as Brightly had followed upon that same +road begging for his "duppence." + +"What do you mean, Mr. Pendoggat? What do you mean?" he kept on saying. + +"You're a happy man," muttered Pendoggat like a mocking bird. "Got a +wife, hoping for a child, manager of a mining company, with a rich fool +of an uncle. You're a lucky man, Pezzack." + +"I'm a 'appy and fortunate man," gasped Eli. + +"Every one respects you. They think you're a poor preacher, but they +know you're honest. It's a fine thing to be honest. You'll be called to +a town some day, and have a big congregation to sit under you if you +keep honest." + +"I 'ope so. You're walking so fast I don't seem able to keep up with +you." + +"It's a cold night. Come on, and get warm. How would you feel if people +found out you weren't honest? I saw a man sentenced to-day--hard labour, +for robbery. How would you feel if you were sentenced for robbery? Gives +you a cold feeling, I reckon. Not much chance of a pulpit when you came +out. Prison makes a man stink for the rest of his life." + +"I can't keep up with you, Mr. Pendoggat, unless I run. I haven't enough +breath," panted Eli. + +Pendoggat put the Bible under his arm, turned, caught Eli by the wrist +and strode on, dragging the clumsy minister after him. + +"Mr. Pendoggat, I seem to think some'ow you don't 'ardly know what you +are a-doing of." Pezzack was confused and becoming uncertain of grammar. + +"You'd stand and freeze. Breathe this wind into you and walk like a man. +What would you think, I'm asking ye, if you were found guilty of robbery +and sent to prison? Tell me that." + +"I can't think no'ow," sobbed Eli, trying to believe that his dear +friend and brother had not gone mad. + +"Can't think," growled Pendoggat. "See down under! That's where the mine +is, your mine, Pezzack, your nickel mine." + +"You are 'urting my arm, Mr. Pendoggat, my rheumatic arm. Don't go on so +fast if you kindly please, for I don't seem able to do it. Yonder ain't +my mine, Mr. Pendoggat. It's yours, but I called it mine because you +told me to." + +"Your uncle thinks it's yours. So do his friends. All the business has +gone through you. What do they think of me? Who do they think I am?" + +"Oh, Mr. Pendoggat, I told them you are the manager." + +"Your man. Your paid servant. Does it pinch here, Pezzack? 'Tis a bit up +here, and the moor's rough." + +"Your 'and pinches, the good right 'and of fellowship," panted Eli. + +"Don't the words pinch? Suppose the mine fails, where are you? Your +uncle will be down on you, and he'll cast you over. You won't see any of +his savings, and there's a wife to keep, and children coming, but you're +a happy man. We're all happy on a frosty night like this. Come on!" + +"What are you a-saying? I don't seem to get hold of it. Let me stop, Mr. +Pendoggat. I want to wipe the sweat off my face." + +"Let it bide there. My name don't appear in the mining business. The +thing is yours from start to finish, and I'm your man. There will be +none more against you if the mine fails, and I'm thrown out of a job. +I've got the cash, Pezzack, every penny of it down to the Barton in +notes. When are we going to start on the new chapel, minister? We're +going to build a new chapel, the finest on the moor. We can't start till +the spring. You told your uncle that? The snow's coming. It's in the air +now, and I reckon 'tis falling thick on the high tors. We can't build +the chapel and get out the nickel while the snow lasts." + +Pendoggat was walking at a furious pace, devouring the keen wind, his +head bent forward, chin upon his chest, lurching from side to side, +dragging the minister like a parent hauling a refractory child. + +"He 'ave lost his senses. He don't know what he's doing with me," Eli +panted, becoming for the first time indirect. + +"We're getting near the top. There will be a fine wind. Do you good, +Pezzack. Make a man of you. What do you think of the nickel down under? +Pretty good stuff, ain't it? Had it analysed yet? Found out what it's +worth a ton? Got permission from the Duchy? I reckon you've done all +that. You're a fine business man. You know a good sample of nickel when +you see it." + +"I left it all to you, Mr. Pendoggat. You know all about it." + +Pezzack tried to say more, something about his feet and rheumatic arm +and the perspiration which blinded him, but he had no more breath. +Pendoggat's fingers were like a handcuff about his wrist. + +"Suppose it ain't nickel at all. I never heard of any on Dartmoor. +They'll be down on you, Pezzack, for the money, howling at ye like so +many wolves, and if you can't pay there's prison. What are you going to +say for yourself? You can't drag me into it. If I tell you there ain't a +penn'orth of nickel down under you can't touch me. If you had proof +against me you couldn't use it, for your own sake. You'd have to keep +your mouth shut, for the sake of your wife and the family what's coming. +It's a fine thing to have a wife, and a fine thing to be expecting a +child, but it's a better thing to be sure of your position. It ain't +wise to marry when you're in debt, and when you've got a wife, and are +depending upon a man for your living, you can't make an enemy of that +man. I reckon we're on top. Bide here a bit and rest yourself." + +They were on the summit of one of the big rounded hills. The heather was +stiff with frost and seemed to grate against their boots. The weather +had changed completely while they had been coming up from the chapel. +Already the stars were covered over with dense clouds which were +dropping snowflakes. There was nothing in sight, and the only sound was +the eternal roar of the Tavy in the distance. Helmen Barton was below. +The house was invisible, but the smell of its peat fire ascended. +Pendoggat was breathing noisily through his nose, while Pezzack stood +before him utterly exhausted, his weak knees trembling and knocking +against each other, and his mouth open like a dog. + +"Why have you done this to me, Mr. Pendoggat?" he gasped at length. + +"To make a man of you. If I have a puppy I make a dog out of him with a +whip. When I get hold of a weak man I try to knock the weakness out of +him." + +"Was it because I didn't talk proper about 'ell?" sobbed the frightened +minister. + +"Come on," cried Pendoggat roughly. "Let's have a bout, man. It's a fine +night for it. Put out your arms. I'll be the making of you yet. Here's +to get your blood warm." + +He raised his Bible and brought it down on Pezzack's head, crushing his +hat in. + +Eli stumbled aside, crying out: "Oh, Mr. Pendoggat, you don't know what +you're doing. 'Itting me with the 'oly word. Let me go home, Mr. +Pendoggat. My wife is waiting for me." + +Pendoggat was too far gone to listen. He followed the wretched man, +hitting at him with the big book, driving him along the top of the hill +with resounding blows. Eli could not escape; he was unable to run, and +he was dazed; he kept on stumbling and bleating, until another good blow +on the head settled his business and sent him sprawling into the +heather. + +"Get up, man," shouted Pendoggat. "Get up and make a bout of it;" but +Eli went on lying flat, sobbing and panting, and trying to pray for his +persecutor. + +"Get up, or I'll walk on ye with my nailed boots." + +Eli shambled up slowly like some strange quadruped, found his awkward +feet, and stood swaying and moaning before his tormentor, convinced that +he was in the hands of a madman, and terribly afraid of losing his life. +Pendoggat stood grim and silent, his head down, the Bible tucked +reverently beneath his arm, the snow whitening his shoulders. It had +become darker in the last few minutes, the clouds were pressing lower, +and the sound of the Tavy was more distant than it had been. + +"'Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give +you rest,'" quoted Pendoggat slowly. "'Tis a cheering text for a whist +winter's night." + +He had finished amusing himself, and now that he was cool again his mind +reverted naturally to his religion. + +Eli could not say anything. It was as much as he could do to stand +upright. His clay-like right hand was pressed to his forehead. He was +afraid he would fall down a great many times going home. + +"Shake," said Pendoggat in a friendly way. "Give me the good right hand +of fellowship, minister." + +Eli heard him, comprehended the meaning of the words, and hesitated, +partly from inability to act, and partly from unwillingness to respond. +He felt he might fall down if he removed the hand from his dazed head. +He smiled in a stupid fashion and managed to say: "You 'ave been cruel +to me, Mr. Pendoggat. You 'ave used me like a beast." + +Pendoggat stepped forward, caught the big cold hand in his, pulled it +roughly from the minister's forehead, and shook it heartily. Not content +with that, he dragged the poor dazed wretch nearer, threw an arm about +his neck, and kissed him on the cheek. Perhaps it was the influence of +his Spanish blood which suggested the act. Possibly it was a genuine +wave of sorrow and repentance. He did not know himself; but the +frightened Maggot only groaned and sobbed, and had no caresses to give +in return. + +"'How good and joyful a thing it is, brethren, to dwell together in +unity,'" quoted Pendoggat, with the utmost reverence. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +ABOUT THE PASSOVER OF THE BRUTE + + +Mary soon forgave her brother for his failure over the electric light +business, and they became as good friends as ever, except when Peter +demanded sums of money for services which Mary could not remember he had +rendered. Peter had a trick of benefiting himself, and charging the cost +to his sister. They were settled for the winter; Peter had turfed up the +chinks in the walls, adding a solid plaster of clay; had repaired the +thatch of gorse where it had rotted, laying on big stones to prevent the +removal of any portion by the gales; and had cut the winter supply of +fern. He sent in the bill to Mary, and she had taken it to Master, and +Master had put on silver spectacles and golden wisdom and revised the +costs so thoroughly, that Peter had to complain he had not received the +price of the tobacco smoked during the work of restoration. + +Mary still mourned for Old Sal, knowing she would never see "the like o' +he again," while Peter cooked his mommet and cursed Pendoggat. Peter was +a weak little creature, who could only revenge himself by deeds of +witchcraft. He was not muscular like his sister, who would have stood up +to any man on Dartmoor, and made some of them sorry for themselves +before she had done with them. Mary believed in witchcraft, because she +was to a certain extent religious; she had been baptised, for instance, +and that was an act of witchcraft pure and simple, as it was intended to +protect the child from being overlooked by the devil; but, if any man +had insulted her, she would not have made a mommet of him, or driven a +nail into his footprint; she would have taken her stick, "as big as two +spears and a dag," and whacked him well with it. + +The prospect of winter encouraged Peter to turn his mind towards +literary pursuits. There were days of storm and long evenings to be +occupied; and the little savage considered he might fill those hours +with work for which his talents seemed to qualify him, and possibly +bequeath to posterity some abiding monument of his genius. Peter had a +weekly paper and studied it well. He gathered from it that people still +wrote books; apparently every one wrote thern, though only about one in +every hundred was published. Most people had the manuscripts of their +books put away in cupboards, linhays, and old teapots, waiting the +favourable moment to bring them forth and astonish the world. This was +something of a revelation to Peter. Where was his book! Why had he +remained so long a mute inglorious scholar? Possibly the commoners who +met him in daily intercourse had their books completed and stored away +safely in their barns, and he was certainly as learned as any of them. +Peter went off to Master, and opened to him the secret of his mind. + +Master was entirely sympathetic. He gave it as his opinion that any one +could write a book. When the art of forming letters of the alphabet had +been acquired, nothing indeed remained, except pen, ink, and paper; and, +as he reminded Peter, Mother Cobley sold ink at one penny the bottle, +while pen and paper could be obtained from the same source for an +additional twopence. Genius could therefore startle the world at +threepence a head. + +Peter was profoundly interested. He indicated the big tomes, which +Master kept always lying beside him: a copy of the _Arcadia_, a Bible +dictionary, a volume of Shakespeare, and a few books of poetry, most of +them presents from a former rector long deceased, and suggested that +Master was accountable for the lot. The old man beamed through his +spectacles, coughed uneasily, and generally assumed that attitude of +modesty which is said to be one of the most marked traits of literary +men. + +"You can spell turnips," Master reminded. + +"Sure 'nuff," said Peter. "I can spell harder words than he. I can spell +hyacinth, and he'm a proper little brute." + +He proceeded to spell the word, making only three mistakes. Master +advised him to confine himself for the present to more simple language, +and went on to ask what was the style and subject of Peter's proposed +undertaking. + +"I wants yew to tell me," was the answer. + +Master had an idea that genius ought to be inspired from within and not +from without, but he merely answered: "Nothing's no trouble, varmer," +and suggested that Peter should compose a diary. "'Tis what a man does +every day," he explained. "How he gets up, and how he goes to bed, and +how he yets his dinner, and how his belly feels." + +Peter considered that the idea was brilliant. Such an item as how he +drank his beer would certainly prove entertaining, and might very well +be original. + +"Then he ses things about other volk, and about the weather," Master +went on. "He puts down all he can think of, so long as it be decent. +Mun't put down anything that bain't decent 'cause that would shock +volks." + +"Nothing 'bout Varmer Pendoggat and Chegwidden's maid?" the other +suggested, in rather a disappointed voice. + +"Hark ye, Peter," said Master decidedly, "you had best bide quiet about +that. Volks wun't tak' your word against his, and if he purty nigh +murders ye no one wun't try to stop 'en. A man bain't guilty till he be +found out, and Varmer Pendoggat ain't been found out." + +"He can't touch I. Mary wun't let 'en, and I've made a mommet of 'en +tu," said the little man. + +"Made a mommet, ha' ye? Aw, man, that be an awful thing to du. It be +calling in the devil to work for ye, and the devil wun't work wi'out +pay, man. He'll come sure 'nuff, and say to yew: 'I wants your soul, +Peter. I've a bought 'en wi' that mommet what yew made.' I be main cruel +sorry for yew, Peter." + +"It be done now," said Peter gloomily. + +Master wagged his head until his silver spectacles dropped off his nose, +added a little wisdom, then returned to his subject. + +"Yew mun write things what you wun't be ashamed to let folk read. When +'tis a wet day yew ses so, and when it be fine you ses it be butiful. +When yew gets thoughts yew puts 'em all down." + +"What du'ye mean?" asked the aspirant. + +"Why, you think as how it be a proper feeling when you'm good, and yew +ses so. That be a thought." + +"S'pose yew bain't feeling good?" suggested Peter quite naturally. + +"Then yew writes about what it feels like to be bad," explained Master. +"Yew puts it down this sort o' way: 'I feels bad to-day. I don't mean I +feels bad in my body, for that be purty middling, but I feels bad in my +soul. It be a cruel pity, and I hopes as how I wun't feel so bad +to-morrow.' All them be thoughts, Peter; and that be the way books are +written." + +"Thank ye kindly, master. It be proper easy," said Peter. + +"You'm welcome, varmer. Nothing's no trouble." + +Peter bought the articles necessary for fame, and went home. Mary was +forking manure, pausing only to spit on her hands; but she stopped for +another reason when Peter told her he was going to keep a diary. + +"What be yew talking about?" she cried, amazed at such folly. "Us ha' +got one as 'tis. What du us want wi' another?" + +Peter had to explain that the business of his diary had nothing to do +with such base commerce as cream and butter, but consisted in recording +the actions of a blameless life upon a pennyworth of paper for the +instruction and edification of those who should come after them. Mary +grasped her fork, and told him he was mazed. + +Peter was not sure that Mary had spoken falsely when he came to test his +'prentice hand. In theory the art of writing was so simple, and +consisted in nothing more difficult than setting down what he would +otherwise have spoken, adding those gems of thought with which his mind +was occasionally enriched under the ennobling influence of moderate +beer. But nothing appeared upon the sheet of paper except dirt. Even the +simplest art requires practice. Not every man can milk a cow at the +first attempt. After much labour he recorded the statement: "This be a +buke, and when 'tis dun 'twill be a dairy. All volks write bukes, and it +bain't easy till you'm yused to it." There he stopped for the day. As +soon as he left the paper all sorts of ideas crowded into his mind, and +he hurried back to put them down, but directly he took up the pen his +mind was a blank again. The ideas had been swept away like butterflies +on a windy day. Mary called him "a proper old vule," and her thought was +probably quite as good as any that were likely to occur to him. "'Tis +bravish times us lives in. Us mun keep up wi' em," was Peter's answer. + +The next day he tried again, but the difficulties remained. Peter +managed to place on record such imperishable facts as there was snow and +more would come likely, and he had got up later than usual, and he and +Mary were tolerably well, and the fare for the day was turnips and +bacon--he wanted to drag in turnips because he could spell the word, and +he added a note to inform posterity that he had taught Master how to do +so--but nothing came in the way of thoughts, and without them Peter was +persuaded his book could not properly be regarded as belonging to the +best order of literature. At the end of his second day of creation Peter +began to entertain a certain feeling of respect, if not of admiration, +for those who made a living with the pen; but on the third day +inspiration touched his brain, and he became a literary soul. The old +gentleman who shared his house, so called out of courtesy, as it +contained only one room, was making more noise than usual, as if the +cold had got into his chest. The diarist kept looking up to peer at +Grandfather's worn features, wondering what was wrong, and at last the +great idea came to him. "Dalled if Gran'vaither bain't a telling to I," +he exclaimed; and then he got up and went cautiously across the room, +which was the same thing as going from one side of the house to the +other, his boots rustling in the fern which covered the floor. + +"Be'ye alright, Gran'vaither?" he asked, lapping the old fellow's chest +with great respect. He was accustomed to chat with the clock, when +alone, as another man higher in the scale of civilisation might have +talked to his dog. Peter noticed that it was getting dark around him, +although it was still early in the afternoon. + +"I be cruel sick," a voice answered. + +Peter cried out and began to shiver. He stared at the window, the panes +of which were no longer white, but blue. Something was taking place +outside, not a storm, as the moor was unusually silent, and there seemed +to be no wind. Peter tried to collect his thoughts into a form suitable +for publication. He shivered his way to the other side of the room and +wrote laboriously: "Gran'vaither be telling to I. Ses he be cruel sick." +Then he had another attack of shivers. + +"Who was that a telling to I?" he shouted, the noise of his voice making +him bolder. + +"'Twas me," came the answer at once; and Peter gulped like a dying fish, +but managed to put it down in the diary. + +"Who be ye?" he called. + +"Old Gran'vaither." + +Peter stood in the fern, biting his fingers and sweating. He was +trembling too much to write any more. So Grandfather was a living +creature after all. He had always supposed that the clock had a sort of +existence, not the same as his own, but the kind of life owned by the +pixies, and now he was sure of it. + +"Why didn't ye tell to I avore?" he asked reproachfully. + +Grandfather appeared to regard the question as impertinent, as he gave +no answer. + +"Yew was making creepy noises last night. I heard ye," Peter went on, +waxing bold. "Seemed as if yew was trying to crawl out o' your own +belly." + +"I was trying to talk," the clock explained. + +Peter had some more shivers. It seemed natural enough to hear old +Grandfather talking, and he tried to persuade himself it was not the +voice which frightened him, but the queer blue light that seemed to be +filling the hut. He remembered that pixies always go about with blue +lanterns, and he began to believe that the surrounding moor was crowded +with the little people out for a frolic at his expense. Then he thought +he would go for Mary, but remembered she had gone to Lewside Cottage +with dairy produce. That reminded him of the diary. What a wonderful +work he would make of it now! + +"Gran'vaither," he called. + +"Here I be," said the voice. + +"I knows yew be there," said Peter, somewhat sharply. The old gentleman +was not so intellectual as he could have wished. "I wants to know how +yew be telling to I?" + +"Same as yew," said Grandfather. + +"Yew ain't got no tongue." + +"I've got a pendulum," said the clock, with a malevolent sort of titter. + +"Yew'm sick?" asked Peter. + +"I be that. 'Tis your doing," came the answer. + +"I've looked after ye fine, Gran'vaither," said Peter crossly. + +"'Tis that there thing on the hearthstone makes me sick," said the +voice. + +"That be a mommet," said Peter. + +"I know 'tis. A mommet of Farmer Pendoggat." + +"What du'ye know 'bout Varmer Pendoggat?" asked Peter suspiciously. + +"Heard you talk about 'en," Grandfather answered. "Don't ye play wi' +witchery, Peter. Smash the mommet up, and throw 'en away." The voice was +talking quickly and becoming hoarser. "Undo what you've done if you can, +and whatever you du don't ye put 'en in the fire again. If ye du I'll be +telling to ye all night and will scare ye proper. I wun't give ye any +sleep, Peter." + +"You'm an old vule, Gran'vaither," said Peter. + +"I'll get the pixies to fetch ye a crock o' gold if you leaves off +witching Pendoggat. I'll mak' 'em fetch ye sovereigns, brave golden +sovereigns, Peter." + +"Where will 'em put the gold?" cried Peter with the utmost greediness. + +"Bottom o' the well. Let the bucket down to-night, and when you pulls +'en up in the morning the gold will be in the bucket. If it ain't there +to-night, look the night after. But it wun't be no good looking, Peter, +if you ain't done what I told ye, and you mun put the broken bits o' +mommet by the well, so as the pixies can see 'em." + +"I'll du it," chuckled Peter. + +"Swear you'll do it?" + +"Sure 'nuff I'll du it. You'm a brave old Gran'vaither if yew can fetch +a crock o' gold into the well." + +"Good-bye, Peter. I wun't be telling to you again just yet." + +"Good-bye, Gran'vaither. You'm welcome. I hopes you'll soon be better." + +The voice did not come again, and Peter was left in the strange light +and eerie silence to recover, which he did slowly, with a feeling that +he had undergone a queer dream. It was not long before he was telling +himself he had imagined it all. Superstitious little savage as he was, +he could hardly believe that Grandfather had been chatting with him as +one man might have talked to another. As he went on thinking suspicious +features presented themselves to his mind. Grandfather's language had +not always been correct. He had not talked like a true Gubbings, but +more as a man of better education trying to bring himself down to his +listener's mode of speech. Then what interest could he feel in Pendoggat +that he should plead for the destruction of the mommet? + +Peter addressed a number of questions to Grandfather upon these +subjects, but the old clock had not another word to say. That was +another suspicious feature; why should the clock be unable to talk then +when it had chatted so freely a few minutes before? Peter rubbed his +eyes, declared he was mazed, lighted his lamp, and scribbled the +wonderful story in his diary until Mary came back. + +"Peter," she called at once. "Aw, man, come and look! Us be going to +judgment." + +Peter rose, overflowing with mysticism, but he too gasped when he got +outside and saw the moor and sky. Indigo-tinted clouds were rolling +slowly down Tavy Cleave, there was apparently no sky, and through rents +in the clouds they could see blocks of granite and patches of black moor +hanging as it were in space. In the direction of Ger Tor was a column of +dark mist rising from the river. On each side of this column the outlook +was clear for a little way before the clouds again blotted out +everything. Those clouds in front were beneath their feet, and they +could hear the roaring of the invisible river still further down. +Overhead there was nothing except a dense blue mist from which the +curious light, like the glow of pixy lanterns, seemed to be reflected. + +"I ha' never seen the like," said frightened Mary. "None o' the volks +ha' ever seen the like on't. Some of 'em be praying down under, and +wanting chapel opened. Old Betty Middleweek be scared so proper that +her's paying money what her owes. They ses it be judgment coming. There +be volks to the village a sotting wi' fingers in their ear-holes so as +they wun't hear trumpets. What shall us du if it be judgment, Peter?" + +"Us mun bide quiet, and go along wi' the rest. If 'tis judgment us wun't +have no burying expenses," said Peter. + +"I'd ha' gone in and asked Master if 'twas judgment, if I hadn't been so +mazed like. He'd ha' knowed. A brave cruel larned man be Master. What +happens to we if they blows on the trumpets?" + +"Us goes up to heaven in a whirlpool and has an awful doom," said Peter +hazily. + +"Us mun go up wi' vull bellies," said practical Mary, marching off to +blow at the fire. + +Peter followed, walking delicately, hoping that witchcraft would come to +an end so soon as he had procured the crock of gold. Inside the hut, +surrounded with comforting lamplight, he told his sister all about +Grandfather's loquacity. Mary was so astounded that she dropped a piece +of peat into the pot and placed a turnip on the fire. "Aw, Peter! Telled +to ye same as Master might?" she gasped. + +"Ah, told I to break the mommet and he'd give I gold." + +Mary sat down, as she could think better that way. She had always +regarded Grandfather as a sentient member of the family, but in her +wildest moments had never supposed he would arouse himself to preach +morality in their own tongue. Things were coming to a pretty pass when +clocks began to talk. She would have her geese lecturing her next. She +did not want any more men about the place, as one Peter was quite +enough. If Grandfather had learnt to talk he would probably proceed to +walk; and then he would be like any other man, and go to the village +with her brother, and return in the same condition, and be pestering her +continually for money. The renaissance of Grandfather was regarded by +Mary as a particularly bad sign; and for that reason she decided that it +was impossible and Peter had been dreaming. + +"You'm a liar," he answered in the vulgar tongue. "'Tis down in my +buke." + +This was sufficient evidence, and Mary could only wag her head at it. +She had a reverence for things that were written in books. + +"Be yew going to break the mommet?" she asked; and Peter replied that it +was his intention to make yet another clay doll, break it into +fragments, and commit the original doll, which was the only one capable +of working evil, to the fire as before. Thus he would earn the crock of +gold, and obtain vengeance upon Pendoggat also. Pixies were simple folk, +who could easily be hoodwinked by astute human beings; and he ventured +to propose that the mommet should be baked upon Mary's hearthstone in +future, so that Grandfather would see nothing of the operation which had +made him sick. + +Mary remained an agnostic. She could understand Grandfather when he +played impish pranks upon them, but when it came to bold brazen speech +she could not believe. Peter had been asleep and imagined it all. They +argued the matter until they nearly quarrelled, and then Mary said she +was going to look about her brother's residence to try and find out +whether any one had been playing a joke upon him. They went outside, and +were relieved to discover that a change had taken place in the weather. +Evidently judgment was not imminent, Betty Middleweek could cease paying +her debts, and the chapel could be closed again. The blue light had +faded, the clouds were higher, and had turned to ghostly grey. + +"Aw, Peter, 'tis nought but snow," said Mary cheerfully. + +"Snow never made Gran'vaither talk avore," Peter reminded her. + +Mary looked about her brother's little hut without seeing anything +unusual. Then she strode around the walls thereof, and her sharp eyes +soon perceived a branch of dry furze lying about a yard away from the +side of the cot. She asked Peter if he had dropped it there, and he +replied that it might have been there for days. "Wind would ha' took it +away," said Mary. "There was wind in the night, but ain't been none +since. That's been broke off from the linny." + +At the end of the hut was a small shed, its sides made of old +packing-cases, its roof and door composed of gorse twisted into hurdles. +The back wall of the cot, a contrivance of stones plastered together +with clay, was also the end wall of the linhay. Mary went into the +linhay, which was used by Peter as a place for storing peat. She soon +made a discovery, and called for the lantern. When it was brought she +pulled out a loose stone about the centre of the wall, and holding the +lantern close to the hole saw at once a black board which looked like +panelling, but was the back of the clock-case. Grandfather stood against +that wall; and in the middle of the plank was a hole which had been +bored recently. + +"Go'ye into the hut and ask Gran'vaither how he be," called Mary. + +Peter toddled off, got before the old clock, and inquired with +solicitude: "How be 'ye, Gran'vaither?" + +"Fine, and how be yew?" came the answer. + +"Ah," muttered Peter. "That be the way my old Gran'vaither ought to +tell." + +After that they soon stumbled upon the truth. It had been whispered +about the place that Peter was dabbling in witchcraft for Pendoggat's +detriment; and Annie Crocker had heard the whisper. To inform her master +was an act of ordinary enjoyment. He had sworn at her, professed +contempt for Peter and all his dolls, stated his intention of destroying +them, or at least of obtaining the legal benefit conferred by certain +ancient Acts of Parliament dealing with witches; but in his heart he was +horribly afraid. He spent hours watching the huts, and when he saw the +inhabitants move away he would go near, hoping to steal the clay doll +and destroy it; but Peter's door was always locked. At last he hit upon +the plan of frightening the superstitious little man by addressing him +through the medium of the clock. He thought he had succeeded. Perhaps he +would have done so had Mary's keen eyes not detected the scrap of gorse +which his departure had snapped from one of the hurdles which made the +door of the linhay. Pendoggat might be a strong man physically, able to +bully the weak, or bring a horse to its knees, but his mind was made of +rotten stuff, and it is the strong mind rather than the stalwart body +which saves a man when "Ephraim's Pinch" comes. Pendoggat's knees became +wobbly whenever he thought of Peter and his clay doll. + +When the blue mist had cleared off, snow began to fall in a business-like +way, and before the last light had been extinguished in the twin +villages the moor was buried. Peter thought he would watch beside the +well during the early part of the night, to see the little people +dragging up his crock of gold, for he had not altogether abandoned the +idea that it had been witchcraft and not Pendoggat which had conferred +upon Grandfather the gift of a tongue, but the snow made his plan +impossible. He and Mary sat together and talked in a subdued fashion. +Peter knitted a pair of stockings for his sister, while Mary mended her +brother's boots and hammered snow-nails into the soles. A new mommet had +been made, broken up, and its fragments were placed beside the well, +while the original doll baked resignedly upon Mary's hearthstone. +Pendoggat or pixies the savages were a match for either. It remained +calm upon the moor, but the snow continued most of the night with a +slight southerly drift, falling in the dense masses which people who +live upon mountains have to put up with. + +In the morning all was white and dazzling; the big tors had nearly +doubled in size, and the sides of Tavy Cleave were bulging as though +pregnant with little Tavy Cleaves. It was a glorious day, one of those +days when the ordinary healthy person wants to stand on his head or skip +about like a young unicorn. The sun was out, the sky was as blue as a +baby's eyes, and the clouds were like puffs of cigarette smoke. Peter +embraced himself, recorded in his work of creation that it was all very +good, then floundered outside and made for the well. He shovelled a foot +of snow from the cover, wound up the bucket, caught a glimpse of yellow +water, and then of something golden, more precious than water, air, or +sunshine, brave yellow pieces of gold, five in number, worth +one-hundred-and-twenty pints of beer apiece. They were lying at the +bottom of the bucket like a beautiful dream. Peter had come into a +fortune; his teeth informed him that the coins were genuine, his tongue +sent the glad tidings to Mary, his mind indulged in potent flights of +travel and dissipation. He had inherited twelve hundred pints of beer. + +"Aw, Peter," Mary was calling. "There ha' been witches abroad to-night." + +"They'm welcome," cried Peter. + +"Look ye here," Mary went on in a frightened voice. "Look ye here, will +ye? Here be a whist sight, I reckon." + +Mary was standing near the edge of the cleave, knee-deep in snow, +looking down. When Peter floundered up to her side she said nothing, but +pointed at the snow in front. Peter's hilarious countenance was changed, +and the five sovereigns in his hand became like so many pieces of ice. +The snow ahead was marked with footprints, not those of an animal, not +those of a man. The marks were those of a biped, cloven like a cow's +hoof but much larger, and they travelled in a perfectly straight line +across the moor, and behind them the snow was ruffled occasionally as by +a tail. Peter began to blubber like a frightened child. + +"'Tis him," he muttered. + +"Aw ees, 'tis him," said Mary, "Us shouldn't meddle wi' mommets and +such. 'Tis sure to bring 'en." + +"He must ha' come up over from Widdecombe in the snow," gasped Peter. + +"Going beyond?" asked Mary, with a motion of her head. + +"Ees," muttered Peter. "Us will see which way he took." + +"T'row the gold away, Peter. T'row 'en away," pleaded Mary. + +"I wun't," howled Peter. He wouldn't have parted with his six hundred +pints of beer for ten thousand devils. + +They floundered on beside the weird hoof-prints, never doubting who had +caused them. It was not the first visit that the devil, who, as Peter +had rightly observed, has his terrestrial country house at Widdecombe, +had paid to those parts. His last recorded visit had been to Topsham and +its neighbourhood half-a-century before, when he had frightened the +people so exceedingly that they dared not venture out of their houses +even in daylight. That affair had excited the curiosity of the whole +country, and although some of the wisest men of the time tried to find a +satisfactory solution of the problem they only ended by increasing the +mystery. The attractions of the west country have always proved +irresistible to his Satanic Majesty. From his country home at +Widdecombe-on-the-Moor he had sallied out repeatedly to fight men with +their own carnal weapons. He tried to hinder Francis Drake from building +his house with the stones of Buckland Abbey, and nobody at that time +wondered why he had taken the Abbey under his special protection, though +people have wondered since. It was the devil who, disguised as a simple +moorman, invited the ambitious parson and his clerk to supper, and then +led them into the sea off Dawlish. There can be no doubt about the truth +of that story, because the parson and clerk rocks are still to be seen +by any one. It was on Heathfield, near the Tavy, that the old +market-woman hid the hare that the devil was hunting in her basket, and +declared to the gentleman with the tail she had never seen the creature. +It was the devil who spoilt the miraculous qualities of St. Ludgvan's +well by very rudely spitting in the water; who jumped into the Lynher +with Parson Dando and his dogs; and it was the devil who was subdued +temporarily by Parson Flavel of Mullion; who was dismissed, again +temporarily, to the Red Sea by Parson Dodge of Talland because he would +insist upon pulling down the walls of the church as fast as they were +built; and who was routed from the house that he had built for his +friend the local cobbler in Lamorna Cove by famous Parson Corker of +Bosava. Mary and Peter knew these stories and plenty of others. They +didn't know that a canon authorising exorcism of the devil is still a +part of the law of the established Church, and that most people, however +highly educated, are little less superstitious than themselves. + +The hoof-prints went towards the village, regardless of obstacles. They +approached walls, and appeared again upon the other side without +disturbing the fresh snow between, a feat which argued either marvellous +jumping powers or the possession of wings. Peter and Mary followed them +in great fear, until they saw two men ahead engaged in the same +occupation, one of them making merry, the other of a sad countenance, +the merry man suggesting that a donkey had been that way, the other +declaring it was the devil. "Donkeys ain't got split hoofs," he stated; +while his companion indicated a spot where the snow was much ruffled and +said cheerfully: "'Tis where he swindged his tail." + +Nearer the village the white moor was dotted with black figures, all +intent upon the weird markings, none doubting who had caused them. The +visitant had not passed along the street, but had prowled his way across +back gardens, taking hedges and even cottages in his stride. Peter and +Mary went on, left the majority of villagers, who were lamenting +together as if the visitation was not altogether disagreeable to them, +and found themselves presently near Lewside Cottage. Boodles was walking +in the snow, hatless, her hands clasped together, her face white and +frightened, taking no notice of the hoof-prints which went through the +garden, but wandering as if she was trying to find her way somewhere, +and had lost herself, and was wondering if she would find any one who +would put her on the right road. + +"She'm mazed," said Peter. "Mebbe her saw him go through." + +"Aw, my dear, what be ye doing?" called Mary. "Nought on your feet, and +your stockings vull o' snow. He never come for yew, my dear. He'm a +gentleman, and wun't harm a purty maid. Be'ye mazed, my dear?" + +"Mary," murmured the child very softly, raising both hands to her +radiant head. "Come with me. I'm frightened." + +"Us wun't let 'en touch ye," cried Mary valiantly. "I'll tak' my gurt +stick to 'en if he tries." + +Boodles caught her big hand and held it tightly. She had not even +noticed the footprints. She did not know why all the villagers were out, +or what they were doing on the moor. + +"He won't wake," she said. "I have never known him sleep like this. I +called him, and he does not answer. I shook him, and he would not +move--and his eggs are hard-boiled by this time." + +"Bide here, Peter," said Mary shortly. + +Then the big strong hermaphrodite put a brawny arm about the soft +shivering little maid, and led her inside the cottage, and up the +stairs--how mournful they were, and how they creaked!--and into the +quiet little bedroom, with the snow sliding down the window-panes, and +the white light glaring upon the bed, where Abel Cain Weevil was lying +upon his back, and yet not his back, but its back, for the old man was +so very tired that he went on sleeping, though his eggs were hard-boiled +and his little girl was terrified. The Brute had passed over in the +night, not a very cruel Brute perhaps, and had placed his hand on the +old man's mouth and stopped his breathing; and the poor old liar liked +it so well he thought he wouldn't wake up again, but would go on +sleeping for a long time, so that he would forget the rabbit-traps, and +his petitions which nobody would sign, and his letters which had done no +good. He had forgotten everything just then, but not Boodles, surely not +his little maid, who was sobbing in Mary's savage and tender arms. He +could not have forgotten the radiant little girl, and he would go on +lying for her in his sleep if necessary, although he had been selfish +enough to go away in such a hurry, and leave her--to the lonely life. + + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +ABOUT WINTER IN REAL LIFE + + +Old moormen said it was one of the worst winters they could remember, +not on account of the cold, but because of the gales and persistent +snow. The first fall soon melted, but not entirely; a big splash of +white remained on Ger Tor until a second fall came; and when that melted +the splash remained, asking for more, and in due time receiving it. +People found it hard to get about; some parts of the moor were +inaccessible; and the roads were deep in slush when they were not heaped +with drifts. It was a bad winter for men and animals; and it made many +of the old folk so disgusted with life that they took the opportunity +offered them by severe colds to get rid of it altogether. + +The villages above the Tavy appeared to be deserted during that dreary +time. It was a wonder how people hid themselves, for the street was +empty day after day, and a real human being crossing from one side to +the other was a sight to bring faces to the windows. One face was often +at a certain window, a frightened little white face, which had forgotten +how to laugh even when some old woman slipped up in the slush, and its +eyes would look first on one side, then on the other, generally without +seeing anything except the bare moor, which was sometimes black, and +sometimes white, and always dreary. Boodles was alone in Lewside +Cottage, her only companions the mice which she hated, and the eternal +winds which made her shiver and had plucked the roses from her cheeks +until hardly a pink petal remained. Boodles was feeling as much alone +without old Weevil as Brightly was feeling without Ju. Sometimes she +thought she might soon have to go out and tramp a portion of the world +like him, and claim her share of open air and space, which was all the +inheritance to which she was entitled. + +To lead a lonely life on Dartmoor is unwholesome at any age; and when +one is eighteen and a girl it is a punishment altogether too severe. +Boodles had got through the first days fairly well because she was +stunned, but when she began to wake up and comprehend how she was placed +the horror bred of loneliness and wild winds took hold upon her. The +first evil symptom was restlessness. She wandered about the cottage, not +doing anything, but feeling she must keep on the move to prevent herself +from screaming. She began to talk to herself, softly during the day as +if she was rather afraid some one might be listening, and towards +evening loudly, partly to assure herself she was safe, partly to drown +the tempestuous noises of the wind. Then she fell into the trick of +shuddering, of casting quick glances behind, and sometimes she would run +into a corner and hide her face, because there were queer shadows in the +room, and strange sounds upon the stairs, and the doors shook so, and +she seemed to hear a familiar shuffling and a tender voice murmuring: +"Boodle-oodle," and she would cover up all the mirrors, dreadfully +afraid of seeing a comic old face in them. Sometimes when the wind was +roaring its loudest over the moor she would rush up to her bedroom, lock +the door, and scream. These were foolish actions, but then she was only +eighteen. + +It was getting on towards Christmas, and at last there was another +moonlit night, full of wind and motion; and soon after Boodles had gone +to bed she heard other sounds which frightened her so much she could not +scream. She crept out of bed, got to the window, and looked out. A man +was trying the door, and when he found it secure he went to the windows. +The moonlight fell upon Pendoggat's head and shoulders. Boodles did not +know of a rumour suggesting that old Weevil had been a miser, and had +saved up a lot of money which was hidden in the cottage, but Pendoggat +had heard it. She got back to her bed and fainted with terror, but the +man failed to get in. The next day she went to see Mary, and told her +what had happened. Mary spat on her hands, which was one of her +primitive ways when she felt a desire to chastise any one, and picked up +her big stick, "I'll break every bone in his body," she shouted. + +Boodles comprehended what a friend and champion she had in this +creature, who had much of a woman's tenderness, and all of a man's +strength. To some it might have appeared ridiculous to hear Mary's +threats, but it was not so. She was fully as strong as Pendoggat, and +there was no cowardice in her. + +"Aw, my dear," she went on, "yew bain't the little maid what used to +come up for eggs and butter. Yew would come up over wi' red cheeks and +laughing cruel, and saying to I: 'One egg for luck, Mary,' and I'd give +it ye, my dear. If you'd asked I for two or dree I'd ha' given 'em. +You'm a white little maid, and as thin getting as thikky stick. Don't ye +ha' the decline, my dear. Aw now, don't ye. What will the butiful young +gentleman say when he sees you white and thin getting?" + +"Don't, Mary," cried Boodles, almost passionately; for she dared not +think of Aubrey as a lover. Their love-days had become so impossible and +unreal. She had written to him, but had said nothing of Weevil's death, +afraid he might think she was appealing to him for help; neither had she +signed herself Titania Lascelles, nor told him of her aristocratic +relations. The story had appeared unreal somehow the morning after, and +the old man's manner and audible whispers had aroused her suspicions. +She thought it would be best to wait a little before telling Aubrey. + +"What be yew going to du?" asked Mary, busy as ever, punching the dough +in her bread-pan. + +"I am going to try and hang on till spring, and then see if I can't make +a living by taking in boarders," said the child seriously. "Mr. Weevil +left a little money, and I have a tiny bit saved up. There will be just +enough to pay rent, and keep me, if I am very careful." + +"Butter and eggs and such ain't going to cost yew nought," said Mary +cheerily, though Peter would have groaned to hear her. + +"Oh, thank you, dear old Mary," said Boodles, her eyes glistening; while +the bread-maker went at the dough as if she hated it. "I shall do +splendidly," Boodles went on. "I have seen the landlord, and he will let +me stay on. Directly the fine weather comes I shall put a card in the +window, and I expect I shall get heaps of lodgers. I can cook quite +well, and I'm a good manager. I ought to be able to make enough one half +of the year to keep me the other half. Of course I shall only take +ladies." + +"Aw ees, don't ye tak' men, my dear. They'm all alike, and you'm a main +cruel purty maid, though yew ha' got white and thin. If that young +gentleman wi' the butiful face don't come and tak' ye, dalled if I wun't +be after 'en wi' my gurt stick," cried Mary, pummelling the dough again. + +"I asked you not to mention him," said Boodles miserably. + +"I bain't to talk about 'en," cried Mary scornfully. "And yew bain't to +think about 'en, I reckon. Aw, my dear, I've a gotten the heart of a +woman, and I knows fine what yew thinks about all day, and half the +night, though I mun't talk about it. I knows how yew puts out your arms +and cries for 'en. Yew don't want a gurt big house like rectory, and yew +don't want servants and railway travelling, but yew wants he, yew wants +to hold on to 'en, and know he'm yourn, and shut your purty eyes and +feel yew bain't lonesome--" + +"Oh, Mary!" the child broke in, with something like a scream. + +Mary left her pan and came and whitened the little girl's head with her +doughy fingers, lending the bright hair a premature greyness. + +"It's the loneliness," cried Boodles. "I thought it would not be so bad +when I got used to it, but it's worse every day. I have to run on the +moor, and make believe there is some one waiting for me when I get home. +It's dreadful to feel the solitude when I go in, to find things just as +I left them, to hear nothing except mice nibbling under the stairs; and +then I have to go and turn on my windy organ, and try and believe I am +amusing myself." + +"Aw, my dear, yew mustn't talk to I so larned like. You'm as larned as +Master," complained Mary. + +"I'll tell you about my windy organ," Boodles went on, trying to force a +little sunshine through what threatened to be steady rain. "With the +wind, doors, and windows, I can play all sorts of marches. With my +bedroom window open, and the door shut, the wind plays sad music, a +funeral march; but when I shut my window, and open the one in the next +room, it is loud and lively, like a military march. If I open the +sitting-room window, and the one in the passage up-stairs, and shut all +the doors, it is splendid, Mary, a coronation march. I hear the +procession sweeping up-stairs, and the clapping of hands, and the crowd +going to and fro, murmuring ah-ah-ah. But the best of all is when I open +what was old daddy's bedroom window, and sit in my own room with the +door shut, for the wind plays a wedding-march then, and I can make it +loud or soft by opening and shutting my window. That is the march I play +every evening till I get the shivers." + +"She'm dafty getting," muttered Mary, understanding nothing of the +musical principle of the little girl's amusement. "Don't ye du it, my +dear," she went on. "'Twill just be making you mazed, and us will find +ye jumping at the walls like a bumbledor on a window." + +"I'll try and keep sensible, but there is Christmas, and January, and +February. Oh, Mary, I shall never do it," cried Boodles. "I shall be mad +before March, which is the proper time for madness." + +"Get another maid to come and bide wi' ye," Mary suggested. + +"How can I?" + +"Mebbe some old dame, who wants a home--" began Mary. + +"She would be an expense, and she might get drunk, rob me, beat me, +perhaps." + +"Her wouldn't," declared Mary, with a glance at her big stick. + +"I must go on being alone and making believe," said Boodles. + +"Won't the butiful young gentleman come and live wi' ye?" said poor +Mary, quite thinking she had found a splendid way out of the difficulty. + +"Silly old thing," sighed Boodles, actually smiling. Then she rose to +go, and Mary tramped heavily to her dairy. "Tak' eggs and butter wi' +ye," she called. "Aw, my dear, yew mun't starve, or you'll get decline. +'Tis cruel to go abroad on an empty stomach." + +"I'm not a snake," said Boodles; and at that moment Peter appeared in +search of thoughts, heard the conversation, agreed that it was indeed +cruel to go abroad on an empty stomach, and went to record the statement +in his diary, adding for the sake of a light touch the observation of +Boodles that she was not a snake, though Peter could not see the joke. + +Mary was a busy creature, but she found time that evening to stalk +across the moor and down to Helmen Barton, where she banged at the door +like the good champion Ethelred, hero of the Mad Trist, until the noise +of her stick upon the door "alarummed and reverberated" throughout the +hollow. When Annie appeared she was bidden to inform her master that if +he ventured again near Lewside Cottage, or dared to frighten "my little +maid," she, Mary, would come again with the stick in her hands, and use +his body as she had just used his door. When Mary had spoken she turned +to go, but the friendless woman called her, feeling perhaps that she too +needed a champion, and Mary turned back. + +"Come inside," said Annie in a strange voice, and Mary went, with the +statement that she could not remain as the cows were waiting to be +milked. + +"Been to Lewside Cottage, has he? He'm crazed for money. He'd rob the +little maid of her last penny, and pray for her whiles he was doing it," +said Annie bitterly. + +Mary said nothing, but her anger rose, and she spat noisily upon her +hands to get a good grip of the stick. + +"I've been wi' 'en twenty years, and don't know 'en yet I thought once +he was a man, but I know he bain't. If yew was to shake your fingers at +'en he'd run." + +"Yew ha' been drinking, woman," said Mary. + +"Ah, I've had a drop. There's nought else to live vor. Twenty years, +Mary Tavy, he've had me body and soul, twenty years I've been a slave to +'en, and now he've done wi' me." + +"What's that, woman?" cried Mary, lifting her long stick, and poking at +Annie's left hand and the gold ring worn upon it. + +"That!" cried Annie furiously. "It be a dirty thing, what any man can +buy, and any vule of a woman will wear. Ask 'en what it cost, Mary Tavy. +A few shilluns, I reckon, the price of a joint o' meat, the price of a +pair o' boots. And it ha' bought me for twenty years." + +"You'm drunk, woman." + +"Ah, purty fine. Wimmin du main dafty things when they'm drunk. Your +brother ha' made a mommet of 'en, and like a vule he went and broke it +for a bit o' dirty money." + +"It bain't broke," said Mary. "Peter made a new mommet, and broke that." + +"Glory be to God," cried Annie wildly, plucking out some grey hairs that +were falling upon her eyes. "I'll tell 'en. 'Twill work, Mary Tavy. The +devil who passed over last month will see to it. He never passed the +Barton. He didn't want his own. I never knowed a mommet fail when 'twas +made right." + +"Du'ye say he bain't your husband?" Mary muttered, looking at the grey +hairs in the woman's hand. + +"See beyond!" screamed Annie, losing all self-control, pulling Mary to +the kitchen window, pointing out. It was a dark cold kitchen, built of +granite, with concrete floor. There was nothing to be seen but the big +brake of furze, black and tangled, swaying slightly. It was a mighty +brake, twenty years untouched, and there were no flowers upon it. The +interior was a choked mass of dead growth. + +"Why don't ye burn 'en, woman?" + +"Ask 'en. It ain't going to be burnt yet--not yet, Mary Tavy." Annie's +voice had fallen to a hoarse whisper. She was half-drunk and half-mad. +Those twenty years were like twenty mountains piled upon her. "Look at +my white hairs, Mary Tavy. I'm getting a bit old like, and I'm for the +poorhouse, my dear. Annie Crocker, spinster--that's me. Twenty years +I've watched that vuzz before this window rocking to and fro, like a +cradle, my dear, rocking 'em to sleep. Yew know what 'tis to live wi' a +man. You'm a fool to first, and a vule always I reckon, but such a vule +to first that yew don't know' how to stop 'em coming. Yew think of love, +Mary Tavy, and you don't care--and there 'em be, my dear, two of 'em, in +the middle o' the vuzz." + +"Did'st du it?" muttered Mary, standing like a wooden image. + +"Me! I was young then, and I loved 'em. He took 'em from me when I was +weak and mazed. I had to go through it here alone, twice my dear, alone +wi' him, and he said they was dead, but I heard 'em cry, twice, my dear, +only I was that weak I couldn't move. 'Twas winter both times, and I lay +up over, and heard 'en walking on the stones of the court, and heard 'en +let the bucket down, and heard 'en dra' it up--and then I heard 'en +cursing o' the vuzz 'cause it pricked 'en, and his hands and face was +bloody wi' scratches when he come up. I mind it all, though I was +mazed--and I loved 'em, my dear." + +"Preaches in chapel tu," said Mary, a sense of inconsistency occurring +to her. "You'm a vule, woman, to tell to me like this." + +"I've ha' bitten my tongue for twenty years, and I'd ha' bitten it +another twenty if he'd used me right. Didn't your brother find 'en wi' +Chegwidden's maid? Don't I know he's been wi' she for months, and used +she as he've used me? Don't I know he wants to have she here, and turn +me out--and spend the price of a pair o' boots on a ring same as this, +and buy she wi' that for twenty years?" + +Mary turned away. It was already dark, the cows were not milked, and +would be lowing for her to ease their udders. Annie was beside herself. +The barrier of restraint had fallen, and the pent-up feelings of a +generation roared out, like the Tavy with its melted snow, sweeping away +everything which was not founded upon a rock. + +"Burn it down, woman," said Mary as she went. + +"Not till the mommet ha' done its work," screamed Annie. Then she +lighted the lantern, and went to the linhay for more cider. + +When lonely little Boodles got home she saw at once that the cottage had +been entered. The sitting-room window had been forced open, and its +catch was broken; but Pendoggat had got nothing for his pains. She had +hidden the money-box so cunningly that he had failed to find it; and she +was glad then that she had seen him prowling about the cottage the night +before. She got some screws and made the window fast. Then she cried and +had her supper. After that she went to her bed and sobbed again until +her head ached, and then she sat up and scolded herself severely; and as +the wind was blowing nicely she turned on the wedding march, and while +listening to it prattled to herself-- + +"You mustn't break down, Boodles. It is much too early to do that, for +things have not begun to go really badly for you yet. There's enough +money to keep things going till summer, if you do without any new +clothes, and by the way you mustn't walk too much or you'll wear your +boots out, and next summer you will have a nice lot of old maids here +for their health, and make plenty of money out of them for your health. +I know you are only crying because it is so lonely, but still you +mustn't do it, for it makes you thin and white. You had better go and +study the cookery-book, and think of all the nice things you will make +for the old maids when you have caught them." + +Boodles never allowed herself to speak upon the subject which was always +in her mind, and she tried to persuade herself she was not thinking of +Aubrey and Weevil's wild story, although she did nothing else. While she +was talking of her prospects she was thinking of Aubrey, though she +would not admit it. She had tried once to put six puppies into a small +cupboard, but as often as she opened the door to put another puppy in +those already inside tumbled out. That was exactly the state her mind +was in. When she opened it to think of her prospects, Aubrey, Weevil's +story, and her unhappy origin, fell out sprawling at once, and were all +over the place before she could catch them again; and when she had +caught them she couldn't shut them up. + +It was absolutely necessary to find something to do, as regulating the +volume and sound of the wind by opening or shutting various windows and +doors, and turning on what sounded to her like marriage or martial +marches, was an unwholesome as well as a monotonous amusement. The child +roamed about the cottage with a lamp in her hand, trying to get away +from something which was not following. She could not sit down to sew, +for her eyes were aching, and she kept starting and pricking her finger. +She wandered at last with an idea into what had been Weevil's bedroom. +There was an old writing-table there, and she had lately discovered a +key with a label attached informing her that it would open the drawers +of that table. Boodles locked herself in, lighted two lamps, which was +an act of extravagance, but she felt protected somehow by a strong +light, and began to dig up the dust and ashes of the old man's early +life. + +Many people have literary stuff they are ashamed of hiding away under +lock and key, which they do not want, and yet do not destroy. Every one +has a secret drawer in which incriminating rubbish is preserved, +although it may be of an entirely innocent character. They are always +going to make a clean sweep, but go on putting it off until death can +wait no longer; and sorrowing relations open the drawer, glance at its +contents, and mutter hurriedly: "Burn it, and say nothing." To know the +real man it is only necessary to turn out his secret drawer when he is +dead. + +There was not much stored away in the old writing-table. Apparently +Weevil had destroyed all that was recent, and kept much that was old. +There was sufficient to show Boodles the truth; that the old man had +always been Weevil, that his story to her had been a series of lame +lies, that his origin had been a humble one. There were letters from +friends of his youth, queer missives suggesting jaunts to the Welsh +Harp, Hampstead, or Rosherville, and signed: "your old pal, George," or +"yours to the mustard-pot. Art." They were humorous letters, written in +slang, and they amused Boodles; but after reading them she could not +suppose that Weevil had been ever what one would call a gentleman. A +mass of such stuff she put aside for the kitchen fire; and then she came +upon another bundle, tightly fastened with string, which she cut, and +drawing a letter from the packet she opened it and read-- + + * * * * * + "My own Dearest. + + + I was so very glad to get your letter and I know you are looking + forward to have one from me but I am so sorry Dearest you have had + such a bad cold. My Dear I hope to sit on your knees and have my + arm around your neck some day. I do love you you are my only + sweetheart now and I hope I am only yours. Many thanks for sending + me your photo which I should be very sorry to part with it. It + makes me feel delighted as I am looking forward to be in your Dear + arms some day. I am waiting for the time to pass so we shall be + together for ever. I sit by the fire cold nights and have my + thoughts in you my Dearest. I knit lace when I have no sewing to + do. It was very miserable last Sunday but I went to church in the + evening but I much rather would like to have been with you. I wish + I could reach you to give you a nice kiss. I am always dreaming + about you my Love and it is such miserable weather now I will stop + in haste with my best love and kisses to my Dear Boy from your + loving and true Minnie." + + * * * * * + +There was a fat bundle of such letters, written by the same illiterate +hand nearly fifty years before, and the foolish old man had kept the +rubbish, which had no doubt a sort of wild-flower fragrance once, and +had left them at his death. Minnie was evidently a servant girl, hardly +Miss Fitzalan of the amazing story, and if the young Weevil of those +days had meant it, and had not been indulging in a little back-stairs +flirtation, his birth was more humble than Boodles had supposed. He must +have meant it, she reasoned, or he would hardly have kept that +sentimental rubbish all his life. + +Another drawer came open, and the child breathed quickly. It was filled +with a parcel of books, and a label upon the topmost one bore the word +"Boodles." The truth was in that secret drawer, there could be no +romancing there, the question of her birth was to be settled once and +for all, she could read it in those books, then go and tell Mr. Bellamie +who she was. The girl's sad eyes softened when she perceived that the +heap of diaries was well thumbed. She did not know that the old man had +often read himself to sleep with one of them. + +The straw, by which she had been, mentally at least, supporting herself +since Weevil's death, was quickly snatched away. She saw then, what Mr. +Bellamie had seen at once, how that the simple old creature had sought +to secure her happiness with lies. The story of the diaries told her +little more. It was true she was a bastard; that she had been wrapped in +fern, and placed in the porch of the cottage, with a label round her +neck like a parcel from the grocer's; that the old man had known as much +about her parents as she knew herself. "She cannot be a commoner's +child," was written in one of the diaries. "I think she must be the +daughter of some domestic servant and a man of gentle birth. She would +not be what she is had her father been a labourer or a farmer." + +Then followed a list of the girls whom Weevil had suspected; but that +was of no interest to Boodles. The old man had nursed her himself. There +was a little book, _Hints to Mothers_, in the pile, and at the bottom of +the drawer was a scrap of the fern in which she had been wrapped, and +the horrible label which had been round her baby neck. She gazed, +dry-eyed and fascinated, forgetting her loneliness, her sorrow, +forgetting everything except that one overmastering thing, the awful +injury which had been done to her innocent little self. Now that she +knew the truth she would face it. The wind was playing a funeral march +just then. + +"I am an illegitimate child," said Boodles. She stepped before the +glass, uncovered it, screamed because she thought she had seen that +grotesque old face which servant girl Minnie had longed to kiss fifty +years back, recovered herself, and looked. "He said I should be perfect +if I had a name," she muttered. She was getting a fierce little +tiger-cat, and beginning to show her pretty teeth. "Why am I not a +humpback, or diseased in some way, or hideous, if I am an illegitimate +child? I am as good as any girl. People in Tavistock turn to look at me, +and I know they say: 'What a pretty girl!' Am I to say to every one: 'I +am an illegitimate child, and therefore I am as black as the devil +himself?' Why is a girl as black as the devil just because no clergyman +has jabbered some rubbish at her parents? Oh, Boodles, you pretty +love-child, don't stand it," she cried. + +She flung the towel over the glass, turned to the window, and cast it +open to receive the wind. "I am not frightened now. I am wild. Let us +have the coronation march, and let me go by while they shout at me, +'bastard.' What have I done? I know that the sins of the parents are +visited upon the children, but why should the children stand it? Must +they, poor little fools? They must endure disease, but not dishonour. I +am not going to stand it. I would go into God's presence, and clench my +fists, and say I will not stand it. He allowed me to be born. If +matrimony is what people say it is, a sort of sacrament, how is it that +children can be born without it?" + +The wind rushed into the room so violently that she had to shut the +window. The lamp-flames were leaping up the glasses. A different tune +began and made the tortured little girl less fierce. + +"I won't be wild any more," she said; but an idea had entered her brain, +and she gave it expression by murmuring again and again: "Nobody knows, +nobody knows. Only he knew, and he is dead." + +That was true enough. Only Weevil and her mother knew the truth about +her shameful origin. The mother had not been seen that night placing the +bundle of fern in the porch. She could not have been seen, as nobody in +the neighbourhood knew where Boodles really came from, and the fact that +the stories which they had invented about her were entirely false proved +their ignorance. Probably nobody knew that her mother had given birth to +a child. Boodles thought of that as she walked to and fro murmuring, +"Nobody knows." Old Weevil's death might prove to be a blessing in +disguise. + +"I will not stand it," she kept on saying. "I will not bear the +punishment of my father's sin. I will be a liar too--just once, and then +I will be truthful for ever. I will make up my own story, and it won't +be wild like his. I understand it all now. In this funny old world of +sheep-people one follows another, not because the one in front knows +anything, but just because he is in front; and when the leader laughs +the ones behind laugh too, and when the leader says 'how vile,' the ones +behind say 'how vile' too. I suppose we are all sheep-people, and I am +only different because I have black wool, and I am on the wrong side of +the hedge and can't get among the respectable white baa-baas. I won't +harm any of them. I will be wicked once, in self-defence, to get this +black wool off, and then I'll be a very good white respectable +sheep-person ever after. The truth is there," she said, nodding at the +little heap of books, "and the truth is going to be burnt." + +She gathered up the pile and cremated the lot in the kitchen fire. Then +she went to bed with a kind of happiness, because she knew that her +doubts were cleared away, and that her future depended upon her ability +to fight for herself. Her eyes were fully opened by this time because +she had left fairyland and got well out into the lane of real life. She +knew that "sheep-people" like the most excellent Bellamies, neatly bound +and edged in the very best style of respectability, must regard little +bastards as a sort of vermin, which it was only kind to tread upon or +sweep decorously out of the way. "I am only going to wriggle in +self-defence because they are hurting me," she murmured. "If they will +be nice to me I will stop wriggling at once and be good for ever. I +wouldn't make an effort if I was ugly or humpbacked. I would curl up and +die like a horrid spider. But I know I am really a nice girl and a +pretty girl; and if they will only give me the chance I will be a good +girl--wicked once, and then good, so very good. I expect you are much +better than most girls, Boodles, and you mustn't let them call you +beastly names," she said; and went off to sleep in quite a conceited +state of mind. + +In the morning there was a letter from Mr. Bellamie, not for Boodles, +but for the old man who was dead, and the girl opened it, not knowing +who it was from, and learnt a little more of the truth about herself. It +was lucky for old Weevil that he was well out of the way. He would +probably just as soon have been dead as called upon to answer that +letter, though it was kindly enough and delicately expressed and full of +artistic touches. Mr. Bellamie adopted a gentle cynicism which would +have been too subtle for Weevil's comprehension. He slapped him on the +shoulder as it were, chaffing him, reproving him mildly, and saying in +effect: "You old rogue, to think that you could fool me with your +fairy-tales." He professed to regard the matter as a joke, and then +becoming serious, suggested that Weevil would surely see the necessity +of keeping Boodles and Aubrey apart in the future. He didn't believe in +young men, and Aubrey was a mere boy, entangling themselves with an +engagement, and altogether apart from that Boodles, though a pretty and +charming girl, was not the partner that he would wish his son to choose. +Writing still more plainly, if Aubrey insisted upon marrying the girl it +would have to be without his consent. He could not receive Boodles at +his house while the mystery of her birth remained unexplained. There was +a mystery, he knew, as he had made inquiries. He did not credit what he +had been told, but the fact remained that Weevil had increased his +suspicions by withholding what he knew. The whole affair was +unsatisfactory, and the only satisfactory way out of it would be to keep +the young people definitely apart until they had found other interests. +Mr. Bellamie concluded by hoping that Weevil was not being troubled by +the wild weather and tempestuous winds. + +It would have been better for Boodles if she had not opened that letter. +For her it was the end of all things. Hardly knowing what she was doing, +she put on her hat, went out, down to the Tavy, and into the woods. It +was not "our walk," but the place where it had been. The big explosion +had cleared the walk away; and there was nothing except December damps +and mists, sodden ferns, and piles of half-melted snow. The once upon a +time stage was very far away then. It was the end of the story, and +there was no happy ever after, no merry dance of fairies to the tune of +a wedding march, no flowers nor sunshine. All the pleasant things had +gone to sleep, and those things which could not sleep were weeping. +Boodles fastened her arms about the trunk of a tree which she +recognised, and cried upon it; then she lay upon the fern which carried +a few memories and cried upon that; and felt her way to the river and +cried into that. She could not increase the moisture. The whole wood was +dripping and far more tear-productive than herself. The rivers and ferns +could not tell her that it was not the end of the story, but only the +end of a chapter; for she was merely eighteen, and the big desert of +life was beyond with a green oasis here and there. But fairyland was +closed. A big fence of brambles ran all round it, and there was a notice +board erected to the effect that Boodles would be prosecuted for +trespassing if she went inside, though all other children would be +welcome. There was the beech-tree where Aubrey and she had once spent an +afternoon carving two hearts skewered upon an arrow, though the hearts +looked rather like dumplings and the arrow resembled a spade. They had +done their best and made a failure. They had tried to tell a story, and +had muddled it all up just because they had been interrupted so often. +Why couldn't ogres leave them alone so that they could finish the story +properly? + +Boodles got back somehow to her home in the wintry solitude, and wrote +what she thought was a callous little note to Mr. Bellamie. Perhaps it +did not sound so very callous. Short compositions appeal as long ones +seldom do. + + + * * * * * + +"Mr. Weevil is dead, and has been buried some time, and I am quite +alone. I am sorry I opened your letter. Please forgive me. I did not +know who it was from. I am going to try and make a living by letting +lodgings when the fine weather comes, and I shall be very grateful if +Mrs. Bellamie and you will recommend me. I am a good cook, and could +make people comfortable. Perhaps you had better not say I am only +eighteen, as people might not like to trust me. It is very cold up here, +and the wind is dreadful. I hope you and Mrs. Bellamie are quite well. I +promise you I will not write to Aubrey again." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +ABOUT THE PINCH + + +Only well-to-do people, those who have many changes of raiment and can +afford to poke the fire expensively, are happy in the winter. For others +there are various degrees of the pinch; lack of fuel pinch, want of food +pinch, insufficient clothes pinch, or the pinch of desolation and +dreariness. To those who dwell in lonely places winter pays no dividends +in the way of amusement, and increases the expense of living at the rate +of fifty per cent. No wonder they tumble down in adoration when the sun +comes. The smutty god of coal, and the greasy deity of oil are served in +winter; there is the lesser divinity of peat also. Each brings round a +bag and demands a contribution; and those who cannot pay are pinched +remorselessly. + +Mrs. Bellamie sat in her drawing-room, and the fire burnt expensively, +and she spread her fragile feet towards it, without worshipping because +it was too common, and around her were luxuries on the top of luxuries; +and yet she was being pinched. It was not the horrid little note, rather +blurred and blotted, lying upon her lap which was administering the +pinch directly, but the thoughts brought on by that note. Mrs. Bellamie +was opening her secret drawer and turning out the rubbish. She was +thinking of the past which had been almost forgotten until that small +voice had come from Dartmoor. She had only to turn to the window to see +the snow-capped tors. The small voice was crying there and saying: "I am +only eighteen, and I am going to try and make a living by letting +lodgings. I promise you I will not write to Aubrey again." Those words +were so many crabs, pinching horribly; and at the bottom of the secret +drawer was a story, not written, because the drawer was the lady's mind, +and the story was about a little girl whose father had fallen on evil +days; a very respectable father, and a proud gentleman who would not +confess to his friends that his position had become desperate, but his +family knew all about it for they had to be hungry, and a very hard +winter came, and the coal-god sent his bag round as usual and they had +nothing to put into it. The father said he didn't want a fire. It was +neither necessary nor healthy. He preferred to sit in his cold damp +study with a greatcoat on and a muffler round his neck, and shiver. As +long as there was a bit of cold mutton in the house he didn't care, and +he talked about his ancestors who had suffered privations on fields +where English battles had been won, and declared that people of leisure +had got into a disgraceful way of coddling themselves; but he kept on +coughing, and the little girl heard him and it made her miserable. At +last she decided to wrap her morals up, and put them away in the secret +drawer, and forget all about them until the time of adversity was over. +There was a big house close by, belonging to wealthy friends of theirs, +and it was shut up for the winter. After dark the little girl climbed +over the railing, found her way to the coal-shed, took out some big +lumps, and threw them one by one into her father's garden. It made her +dreadfully dirty, but she didn't care, for she had put on her oldest +clothes. The next day her father found a fire burning in his study, and +he didn't seem angry. Indeed, when the little girl looked in, to tell +him it was cold mutton time, he was sitting close to it as if he had +forgotten all about the ancestors who had been frozen upon battlefields. +She did the same wicked thing that night, and the night after; and her +father lost his cough and became cheerful again. This robbery of the +rich went on for some time, until one night the little girl slipped +while climbing the railing and cut her knee badly, which kept her in bed +for some days, while she heard her father grumbling because he had no +fire; but he didn't grumble for long, because fine weather came, and his +circumstances improved, and a young gentleman came along and said he +wanted to be a robber too, and went off with the little coal-thief. It +was all so long ago that Mrs. Bellamie found herself wondering if it had +ever happened; but there was still a small mark upon her knee which +seemed to suggest that she ought to have known a good deal about the +little girl who had stolen coals during the days of the great pinch. + +Some of the wintry mist from Dartmoor had got into the room, and had +settled between the lady and the fire, which suddenly became blurred and +looked like a scarlet waterfall. Part of the origin of the mist tickled +her cheek, and she put up her handkerchief to wipe it away; but the +voices went on talking. "I am only eighteen, and I am going to try and +make a living by letting lodgings," said the voice from the moor. +"Mother, I know I'm young, but I shall never change. I love her with my +whole heart." That was a voice from the sea. Mrs. Bellamie rose and went +to find her husband. She came upon him engrossed upon the +characteristics of Byzantine architecture. + +"How are you going to answer this?" she said, dropping the note before +him like a cold fall of snow. + +"Does it require any answer?" he said, looking up with a frown. "She +must struggle on. She is one out of millions struggling, and her case is +only more painful to us because we know of it. We will help her as much +as we can, indirectly." + +"I should like to go and see her. I want to have her here for +Christmas," said the lady. + +"It would be foolish," said Mr. Bellamie. "It would make her unsettled, +and more dissatisfied with her lot. She might also get to look upon this +house as her home." + +"I am miserable about her. I wish I had never kissed her. She has kissed +me every day since," said the lady. "She is always on my mind, and now," +she went on, glancing at the note, "I think of her alone, absolutely +alone, a child of eighteen, in a dreary cottage upon the moor, among +those savage people." + +"If you had seen that weird old man--" began her husband. + +"He is dead, I have seen her, and she haunts me." + +Perhaps Mrs. Bellamie would not have been haunted if she had never +stolen those coals. Adversity breeds charity, and tenderness is the +daughter of Dame Want. Love does not fly out of the window when poverty +comes in. Only the imp who masquerades as the true god does that. The +son of Venus gets between husband and wife and hugs them tighter to warm +himself. + +"I am a descendant of Richard Bellamie," said her husband, getting his +crest up like a proud cockatoo, "father of Alice, _quasi bella et +amabilis_, who was mother of Bishop Jewel of famous memory. You, my +dear, are a daughter of the Courtenays, _atavis editi re gibus_, and +royalty itself can boast of blood no better. Let the whole country +become Socialist, the Bellamies and Courtenays will stand aloof." + +Mr. Bellamie smiled to himself. There was a classical purity about his +utterance which stimulated his system like a glass of rare wine. + +"I know," said the lady. "I am referring to my feelings, nothing else." +She was still thinking of the coals, and it seemed to her that a certain +portion of her knee began to throb. + +"When it comes to affairs of the heart, even the Bellamies and +Courtenays are Socialists," she said archly. + +Mr. Bellamie did not reply directly to that. He loved his wife, and yet +he carried her off, when the days of coal-stealing had been +accomplished, as much for her name as anything else. + +"My dear, let me understand you," he said. "Do you want Aubrey to marry +this nameless girl?" + +"I don't know myself what I want," came the answer. "I only know it is +horrible to think of the poor brave child living alone and unprotected +on the moor. Suppose one of those rough men broke into her cottage?" + +This was melodrama, which is bad art, and Mr. Bellamie frowned at it, +and changed the subject by saying: "She has promised not to write to +Aubrey again." + +"While he has absolutely refused to give her up," his wife added. +"Directly he comes back he will go to her." + +"I can't think where Aubrey gets it from," Mr. Bellamie murmured. "The +blood is so entirely unpolluted--but no, in the eighteenth century there +was an unfortunate incident, Gretna Green and a chambermaid, or +something of the kind. Young men were particularly reckless in that +century. If it had not been for that incident Aubrey would never have +run after this girl." + +"I expect he would," she said. + +"Then he is tainted. This terrible new democracy has tarred him with its +brush," said her husband. "I suppose the end of it will be he will run +off with this girl and bring her back married." + +"There is not the slightest fear of that. The girl would not consent." + +"Not consent!" cried Mr. Bellamie. "Not consent to marry into our +family!" + +"My dear, there is such a thing as nobility of character, though we +don't see much of it, perhaps. I may be allowed to know something of my +sex, and I am certain this girl would never marry Aubrey without our +consent." + +"Why, then, she's a good girl. I'll do all that I can for her if she is +like that," said Mr. Bellamie cheerfully. + +"What do you suppose she is doing now? Sobbing herself to death," said +his wife. + +The full-blooded gentleman stirred uneasily. Bad art again. "You are +pleading for her, my dear. Most distinctly you are pleading for her. If +you are going to side with Aubrey I will give in, of course. I will +write to the secretary of the Socialists' League, if there is such a +thing, and beg humbly to be enrolled as a member, and I will also state +that if the name of Bellamie is too much for them I shall be pleased to +adopt that of Tomkins or Jenkins. I cannot permit pride to stand in my +way, seeing that my future daughter-in-law has no name at all, unless it +is the highly aristocratic one of Smith-Robinson, the father being Smith +and the mother Robinson." He spoke with some heat, employing the weapon +of cynicism as a perfectly legitimate form of art. + +"Surely you do not suggest she is an illegitimate child," said his wife, +with some horror. + +"I suggest nothing, my dear, because I know nothing. I have heard all +sorts of stories about her--probably lies, like those the old man told +me. Understand, please, I cannot see the girl," he went on quickly. "I +like her. She is _bella et amabilis_, and if I saw much of her, pity and +admiration might make a fool of me. You know me, my dear. I am not +heartless, as my words might suggest. I want Aubrey to do well, marry +well, rise in his profession. If I went to see the child in her cottage +the sight would make me miserable. When I left the old man, after he had +choked me with the wildest lot of lies you ever heard, I was sad enough +for tears. His heart was so good though his art was so bad. The play +upon words was unintentional," he added, with a frown. + +Mrs. Bellamie said no more, but the coals continued to trouble her, and +at last the fire kindled, and she ordered a carriage and drove up on +Dartmoor without telling her husband. It was the week before Christmas, +and the road was sprinkled with carts passing up and down filled with +good things, and the men who drove them were filled with good things +too, which made them desire the centre of the road at any price. The +lady's carriage was often kept at a walking pace by these human slugs +with their fill of sloe-gin. + +Lewside Cottage was found with difficulty, most of the residents +appealed to declaring they had never heard of such a place, but the +driver found it at last, and brought the carriage up before the little +whitewashed house which looked very wet and dreary amid its wintry +surroundings. Mrs. Bellamie shivered as she got out and felt the wind +with a sharp edge of frost to it. Somebody else was shivering too, but +not with cold. Boodles watched from a corner of one of the windows, and +when the lady knocked she wanted to go and hide somewhere and pretend +she was miles away. + +"Perhaps she has come to tell me about old maids for lodgers," she +murmured. Then she ran down, opened the door, and straightway became +speechless. + +"I have come to see you, my dear," said the lady. The fact was obvious +enough to need no comment, but when people are embarrassed, and have to +say something, idiotic remarks serve as well as anything. Boodles tried +to reply that she perceived the visitor standing before her in the +flesh; but her tongue seemed to occupy the whole of her mouth, and she +could only smile and flush. + +Mrs. Bellamie, finding the conversation left to herself, observed that +it was exceedingly cold, while poor Boodles was thinking how hot it was. +She knew that her note had brought Mrs. Bellamie, and she was dreadfully +afraid the lady was going to be charitable; open her purse and give her +half-a-sovereign, or call to the driver to bring in a hamper of food, or +perhaps of toys, for Boodles was feeling fearfully young and shy. "If +she gives me anything I shall stamp and scream," she thought. + +"Are you really living here alone?" said Mrs. Bellamie, which was quite +as foolish as her other remarks, as she could not possibly have expected +to see people of various sizes and complexions tumbling suddenly from +the cupboards. "How very dreary it must be for you--dear." + +The last word was not intended to escape. It was on the tip of the +lady's tongue, and rolled off before she could stop it. "Dear" alone +sounds much more tender without any possessive pronoun attached, and the +sound of it made Boodles attempt to swallow something that felt like a +lump of clay in her throat. She knew she would have to howl if that lump +got any higher and reached the tear mark. She felt that if she opened +her mouth she would begin to cry. It was such an awful and a pleasant +thing to have a visitor, and Aubrey's mother; and she was thinking +already how terrible it would be when the visitor went away. + +They went into the little sitting-room. Their breath seemed to fill it +with cold steam, for there was no fire, which was a bad thing for Mrs. +Bellamie, for she thought at once of the past coal-age and the +resemblance of that room to her father's study; and just then Boodles +began to cough. It was all over with Mrs. Bellamie. Her secret drawer +was wide open, and all that she ought to have been ashamed of was +revealed. She was listening again at a certain keyhole, feeling the cold +current of air upon her ear, and with it the gentle persistent noise of +her proud old father coughing because he hadn't got any fire. She was +getting on in life, but her spirit was the same. She would have gone +then, and climbed a railing, and stolen coal to give the poor girl a +fire. + +Boodles looked up with a smile, without in the least knowing that her +eyes were hungry for a caress. Mrs. Bellamie bent and kissed her, and +Boodles promptly wept. + +"My poor child, how can you sit here in the cold? Why don't you have +a fire?" said the lady, who seemed bent on saying foolish things that +day. + +"I--I am so glad to see you," sobbed Boodles, obtaining relief and the +use of her tongue. "I would have lighted a fire if I had known you were +coming. I only use the kitchen and my bedroom." + +"Would you like to show me over the cottage?" said the lady, becoming +more sensible. + +"It won't take long," said Boodles. "I am sorry for crying. This is +Thursday, isn't it? I lose track of the days rather, but the baker comes +Wednesdays and Saturdays, and he came yesterday, and it isn't Sunday, so +it must be Thursday. Well, I hadn't cried since Tuesday. Yesterday was a +day off." + +"You poor child," murmured Mrs. Bellamie. + +"Sometimes I think I ought to keep a record, a sort of rain-gauge," went +on Boodles in quite a lively fashion. It was a part of her idea. She was +playing her game of "not standing it," and after all she was telling the +truth so far. "Monday, three-hundred drops. Tuesday, +one-hundred-and-twenty-and-a-half drops. Wednesday, none. Thursday, not +over yet. It's like a prescription. I'm all right now, you made me feel +funny, as I've never had a civilised visitor before. It is very good of +you to come and discover me." + +Then she took the lady over the tiny house, from the kitchen to her +bedroom, taking pride in the fact that it was all very neat, and +apologising for the emptiness of the larder by saying that she was only +one small girl, and she was well able to live upon air, especially as +the wind of Dartmoor was notoriously fattening. + +"Eating is only one of the habits of civilisation," declared Boodles. +"So long as you live alone you never get hungry, but directly you go +among other people you want to eat. I have often seen two moormen meet +on the road. They didn't want anything while they were alone, but so +soon as they caught sight of one another they felt thirsty. May I get +you a cup of tea?" + +"Well, the sight of you has made me thirsty," said Mrs. Bellamie. + +Then they laughed together and felt better. + +"Look at this basket," said Boodles, pointing to a familiar battered +object covered with a scrap of oilcloth. "It belongs to a poor man who +is in prison now. I brought him here because the people were hunting +him, and the policeman came and took him for stealing some clothes, +though I'm sure he was innocent. Aubrey gave him half-a-crown on Goose +Fair Day, and perhaps he bought the clothes with that. Can you buy a +suit of clothes for half-a-crown? If you can't, I don't know how these +men live. I am keeping the basket for the poor thing, and when they let +him out I expect he will come for it." + +Boodles alluded to Brightly and his basket since they gave her the +opportunity of mentioning Aubrey. She wanted to see if the lady would +accept the opening, and explain the real object of her visit; but Mrs. +Bellamie, who was still respectable, only said that it was rather +shocking to think that Boodles had tried to protect a common thief, and +then she thought again of the coals, for the theft of which she had +never been punished until then. She ought to have been sent to prison +too, although she had done much more good than harm in stealing from a +wealthy man to give comfort to a poor one. It had made her tender and +soft-hearted also. She would never have felt so deeply for Boodles had +it not been for that little hiatus of poverty and crime. Rigid honesty +has its vices, and some sins have many virtues. Virtues are unpleasant +things to carry about in any quantity, like a pocketful of stones; but +little sins are cheery companions while they remain little. Mrs. +Bellamie was a much better woman for having been once a thief. + +"Is that clock right?" asked the lady. "I told the driver to come for me +at five." + +Boodles said she hadn't the least idea. There were two clocks, and each +told a different story, and she had nothing to check them by. She +thought it would be past four as it was getting so dark. She lighted the +lamp, and the lady noticed the little hands were getting rather red. +When the room was filled with light she noticed more; the girl was quite +thin, and she coughed a good deal; nearly all the colour had gone out of +her face, and there were lines under her eyes, lines that ought never to +be seen at eighteen; her mouth often quivered, and she would start at +every sound. Then Mrs. Bellamie heard the wind, and she started too. + +"My dear, you cannot, you must not, live here alone," she said, +shivering at the idea, and the atmosphere. "It would drive me mad. The +loneliness, the wind, and the horrible black moor." + +"I have got to put up with it. I have no friends," said Boodles at once. +"I don't know whether I shall pull through, as the worst time is ahead, +but I must try. You can't think what it is when the wind is really high. +Sometimes in the evenings I run about the place, and they chase me from +one room to another." + +"Not men?" cried the lady in horror. + +"Things, thoughts, I don't know what they are. The horrors that come +when one is always alone. Some nights I scream loud enough for you to +hear in Tavistock. I don't know why it should be a relief to scream, but +it is." + +"You must get away from here," said Mrs. Bellamie decidedly. "We will +arrange something for you. Would you take a position as governess, +companion to a lady--" + +"No," cried Boodles, as if the visitor had insulted her. "I am not going +to prison. I would rather lose my senses here than become a servant. If +I was companion to a lady I should take the dear old thing by the +shoulders and knock her head against the wall every time she ordered me +about. Why should I give up my liberty? You wouldn't. I have got a home +of my own, and with lodgers all summer I can keep going." + +"You cannot do it. You cannot possibly do it," said Mrs. Bellamie. "Will +you come and spend Christmas with us?" she asked impulsively. It was a +sudden quiver of the girl's mouth that compelled her to give the +invitation. + +"Oh, I should love it," cried Boodles. Then she added: "Does Mr. +Bellamie wish it?" + +The lady became confused, hesitated, and finally had to admit that her +husband had not authorised her to speak in his name. + +"Then I cannot come. It would have been a great pleasure to me, but of +course I couldn't come if he does not want me, and I shouldn't enjoy +myself in the least if I thought he had asked me out of charity," she +added rather scornfully. + +Mrs. Bellamie only smiled and murmured: "Proud little cat." + +"Well, I suppose I must be," said Boodles. "Poverty and loneliness +sharpen one's feelings, you know. If I was a rich lady I would come and +stay at your house, whether Mr. Bellamie wanted me or not. I shouldn't +care. But as I am, poor and lonely, and pretty miserable too, I feel I +should want to bite and scratch if any one came to do me a favour. +Aubrey is not coming home for Christmas then?" she added quickly, and +the next instant was scolding herself for alluding to him again. "I mean +you wouldn't ask me if he was coming home." + +The lady asked abruptly for another cup of tea, not because she desired +it or intended to drink it, but because her son was the one subject she +wanted to avoid. That was the second time Boodles had made mention of +him, and the first time the lady had been worried by a pain in her knee, +and now she was haunted by the voice which had spoken so lovingly of the +little girl when it declared: "I will never give her up." That little +girl was standing with the lamplight on her hair, which was as radiant +as ever, and with a longing look in her eyes, which had become sad and +dreamy and altogether different from the eyes of fun and laughter which +she had worn on Goose Fair Day. + +"Oh, Mrs. Bellamie, do say something," Boodles whispered. + +The lady began to choke. What could she say that the child would like to +hear? + +"You know I have given him up, at least my tongue has," the girl went +on. "But I want to know if he is going to give me up?" + +"I cannot tell you, my dear," the lady murmured, glancing at the clock. + +"I think you must know, for he told me he was going to speak to you and +his father. My life is quite miserable enough, and I don't want it made +worse. It will be much worse if he comes to see me when he returns, and +says he is the same as ever, and you are the same as ever. I promise I +won't see him again, if he leaves me alone, and I won't marry him +without your consent. Does he really love me, Mrs. Bellamie?" + +"Yes, my dear," the lady whispered. "Do you think that is the carriage?" + +"It is only the wind. Well, I know he does, but I wanted to hear you say +it. What am I to do when he comes home? He will ask me to meet him, and +if I refuse he will come up here and want to kiss me. What am I to do? I +love him. I have loved him since I was a small child. I am not going to +tell him I don't love him to please you or any one. I have done a good +deal. I will not do that." + +"We will beg him not to come and trouble you," said the lady. + +"But if he does come?" + +"I think, my dear, it will be best for all of us if you ask him not to +come again." + +That was too much for the little girl. She could hardly be expected to +enter into an alliance with Aubrey's parents against herself. She began +to breathe quickly, and there was plenty of colour in her cheeks as she +replied: "I shall do nothing of the kind. How can you expect me to tell +him to go away, and leave me, when I love him? I have got little enough, +and only one thing that makes me happy, and you want me to deprive +myself of that one thing. If you can deprive me of it you may. But I am +not going to torture myself. I have made my promise, and that is all +that can be expected from me. Were you never in love when you were +eighteen?" + +The lady rather thought that at the susceptible age mentioned she fell +in love with every one, though the disease was only taken in a mild form +and was never dangerous. She had a distinct recollection of falling +violently in love with a choir boy, who sang like an angel and looked +like one, but she had never spoken to him because he was only the +baker's son. She had been rather more than twenty when Mr. Bellamie had +fallen in love with her blood, and she had been advised to fall in love +with his. She had been quite happy, she loved her husband in a restful +kind of way, but of the intense passion which lights up the whole +universe with one face and form she knew nothing; she hardly believed +that such love existed outside fairy-tales; and in her heart she thought +it scarcely decent. She had never kissed her husband before marrying +him, and she was very much shocked to think that her son had been +kissing Boodles. She would have been still more shocked had she seen +them together. She would have regarded their conduct as grossly immoral, +when it was actually the purest thing on earth. There is nothing cleaner +than a flame of fire. + +Mrs. Bellamie tried to turn the conversation from her son. She was +uncomfortable and depressed. The surroundings and the atmosphere pinched +her, and she felt she would not have a proper sympathy for Boodles until +she was back in her luxurious drawing-room with a fire roaring shillings +and pence away up the chimney. She would feel inclined to cry for the +girl then, but at the present time, surrounded by winds and Weevil +furniture, she felt somewhat out of patience with her. + +"I came to see if I could do anything for you," she said. "But you are +so independent. If I found you a comfortable--" + +"Situation," suggested Boodles, when she hesitated. + +"I suppose you wouldn't accept it?" + +"I should not," said the girl, holding her head up. "The old man who is +dead spoilt me for being trodden on. Most girls who go into situations +have to grin and pretend they like it, but I should flare up. Thank you +all the same," she added stiffly. + +Mrs. Bellamie looked at the little rebel again and wished she would be +more reasonable. It was a very different Boodles from the merry girl who +had come to tea with her in Tavistock. The girl looked years older, and +the babyish expression had gone for ever. Every month of that lonely +life would leave its mark upon her. December had written itself beneath +her eyes, and before long January would be signed upon her forehead, and +February perhaps would write upon her mind. Mrs. Bellamie saw the little +ring of forget-me-nots, and guessed who had given it her; and then she +began to wonder whether it was worth while fighting against Nature. Why +not let youth and love have their own sweet way, why not ignore the +accident of birth, which had made her a Courtenay and Boodles a blank, +why let pride straddle across the way to stop the youngsters from +getting into the happy land? Little could be gained from preventing +happiness, and much might be lost. That was the influence of the coals, +burning again, although the fire was dying lower; and then the influence +of prosperity and a restful life did their work, and suggested Boodles +in her drawing-room as Aubrey's wife, a pretty sight, a graceful +ornament; and outside the people talking, as they can talk when they +smell the carrion of scandal. + +"Have you no one to look after you?" she asked. "No guardians? Did +your--did Mr. Weevil leave no will?" + +"He left nothing, except the story of my birth," said Boodles. "I don't +know if he left any relations, but if there are any they are entitled to +what he left, as I am no connection of his. It would be dreadful for me +if there is any one, and they hear of his death." + +"You know the story of your birth then now?" Mrs. Bellamie suggested. + +"Yes," said Boodles; "I do." + +She tossed her head and stood defiant. She was losing her temper, and +had already said what she had not intended to say. Having made up her +mind "not to stand it," she had prepared a simple story to tell to +Aubrey if he asked for it. Old Weevil had really been her grandfather, +and her parents had been obscure people of no better station than +himself. She was going to tell a lie, one thorough lie, and then be good +for ever. She was going to make herself legitimate, that and nothing +more, not a very serious crime, she was merely going to supply herself +with a couple of parents and a wedding-service, so that she should not +be in the position of Brightly and suffer for the sins of others. But +the sight of that cold lady was making Boodles mad. She did not know +that Mrs. Bellamie had really a tender feeling for her, and it was only +her artistic nature which prevented her from showing it. Boodles did not +understand the art which strives to repress all emotion. She did not +care about anything just then, being persuaded that both the Bellamies +were her enemies, and the lady had come with the idea of trying to make +her understand what a miserable little wretch she was, fitted for +nothing better than a situation where she would be trampled on. She felt +she wanted to disturb that tranquil surface, make the placid lady jump +and look frightened. Possibly her mind was not as sound as it should +have been. The solitude and the "windy organ," added to her own sorrows, +had already made a little mark. One of the first symptoms of insanity is +a desire to frighten others. So Boodles put her head back, and laughed a +little, and said rather scornfully: "I came upon some diaries that he +kept, and they told me all about myself. I will tell you, if you care to +hear." + +"I should like to know," said Mrs. Bellamie. "But I think that must be +the carriage." + +"It is," said Boodles, glancing out of the window and seeing +unaccustomed lights. "What I have to tell you won't take two minutes. +Mine is a very short story. Here it is. One night, eighteen years ago, +Mr. Weevil was sitting in this room when he heard a noise at the door. +He went out. Nobody was there, but at his feet he found a big bundle of +dry bracken. Inside it was a baby, and round its neck was a label on +which he read: 'Please take me in, or I shall be drowned to-morrow.' +What is the matter, Mrs. Bellamie?" + +Boodles had her wish. The lady was regarding her already with fear and +horror. + +"Don't tell me you were that child," she gasped. + +"Why, of course I was. I told you my story was a short one. I have told +it you already, for that is all I know about myself, and all Mr. Weevil +ever knew about me. But he always thought my father must have been a +gentleman." + +"The carriage is there, I think?" + +"So you see I am what is known as a bastard," Boodles went on, with a +laugh. "I don't know the names of my parents. I was thrown out because +they didn't want me, and if Mr. Weevil had not taken me in I should have +been treated like a kitten or a rat. I am sorry that he did take me in, +as I am alone in the world now." + +Mrs. Bellamie stood in the doorway, trembling and agitated, her face +white and her eyes furious. The coals would not trouble her again. Good +Courtenay blood had washed them, and made them as white as her own +cheeks. + +"You let me kiss you," she murmured. + +"Probably I've poisoned you," said the poor child, almost raving. + +"My son has made love to you, kissed you, given you a ring." + +There was a light in the girl's eyes, unnaturally bright. "If you tried +to take this ring from me I would kill you." She was guarding it with a +shivering hand. "I know what I am, Mrs. Bellamie. I knew before that +look in your eyes told me. I know what a beastly little creature I am, +to have a gentleman for a father and some housemaid for a mother. I know +it was all my own fault. It must have been the wicked soul in me that +made them do what was wrong. I know I deserve to be punished for daring +to live. I am young, but I have learnt all that; and now you are +teaching me more--you are teaching me that if I had been left at your +door you would have sent me to my proper place." + +Mrs. Bellamie was outside, and the driver was assisting her towards the +carriage, as it was too dark for her to see. Then the wheels jolted away +over the rough road, and down the long hill towards luxury and +respectability; and the unlit night pressed heavily upon the moor; and +Boodles was lying upon her bed, talking to the things unseen. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +ABOUT A HOUSE ON THE HIDDEN LANES + + +Thomasine was sitting in the stone kitchen of Town Rising sewing and +trying to think; but the little skeletons of thought that did present +themselves were like bad dreams. She had given notice to the Chegwiddens +and would be leaving in a few days, not because she wanted to go, but +because it had become necessary. Town Rising was a moral place, where +nothing lower than drunkenness was permitted, and Thomasine was able to +comprehend how much better it was to resign than to be turned out. +Pendoggat had found a place for her, not a permanent one as he +explained, a place where she would receive no wages, where indeed a +premium would be required; there she would pay a certain debt to Nature, +and then he would come and take her away. + +Thomasine was making garments which she smuggled away when any one came +to the door. They were ridiculous garments which she could not possibly +have worn herself, but perhaps she was making doll's clothes for a +charity bazaar, although girls like Thomasine are not usually interested +in such things; or she might have been preparing a complete outfit for a +certain little person who had benefited her. Pixies of the Tavy are +famed for their generosity to servant maids who do their work properly; +and the girls have been known to make garments for their benefactors, +and spread them out in the kitchen before going to bed, so that the +little person could put them on in the night. But the clothes, small +though they were, would have been a few sizes too large for pixies, and +somewhat too roomy for dolls. Thomasine seemed to be wasting her time +and materials; and as a matter of fact she was, although she did not +know it because she knew nothing, except that she was not particularly +happy. + +She was trying to think of matrimony while she sewed. All that she knew +about it was that the clergyman mentioned a couple by name publicly +three Sundays running, and then they went to church, the girl in her +fair-clothes, and the man with a white tie which wouldn't fit his +collar, and the clergyman read something which made the man grin and the +girl respectable. Time was getting on, it was the dull month of +February, and the burden of maternity seemed to be much nearer than the +responsibilities of matrimony. Thomasine knew nothing of the place she +was going into except that her duties would be light, merely to look +after an old woman who would in return render her certain services at a +critical time. She did not even know where the place was, for Pendoggat +was not going to tell her until the last moment. She had seen young +Pugsley the previous Sunday, in a hard hat and a suit of new clothes, +the trousers turned up twice in order that a double portion of +respectability might rest upon him, with close-cropped head, and a +bundle of primroses pinned to his coat. He had stepped up, shaken her by +the hand in a friendly way, and told her he was going to be married at +Easter. He had got the promise of a cottage, and the ceremony would take +place early on Easter Monday, and they were going for their honeymoon to +St. Thomas's Fair. Thomasine went back crying, because Pugsley was a +good sort of young fellow, and it seemed to her she had missed +something, though it was not her fault. She had always wanted to be +respectable Mrs. Pugsley, only she had been taken away from the young +man, and told not to see him again, and farm-maids have to be obedient. + +Thomasine spent the remainder of her time sewing when she was not +occupied with household duties, and then the day came when she was to +leave. One of the farm-hands drove her to the station, with her box in +the cart behind, and her wages in her pocket. She knew by then where she +was going; into the loneliness of mid-Devon. She would much rather have +gone home, but that was impossible, for the pious cobbler, her father, +would have taken her by the shoulders, placed her outside the door, and +have turned the key upon her. + +If a map be taken, and one leg of a compass placed on the village of +Witheridge, the other leg may be extended to a circumference six miles +distant, and a wide circle be swept without encountering a railway or +cutting more than half-a-dozen good roads, and inside that circle there +is not a single town. It is almost unexplored territory, there are no +means of transit, and the inhabitants are rough and primitive. Distances +there seem great, for the miles are very long ones, and when a call is +made to some lonely house the visitor will often be pressed to stay the +night, as he would be in Canada or Australia. The map is well sprinkled +with names which suggest that the country is thickly populated, but it +is not. Many of the names are delusions, more suggestive of the past +than the present. A century ago hamlets occupied the sites now covered +by a name, but there is nothing left of them to-day except dreary ruins +of cob standing in a thicket of brambles or in what was once an +apple-orchard. What was formerly the name of a good-sized village is now +the title of a farm-house, or one small cottage which would not pay for +repairing and must therefore be destroyed when it becomes uninhabitable. +It is a sad land to wander through. It suggests a country at the end of +its tether which has almost abandoned the struggle for existence, a +poverty-stricken country which cannot face the strong-blooded flow of +food importations from foreign lands. Even the goods sold in the village +shops are of alien manufacture. A hundred little hamlets have given up +the struggle in the same number of years, and been wiped, not off the +map, but off the land. The country of Devon is like a rosy-cheeked apple +which is rotten inside. + +This region within the circle is densely wooded, and in parts fertile, +though the soil is the heavy dun clay which is difficult to work. It is +well-watered, and is only dying because there are no markets for its +produce and no railways to carry it. It is a country of lanes, so narrow +that only two persons can walk abreast along them, so dirty and ill-kept +as to be almost impassable in winter, so dark that it is sometimes +difficult to see, and so stuffy and filled with flies in hot weather +that any open space comes as a relief. These lanes twist everywhere, and +out of them branch more lanes of the same dirtiness and width; and if +they are followed a gate is sure to be reached; and there, in a dark +atmosphere, may be seen a low white house with a gloomy orchard on each +side, and behind a wilderness of garden, and in front a court containing +crumbling barns of cob and a foul pond; and on the other side of the +court the lane goes on into more gloomy depths, towards some other dull +and lonely dwelling-place in the rotten heart of Devon. + +The country would be less sad without these dreary houses which suggest +tragedies. Sometimes stories dealing with young women and very young +girls reach the newspapers, but not often; the lanes are so dark and +twisting, and the houses are so entirely hidden. It is possible to walk +along the lanes for miles and to see no human beings; only the ruins of +where they lived once, and the decaying houses where they live now. It +is like walking through a country of the past. + +Along one of these lanes Thomasine was taken in a rickety cart ploughing +through glue-like mud, and at one of the gates she alighted. There had +been a hamlet once where the brambles spread, and its name, which had +become the name of the one small house remaining, was Ashland, though +the map calls it something else. The tenant was an elderly woman who +appeared to find the greatest difficulty in suiting herself with a +servant, as she was changing them constantly. She was always having a +fresh one, all young girls, and they invariably looked ill when they +went away, which was a sure sign that the house was not healthy, and +that Mrs. Fuzzey's temper was a vile one. The woman had no near +neighbours, though there were, of course, people scattered round about, +but they saw nothing suspicious in the coming and going of so many +maids. No girl could be expected to stand more than a month or two of +Mrs. Fuzzey and her lonely house, especially as some of the girls she +engaged were rather smart and well dressed. No one suspected that the +mistress of dark little Ashland of the hidden lanes was there solely in +the way of business. + +"How be ye, my dear?" said the lady in an amiable fashion to her new +servant, client, or patient, or whatever she chose to regard her as, +when the driver after his customary joke: "Here's one that will stop vor +a month likely," had been dismissed. "You'm a lusty maid what won't give +much trouble, I reckon. You'm safe enough wi' me, my dear. Seems you ha' +come a bit early like. Well, most of 'em du. They get that scared of it +showing. Not this month wi' yew, I reckon. Be it early next?" + +"Ees," said Thomasine. + +"Well, my dear, I'll be a proper mother to ye. 'Twill du ye good to get +abroad a bit. Run out and pick up the eggs, and us will ha' tea. +Yonder's the hen-roost." + +Mrs. Fuzzey seemed a pleasant body, but it was all in the way of +business. She was a stout woman, with a big florid face, and crisp black +hair which suggested foreign extraction. She reared poultry +successfully, and was quite broken-hearted when a young chicken met an +evil fate and perished, which indicated the presence of a vein of +tenderness somewhere, in the region of the pocket probably, as she was +usually insensible to the suffering of human beings. Still she did not +look the sort of woman who might reasonably be expected to end her life +upon the scaffold, if success in business made her careless, or if any +of her patrons or clients ventured to risk their own safety by giving +information against her. + +Thomasine was not accustomed to stately interiors and fine furniture, +and yet she was astonished at the bareness of the interior of Ashland. +Had everything in the place been put up to auction less than five pounds +would possibly have bought the lot. There was nothing in the way of +luxury, not an article that was unnecessary, except the curtains that +hung across the windows for respectability's sake. It was not a home, +but a place of business. The mistress had the sense to know she might +require to leave in a hurry some day without being allowed time to pack +anything, and she saw no advantage in investing her savings in furniture +which she would have to leave behind. + +The garden was at the back, a dark garden, shadowed and gloomy, like an +Eastern cemetery. It made a sort of quadrangle, with the house at one +end, a jungle-like coppice with bracken and bramble undergrowth at the +other, and an orchard on each side; as an additional protection there +was a stone hedge round the three sides. There was only one entry and +that was from the house. There had been another, a gate leading in from +one of the orchards, but Mrs. Fuzzey had closed it up. She did not want +people trespassing in her garden. + +Near the hedge at the back, and in front of the dense coppice, was an +old well which had not been used for a long time as the water was +supposed to be polluted. It had been practically closed up when Mrs. +Fuzzey came into residence, but she had opened it for her own purposes. +The water supply of the house came from a well in the court, which was +fed either by a spring or by the river Yeo which passed close by. The +old well was very deep and contained a good deal of water with a scum on +it which fortunately could not be seen, and a smell to it which in hot +weather became rather pronounced, as it had not been cleared out for +ages and was filled with dead bodies of rats--and other things. But the +miasma carried no distance, and there was nobody to complain about it +except Mrs. Fuzzey, who didn't mind. Ashland was almost as much out of +the way as a farm upon the back blocks of Australia. Nobody ever entered +the garden except herself and her maid for the time being. It was in a +land where the sanitary inspector ceases from troubling. She did her own +gardening, planting her potatoes and onions, being a strong woman well +able to wield a spade. She had piled a lot of rocks about the well and +made quite a pleasant flower garden there. She was fond of flowers, and +in the warm weather would take out a chair and sit beside the well, +admiring the beauty of the various saxifrages, creepers, and trailing +plants which her efforts had induced to grow. She called it the Grotto. +She had penny novelettes sent her regularly, and would devour them +greedily as she sat in her garden, being very much addicted to romance +and sentiment when it was strong enough; and sometimes she thought it +would be agreeable to retire from business and have a husband and family +of her own. It was so very dull at Ashland though she was making money. +There never had been a Mr. Fuzzey, although she always gave herself the +courtesy title of Mrs. + +Thomasine got on very well with Mrs. Fuzzey and almost liked her. The +girl was taken round the garden and the Grotto was pointed out to her +with pride, although there was nothing to be seen except wet rocks, +sodden plants, and decayed woodwork; but she was informed it would be a +place of great beauty in the spring. Indoors there was cleaning to be +done, with cooking, dairy-work, and egg-packing. A tradesman's visit was +rare, and when one did come it was on foot along the narrow muddy lane, +his cart being left far behind at the corner of some road or bigger +lane. The evenings would have been fearfully dreary had Mrs. Fuzzey been +less entertaining. The lady made and drank sloe-gin in some quantity; +and she gave Thomasine a taste for it, with the result that sometimes +they laughed a good deal without apparent cause, and the elderly lady +became sentimental and embraced Thomasine, and declared that she loved +young women, which was natural enough seeing that she made her living +out of them. Then she would read selected portions from her latest +novelette and weep with emotion. + +"If ever I come to change my business I'll write bukes," she said one +night. "I'd like to sot down every day, and write about young volks +making love. I feels cruel soft to think on't. Lord love ye, my dear, +there bain't nothing like love. Volks may say what 'em likes, but 'tis +the only thing worth living vor. I've never had none, my dear, and I'd +like it cruel. You'm had plenty, I reckon. Most o' the maids what comes +here ha' had a proper butiful plenty on't, and some of 'em ha' talked +about it till my eyes was fair drapping. I cries easy," said Mrs. +Fuzzey. + +Thomasine admitted she had received her share, and rather more than she +had wanted. + +"Yew can't ha' tu much when it comes the way yew wants it," said the +lady. "I'm wonderful fond o' these little bukes 'cause 'em gives yew the +real thing. I can't abide 'em when they talks about butiful country, and +moons a shining, and such like, but when they gets their arms around +each other and starts smacking, then I sots down tight to 'en. I can +tak' plenty o' that trade. Sets me all of a quiver it du. I ses to +myself: 'Amelia'--that's me, my dear--'just think what some maids get +and yew don't.' Then I starts crying, my dear. I be a cruel tender +woman." + +The conversation was entirely one-sided, because Thomasine had never +learnt to talk. + +"If ever I got to write one o' these, I'd mind what the maids ha' told +me. I'd start wi' love, and I'd end wi' love. I'd ha' nought else. I'd +set 'em kissing on the first line, and I'd end 'em, my dear, I'd end 'em +proper, fair hugging, my dear," hiccupped Mrs. Fuzzey. The bottle of +sloe-gin was getting low, and her spirits were proportionally high. She +kissed Thomasine, breathed gin down her back, and lifted up her voice +again-- + +"I loves maids, I du, I loves 'em proper. I loves children tu, innocent +little children. I loves 'em all, 'cept when they scream, and then I +can't abide 'em. I reckon, my dear, you wouldn't find a tenderer woman +than me anywheres. I tells myself sometimes I be tu soft, but I can't +help it, my dear." + +The old swine slobbered over the girl, half-drunk and half-acting, +giving her loud-sounding kisses; and Thomasine did not know that most of +the girls who had been placed under Mrs. Fuzzey's protection had been +used in the same way as long as they would stand it. People have many +peculiar ways of easing the conscience; some confess to a priest, some +perform charitable works; others, like Mrs. Fuzzey, assume they are +rather too good, though they may be vile. The old harridan posed as a +tender-hearted being in love with every living creature; and she had +read so many ridiculous love-tales and wept over them, and drunk so many +bottles of sloe-gin and wept over them, and listened with lamentations +to so many amatory details from the young women who had placed +themselves under her charge, that she had pretty well persuaded herself +she was a paragon of loving-kindness. Thomasine thought she was; but +then Thomasine knew nothing. + +It was rare to see a human being cross the court in front of Ashland. If +more than one person passed in a day it was a thing to talk about, and +sometimes a whole week went by bringing nobody. The policeman who was +supposed to patrol the district had possibly never heard of the place, +and had he been told to go there would have wanted a guide. Ashland was +more isolated at that time than most of the dead hamlets, because the +two farm-houses that stood nearest were empty and dropping to pieces. + +About half-a-mile beyond the court another dark little lane branched +off, and presently it divided into two dark little lanes like rivers of +mud flowing between deep banks. They were like the dark corridors of a +haunted house; and one of them led to the dead hamlet of Black Hound, +now one cob farm-house until lately occupied by Farmer Hookaway who had +shot himself the previous autumn; and the other finished up at the dead +hamlet of Yeast-beer, which was also one cob farm-house with the thatch +sliding off its roof, and this had been tenanted by Farmer Venhay, who +had not shot himself but had drowned his bankrupt body in the Yeo. It +was a pretty neighbourhood in summer, for the foxgloves were gorgeous, +so were the ferns, and the meadow-sweet, irises, ragged-robins and +orchids in the marshy fields; but it was sad somehow. It wanted +populating. There were too many ruins about, too many abandoned orchards +overrun with brambles, too many jagged walls of cob which represented a +name upon the map. Once upon a time the folk of Merry England had danced +and revelled there. Their few descendants took life tragically, and +sometimes put it off in the same way. There was no music for them to +dance to. + +The time passed quickly enough for Thomasine, too quickly because she +was frightened. She quite understood why she had become Mrs. Fuzzey's +assistant for the time being. She comprehended that it is the duty of +every girl to remain respectable, and in a vague way she had grasped the +code of morality as it is practised in certain places. It was necessary +for girls in her condition to go away and hide themselves, either at +home, if her parents would permit it, or if not in lodgings provided for +the purpose. She would never be seen, and would not have the doctor, +because it was not anything serious, generally measles, or a stubborn +cold. When everything was over she could appear again, and get strong +and well by taking outdoor exercise; and nobody ever knew what had +happened, unless the child, which was always born dead, had been +disposed of in a particularly clumsy fashion. + +As time went on Mrs. Fuzzey became irritable. She said Thomasine would +have to pay something extra if she was not quick about her business. Her +own affairs were by no means prospering, as she had not received any +applications to fill the position of general help when Thomasine had +vacated it. The truth of the matter was, as she explained bitterly, +girls in country districts were becoming enlightened and imbued with the +immoral spirit of the towns, which displayed articles of convenience in +the windows of shops professing to be hygienic and surgical drug stores. +These things had penetrated to the country, and a knowledge of them had +reached even the most out of the way districts. Every small chemist did +a large back-room business in such things, and many a girl was taking +the precaution of carrying one about in her handkerchief, or when going +to church between the leaves of her prayer-book. Mrs. Fuzzey had no +hesitation in denouncing the entire system as immoral, and one which +conduced towards the destruction of her business which she had built up +with so much care and secrecy. The lady had been finding her novelettes +dull reading lately. The love interest had not been nearly strong enough +for her taste, and she felt that her imagination could have supplied +many details that were wanting. In the meantime flowers were springing +in the garden, which was on low ground and entirely sheltered from every +wind; and one morning Mrs. Fuzzey came in to announce that the Grotto +would soon be beautiful, as the white arabis and purple aubrietia were +smothered with buds. + +Soon after that it happened with Thomasine after the manner of women, +and she gave birth to twins, both girls. Mrs. Fuzzey was kindness itself +while she attended the girl, but when the first had been followed by the +second she began to grumble and said she should require another +sovereign. She couldn't work for nothing, and she echoed Brightly's +frequently expressed complaint that trade was cruel dull. The infants +were removed, and then Thomasine gave birth to a third, a boy this time. +Mrs. Fuzzey became really angry, and wanted to know if this sort of +thing was likely to continue. She knew all about the legend current +around Chulmleigh, of the Countess of Devon who met a labourer carrying +a basketful of seven infants, which his wife had just given birth to, +down to the river that he might dispose of them like kittens, and she +thought it possible that Thomasine might be about to emulate that +woman's example. Mrs. Fuzzey was not prepared to deal with infants in +such quantity, and she stated she should require an additional five +pounds to cover extra work and risk. + +"Have ye purty nigh done?" she asked at length. + +"Ees," muttered Thomasine faintly. + +"About time, I reckon. Well, I'll step under and ha' a drop just to +quiet my nerves like." + +Mrs. Fuzzey had her drop, then attended to her professional duties, +which did not detain her long, had another drop, which kept her engaged +some time, and finally returned and asked the girl how she did. + +"Proper bad. I reckon I be dying," said Thomasine. + +Mrs. Fuzzey laughed her to scorn. "You'm as fresh as a trout. Come +through it fine, my dear. You can't say I bain't a tender woman," she +went on, the various "drops," and the knowledge that the unpleasant part +of her work was over, having rendered her amiable. "I know the trade, I +du, and I be so soft and gentle that you didn't feel hardly anything. +'Twas lucky for yew, my dear, they sent yew to me. Any old doctor might +ha' killed ye. I reckon I'm just about the handiest at the trade a +living, and cruel tender tu. Done a lot o' good in my time, I ha'. Saved +many a maid just like I've saved yew." + +Mrs. Fuzzey talked as if she regarded herself eminently qualified for +decorations and a pension. + +"'Tis a pity yew can't claim the bounty," she went on. "But there, it +bain't much, only a pound or two, though a little bit be a lot for poor +wimmin like yew and me, my dear. 'Twould help yew to pay me, for I can't +du all this extra work for nought, wi' times so bad, and maids not +coming reg'lar. I can't du it, my dear. Well, I reckon I'll go under and +ha' a drop." + +Mrs. Fuzzey lived on sloe-gin during such days, feeling she required it +to strengthen her nerve, or possibly to ease her abnormal conscience. +She finished the bottle before she appeared again. + +It remained as peaceful as ever about Ashland. Nobody passed that day, +or the day after; and the dark little lanes hidden away like caves were +full of mud and water as they always were at that season of the year. + +When Thomasine felt better she asked for the infants, and Mrs. Fuzzey, +who could not walk without lurching from side to side, cast up her eyes +and her hands, and wondered whatever the girl was talking about. + +"Having dree of 'em and thinking they'm alive, the purty little lambs. +They was proper booties, my dear. I could ha' kissed 'em I loved 'em so +cruel. I never did see babies I loved so much. I'd like to ha' nursed +the purty dears, given 'em baths, dressed 'em, made 'em look fine. But +what can ye du wi' dead babies, my dear, 'cept get 'em out o' the way?" + +"I heard 'em cry," said Thomasine. + +"Lord love ye, my dear, you'm that mazed yew could fancy anything. 'Twas +just the door creaking as I carried 'em out." + +"Where be 'em?" asked Thomasine. + +"Safe in the Grotto, my dear. There be a bit o' warm sunshine, and 'tis +butiful." + +"Was 'em all born dead?" + +"All dree," hiccupped Mrs. Fuzzey with the utmost cheerfulness. "'Tis a +good thing for yew. What would an unmarried girl du wi' dree babies?" + +Thomasine had not considered that point. She could not know that every +girl who had occupied that bed before her had asked much the same +questions, and had received exactly the same answers. She admitted that +it was a good thing, although she had to murmur: "I'd ha' liked to +cuddle 'em just once," which was a long speech for Thomasine. + +She was thankful her ordeal was over, though she wondered what Pendoggat +would say when he heard the children were dead. He had often told her +how he should love any child that was theirs. Still he could not refuse +to marry her now. She would have to get strong again as soon as she +could, because she knew he would be waiting for her. + +The next day Mrs. Fuzzey entered in excellent spirits and half-sober. +The sun was shining, she said, and the arabis and aubrietia were in +flower among the rocks, and "The Grotto be looking just butiful, my +dear." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +ABOUT BANKRUPTS + + +Swaling-time had come, red patches of fire flickered every night on +Dartmoor, and the furze-prickles crackled in the flames. The annual war +between man and the prickly shrub was being waged, and the atmosphere +was always clouded and tainted with bitter smoke. Every one seemed to be +infected with the idea of furze destruction, from the granite-cracker +who as he went to his labours would push the match with which he had +just lighted his pipe into some thick brake, to the small boys who +begged or stole boxes of matches and went out after dark to make the +moor fiery. With those huge bonfires flaming it looked as if not a +particle of furze would survive; and yet when summer arrived there would +be apparently as much as ever; and not a bush would be killed; only +burnt to the ground, and the roots still living in the peat would soon +send forth green shoots. + +People who looked down into the hollow thought Helmen Barton a peaceful +place, but they were wrong; there was plenty of passion beneath the +surface, and at night often there was noise. It was dark down there; a +watcher on the top of the hill might have seen no light, though he could +hardly have failed to hear the noise, which was made by a drunken woman +railing at a silent man; at least the man appeared to be silent, as his +voice did not carry out of the hollow. Possibly he did nothing but +mumble. + +Annie was degenerating rapidly; cider satisfied her no longer; and she +went into the village to procure fiercer liquors. Pendoggat had become +more reserved, and there was craftiness in his every movement. He kept +his temper somehow and refused to answer the woman's taunts, which made +her scream louder. He could stand it; he was nearly ready to go; only +one little matter was detaining him, and when that was settled he could +let himself out in the night, walk down to Tavistock, and the first +train westward or eastward--he did not care which--would carry him away. + +Thomasine had left Mrs. Fuzzey's hospitable roof. Pendoggat had seen +her, and at once made the discovery that he loved her no longer. The +girl had changed so much; she seemed to have lost her blood, her +wonderful ripeness, her soft flesh, and her passion-provoking look. She +had become thin and quite unattractive. Pendoggat wondered how he could +ever have been so wildly in love with her, and he told her so, adding +that his conscience would not permit him to take her away with him, and +it would be nothing less than a grievous sin if he married her without +love. He admitted he had sinned occasionally in the past, and he did not +wish to add to the number of his transgressions. The wretched girl +implored him to make her a decent woman, as she called it, to keep his +promises, to remember all the oaths that he had sworn. People more than +suspected the truth; the Chegwiddens would not have her back and had +refused her a character; her father had greeted her with an austere +countenance, had opened his Bible and read for her benefit a damnatory +verse or two from the Revelations of St. John the Divine, and then had +shown her the way out, while her mother had locked the door behind her. +Her appearance suggested to them how she had been occupied during her +retirement. Measles wouldn't go down with them. She had left Ashland too +soon, but Mrs. Fuzzey would not keep her any longer. The old witch had +kissed and embraced her, had wheedled every penny of her wages out of +her, had declared that she loved her as she had never loved anybody else +in her life, and had then told her to get out. She had no place to go +to. She hung to Pendoggat, and implored him to remember what had passed +between them; but he naturally wanted to forget it. He told Thomasine +she was a sinful woman, and when she made a scene he lost his temper, +and reminded her that a girl could make a living on the streets of +Plymouth if she walked them long enough. Afterwards he had a feeling +that he had acted without charity, so he went to chapel and repented, +and was forgiven in the usual way. Still he decided he could have +nothing more to do with Thomasine. His conscience would not permit it. + +His thorn in the flesh was Annie, but he let her rave, thinking she +would be less dangerous while she barked. The little matter which +detained him at the Barton was a mercenary one. He could not leave the +furniture for strangers to seize or Annie to profit by. His beasts he +had sold already to two different persons, which was not a dishonest +act, but merely good business; it was for the two men to settle the +question of ownership when they came together. The furniture was not +worth much, but he could not leave the place without getting value for +it. So he sent for a dealer from Tavistock to come and make him an +offer, taking precautions to get Annie out of the way during the time of +his visit; but she heard of it, and instinct told her the truth again. + +One morning a letter came, Annie saw the name on the flap of the +envelope, and knew that it was from the dealer. Probably he had bought +what few chattels she possessed and had brought with her when she came +to live with Pendoggat. She was silent all the morning; it was a dark +day, there had been no sun for some time, and a spell of frost had set +in; it was black above and white below, a black unbroken sky and a white +sheet of frost. She shivered as she crept about the kitchen, listening +for the movements of the master. He did not speak to her; when she +passed he put his head lower than ever. + +Later in the day it became difficult to see on account of the smoke. +Swaling was going on all round, and there was a choking mist over the +Barton, even inside as if the house itself was smouldering. Pendoggat +could scarcely breathe. He had become horribly afraid of fire since +Peter made the mommet, which he had tried to purchase but had failed +because the little savage carried too many wits for him. He determined +to get away that night, obtaining what money he could from the mercenary +dealer as he went through Tavistock. The atmosphere was getting tainted +with things stronger than smoke. He had often wondered whether his +conscience would permit him to murder Annie, but he was beginning to +fear then she might attempt to murder him. He went out into the court +with a feeling that he was trying to escape from a burning building; and +Annie followed him without a sound. She saw him standing as if dazed, +peering into the smoke, clutching at his breast pocket where the capital +of the Nickel Mining Company was hidden in the form of notes. He did not +know which way to turn that he might escape from the multitude of little +clay dolls which seemed to him to be dancing upon the hills. Then he +remembered it was chapel evening. He could not go away until he had been +to Ebenezer to seek a blessing and absolution, to give Pezzack one more +grasp of the good right hand of fellowship, to remind the congregation +of the certainty of hell-fire. He did not see Annie until she came up +softly and touched him. + +"Where be ye going?" she said in a smooth manner, which suggested that +she still loved him. + +"Nowhere," he muttered, wishing the smoke would clear away and make an +opening for his escape. + +"That be a long way," she said, with pleasant humour. "'Tis where I've +been going the last twenty years. Reckon I be purty nigh there." + +He made no reply, only moved away, but she followed, saying: "How about +that letter yew had this morning?" + +"'Tis my business," he said. + +"Yew never did nought that warn't your business. You'm selling up the +home. That's what I ses. You'm going away. Who be going wi' ye?" + +"Nobody," he muttered. + +"Hark to 'en," said Annie in the same smooth voice. "He'm going nowhere +wi' nobody. I knows some one who be going wi' yew." + +"You're a liar." + +"Times I be. I've played a lie for twenty years, and mebbe it comes +nat'ral. I reckon I be telling the truth now. When you start some one +will be behind yew, and her wun't be dumb neither. Yew took me twenty +years ago, and you'm going to tak' me now." + +"I'm not going away," he said hoarsely. He was afraid of the woman while +she was soft and gentle. He had been so crafty and done nothing to +arouse her suspicions; at least he thought so; but he was acquainted +only with the bodily parts of women, not with their instincts and their +minds. + +"If one of us be a liar it bain't me," said Annie. "What be yew leaving +me? When a woman gets past forty her don't want clothes. Her can cover +herself wi' her grey hairs, and her don't want a roof over her and food. +Only young maids want such. Be I a liar, man?" + +"Get back into your kitchen," he muttered, still moving away, but she +steadily followed. + +"I've been in the kitchen twenty years, and I reckon I want a change," +she answered. "A wife bides in the kitchen 'cause her's willing, and a +servant 'cause her has to, but I bain't a wife and I bain't a servant, +though volks think I be the one, and yew think I be the other. Be ye +going, man? I've got a pair o' boots, a bit worn, but they'll du. Reckon +I'll get 'em on." + +"Get inside and keep your mouth shut," he said roughly. + +"I bain't going under. Dartmoor be a free place, and my tongue be my own +yet. Hit me, man. Pick up thikky stick and hit me wi' 'en. It wun't be +the first time you've hit some one weaker than yourself." + +Pendoggat was losing his temper and seeing red flames in the smoke, +though they were not there. If she continued in that soft voice he would +strike her, perhaps too hard, and silence her for ever. It was a pity he +had not done so before, only his conscience, or fear of the law, had +kept him from it. Now she was at his side, pulling at his arm, quite +gently, for she was sober and in full possession of her senses, and she +was pointing to a side of the Barton where the brake of furze stood, not +black, but shrouded in smoke and starched with frost, and she was saying +in an amiable voice: "You'm a vule, man. A woman bain't so easy beat. I +ses you'm a vule, man, as every man be a vule who gives a woman power +over 'en. I bain't a going to follow yew. I can get men to du it vor me. +You'm a murderer, man," she said in a caressing way. + +Pendoggat shrank away, not so much from her, as from her horrible words. +She had insulted him before, but never like that. It was true he had +committed indiscretions in the past, sins even, but he had always gone +to chapel with the big Bible under his arm, and he had always repented +in bitterness of spirit, and he had always been forgiven. It was time +indeed for him to break away from such a woman. He could not listen to +such vile language. A little more of it, and his conscience would permit +him to silence her. He began to walk towards the gate of the court, but +she was holding on to him and saying: "You'm in a cruel hurry, man, and +it bain't chapel time. Twenty years us ha' lived together as man and +wife, and now you'm in a hurry to go. Chegwidden's maid can bide 'cause +yew don't want she. I can bide 'cause I knows yew wun't get far avore +they fetch ye back to hear what I got to say about ye. Tak' thikky +stick," she said, picking it up from the lifting-stock and pushing it +into his hand. "Mebbe 'twill be a help to ye, mak' yew walk a bit +faster, and yew can keep policeman off wi' 'en." + +He grasped the stick, clenched his teeth, and struck her on the head, +across the ear; the first actual blow he had ever given her, and he was +only sorry that the stick was so light and small. She screamed once, not +so much in anger, as with pain. Her head went dizzy and her ear became +red-hot. After the scream she said nothing, but steadying herself went +back to the house, into the kitchen, and took down a bottle from the top +shelf; while he walked on mumbling towards the gate. The vile creature +deserved it because she had called him a murderer. It was not only +wicked of her but foolish, because she had no evidence against him, +beyond what was hidden in the furze; and those remains would incriminate +herself more strongly than him. She never attended to her religious +duties, while he was the light and foundation stone of Ebenezer, and +nobody could accept her word against his. Still it would be advisable, +if possible, to remove every trace of her guilt from that thick brake of +furze. To abandon her would be a sufficient punishment. He did not want +to get her into more trouble. + +Out of the smoke two figures advanced towards the Barton gate; a short +round man and a tall lean one. Pendoggat hesitated, and would have +turned back, for they were strangers, and he could not know what they +wanted him for, but he had been seen, one of the men called him by name, +and he could not find a way to escape. He went to them, and the stout +man became the retired grocer, uncle of Pezzack, chairman of the Nickel +Mining Company, while the other was his friend and a principal +shareholder. Neither showed friendliness and both were agitated. They +were running after their savings and didn't know where to find them. The +grocer would not shake hands, but stood struggling to find words. His +had not been a liberal education, and had not included lessons in +elocution. + +"It's what I call a dirty business," he shouted, then gasped and panted +with rage and fast walking, and repeated the expression, adding +blasphemy; while the lean man panted also, and stated that he too called +the scheme a dirty business, and added that he had come for satisfaction +and a full explanation. + +Pendoggat was himself again when confronted by these two wise men of +Bromley who had been meddling in matters which they didn't understand. +The entire company of shareholders would not have terrified him because +the nickel mine was Pezzack's affair, not his. People seemed to be in +the mood for accusing him of sins which had long ago ceased to weigh +upon his conscience. He remarked that he was at a loss to understand why +the gentlemen had brought their complaints to him. + +"What about that dirty mine?" shouted the grocer, although he did not +use the adjective dirty, but something less clean. "What about the +nickel that you said was going to make our fortunes?" + +"The minister tells me it is there. He's waiting for fine weather to +start," said Pendoggat. + +"The minister says he knows nothing about it. You put him up to the +scheme," said the lean man. + +Pendoggat shook his head and looked stupid. He did not seem able to +understand that. + +"You've got the money. Every penny of it, and we've come to make you +fork out," spluttered the grocer. + +Pendoggat could not understand that either. + +"I've been writing every week, and hearing nothing, except always going +to begin and never beginning," went on the fat grocer. "I've been +worrying till I couldn't sleep, and till there ain't hardly an ounce o' +flesh on my bones. I couldn't stand it no longer, and I says to my +friend here, I'm a going down to see what their little game is, and my +friend said he was coming too, and it's just about time we did come from +what my nephew Eli tells me. Says you found this here mine and put him +up to getting money to work it. Says he's given the money to you. Says +you've been like a madman, and pulled him up here one night, and pretty +near punched his blooming head off." + +Pendoggat made up his mind that the grocer was an untruthful and a +vulgar person. All that he said was: "I hope the minister hasn't been +telling you that." + +"Are you going to deny it?" cried the lean man. + +"I don't understand you, gentlemen," said Pendoggat. "I'll take you down +to the mine if you like. I don't know if nickel is to be found there. +The minister says there's plenty, and I believed him." + +The grocer was whirling round and round after the manner of a dancing +dervish and huzzing like a monstrous bee. He felt that he was losing his +savings, and that sort of knowledge makes a man dance. "What do he know +about nickel? He's a minister of the Gospel, not a dirty miner," he +howled. + +"Are you telling us the minister hasn't given you the money?" demanded +the other man, who made his living by buying cheap vegetables and +turning them out as high-class jam. + +"Pezzack never told you that, gentlemen. He's treated me fair enough, +and paid my wages regular as working manager, and I'm not going to think +he's put that tale on you," Pendoggat answered. + +"He did," shouted the grocer, but in a less fiery manner, because he was +impressed by the simple countryman. "He told us he'd given you every +penny." + +"I'll not believe it of him, not till he stands before me, and I hear +him say it." + +"If you ain't got the blooming oof, who has?" cried the vulgar little +chairman. + +"Judge for yourself," Pendoggat answered. "Here am I, a poor man, +scratching a bit of moor for my living, and pressed so hard that I've +just had to sell my beasts, and now I'm selling most of my furniture to +meet a debt. I've a letter in my pocket making me an offer, and you can +see it if you like. There's the minister living comfortable, and +married, gentlemen, married since this business started and since the +money came." + +"I always wondered what he had to marry on," the grocer muttered. + +"Go and ask him. Tell him I'll meet him face to face and answer him word +for word. I know nothing about mining. If you put a bit of nickel and a +bit of tin before me I couldn't tell one from the other. Stay a bit and +I'll come with you. It's near chapel time," said Pendoggat, righteous in +his indignation. "I'll meet him in the chapel and answer him there." + +"What about that sample you gave me when I came down before? Knocked it +off the wall, you did, before me, and that was nickel, for I had it +analysed, and paid the chap five bob for doing it." + +Pendoggat looked confused and did not have an answer ready. He kicked +his boot against the gatepost, and turned away, shaking his head. + +"Got him there," muttered the jam-maker. + +"Well, I'll tell you," said Pendoggat roughly. "I wouldn't have said a +word if the minister had played fair, but if it's true he's gone against +me to save himself I'll tell you. He gave me that bit of stuff and told +me what I was to do with it. I didn't know what it was, and I don't know +now. I did what I was told to do, and got an extra ten shillings for +doing it." + +The grocer and his friend looked at one another, and the uncle muttered +something about the nephew which Eli would have wept to hear. Some one +had uttered particularly gross lies to him, and he had an idea Pendoggat +was telling the truth. The grocer and jam-maker were men easily deceived +by a smooth manner; and Pendoggat's story had impressed them far more +than Pezzack's, just because the countryman had a straightforward +confession, while the minister rambled and spoke foolishly. + +"Gave him ten bob for doing it," whispered the jam-maker, nudging the +grocer. + +"I'm ready to come with you, gentlemen," said Pendoggat. + +It was nearly dark, and by the time they reached the village the chapel +doors would be open. Pendoggat knew he must get away that night because +he was afraid of Annie. He had struck her at last, and she had been at +the liquor ever since. He could hear her screaming in the house; she +might get hold of his gun and blaze at him during the night. It was +going to be clear and frosty, a good night for a long walk, and the +notes were packed away in his pocket. There was only one duty +remaining--the unmasking of Pezzack, who apparently had been trying to +blacken his character. Annie would quiet down when she found herself +alone. She would not follow him, or give information against him; and if +she did the one thing he could outwit her, and if she did the other it +would go hard with her. "I'll come with you, gentlemen," he repeated. +"The soul that sinneth it shall die. That's a true saying, and it comes +from the true word." + +"What about my blooming money, though?" muttered the grocer; while his +friend was wondering whether an extra halfpenny on jam would recoup him +for his losses. + +They met no one as they crossed the smoky stretch of moor. It was going +to be a hard night, and already the peat felt as unyielding as granite. +The grocer slapped his arms across his unwieldy chest, and said it was +"a bit parky" in his vulgar way, and longed for his snug jerry-built +villa; while his friend agreed that Dartmoor was a place of horror and +great darkness, and wished himself back in his gas-scented factory +superintending the transformation of carrots into marmalade. They walked +in single file along a narrow pony track, Pendoggat leading with his +eyes upon his boots. + +Pezzack was in the chapel when the little party arrived. He was whiter +than ever, not altogether with cold, though Ebenezer was like a damp +cave by the sea, but with nervousness, with fear of his rotund uncle and +dread of the mysterious Pendoggat. He did not know even then whether +Pendoggat was his friend or his enemy. He could not explain the fit of +madness which had come upon the man that night they had left the chapel +together, and had made him use his wretched self so shamefully; but then +he could explain nothing, not even a simple text of Scripture. He could +only bleat and flounder, and tumble about hurting himself; but he was +still a happy man, he told himself. Partner Pendoggat was a rough +creature, almost a brute sometimes, but he would not desert him when the +pinch came. + +The visitors did not approve of Ebenezer, and expressed themselves to +that effect in disdainful whispers. It was altogether unlike the +comfortable tabernacle where the grocer thanked God he was not like +other men; and as for the jam-maker he was of the Anglican brood, a +sidesman of his church, a distributer of hymn-books, a collector of +alms, and all the ways of Nonconformity he utterly abhorred. He settled +himself in an Established Church attitude, in a corner with his head +lolling against the wall and his legs stretched out; while the grocer +adopted the devotional pose of Wesleyanism, sitting upright with his +hands folded across his watch-chain and his chin upon his chest. + +"Brother Pendoggat will lead in prayer," said Eli nervously. + +The grocer admitted afterwards that the prayer had been strong, and had +overlooked few of those weaknesses to which the flesh occasionally +succumbs. He especially admired the phrase alluding to honest and +respectable tradesmen who after leading a life of integrity in business +were able to retire with a blessing upon their labours and devote the +remainder of their lives to good works. He was surprised to find a +countryman with such a keen insight into human character. Pendoggat +prayed also for pastors and teachers, and especially for those shepherds +who led members of their flock astray; while Pezzack grew whiter, and +the grocer went on nodding his head like a ridiculous automaton. The +jam-maker had wrapped himself up in his greatcoat and gone to sleep, so +that he should not be defiled by listening to false doctrine. He was a +prosperous man and the handful of sovereigns he had lost in "Wheal +Pezzack" did not trouble him much. A few florid advertisements would +bring them back again. + +The service came to an end, and Pendoggat rose to address the meeting. +He asked the people to remain in their places for a few moments, and he +turned to Eli, who was still at the reading-desk, and said, with his +eyes upon the walls which were sweating moisture-- + +"You called a meeting here last summer, minister. You said you had found +nickel on Dartmoor, and you wanted to start a company to work it." + +"No, no," cried Eli, beginning to flap his big hands as if he was +learning to fly. He had expected something was going to happen, but not +this. "That is not true, Mr. Pendoggat." + +"Let him talk," muttered the grocer. "Your time's coming." + +"I say you called a meeting, and I came to it," Pendoggat went on. +"There are folks here to-night who came to that meeting, and they will +remember what happened. You sent round a sample of nickel, and then I +got up and said there was no money in the scheme, and I said I would +have nothing to do with it, and I told the others they would be fools if +they invested anything in it. I ask any one here to get up and say +whether that is true or not." + +"It was your mine, Mr. Pendoggat. It was your scheme. Oh, Mr. Pendoggat, +'ow can you talk like this, and uncle listening?" cried the miserable +Eli. + +Up got the old farmer, who had been present at the meeting, and said in +his rambling way that Pendoggat had spoken nothing but the truth; and he +added, for the benefit of the visitors, what his uncle, who had been a +miner in the old days, had told him concerning the various wheals, and +the water in them, and the difficulty of working them on account of that +water. And when he had repeated his remarks, so that there might be no +misunderstanding, the grocer sent his elbow into the jam-maker's ribs, +and whispered in his deplorable phraseology that his nephew had been up +to a blooming lot o' dirty tricks and no error; while the jam-maker +awoke, with a curt remark about the increasing protuberance of his +wife's bones, and found himself in cold lamp-lighted Ebenezer, looking +at Eli's countenance which was beginning to exude moisture like the +stones of the walls. + +"Friends, uncle, and Mr. Pendoggat--" stammered the poor minister, +trying to be oratorical; but the grocer only muttered: "Stow your gab +and let the man talk." + +"After the meeting we stopped behind, and you told me you were going to +run the mine, and you asked me in this place if I would be your +manager," Pendoggat went on. "I said I would if there wasn't any risk, +and then you told me you could get the money from friends, from your +uncle in Bromley--" + +Eli cut him off with wailings. It was his peculiarity to be unable to +speak with coherence when he was excited. He could only gasp and +stammer: "It's not true. It's the other way about. I never 'ad nothing +to do with it. You are telling 'orrid, shameful lies, Mr. Pendoggat;" +but the grocer muttered audibly: "A dirty rascal," while the jam-maker +muttered something about penal servitude which made him smile. + +"You told me you had an uncle retired from business," said Pendoggat. "A +simple old chap you called him, an old fool who would believe anything." + +The grocer began to splutter like a squib, while his companion laughed +beneath his hand, pleased to hear his friend's weaknesses clearly +indicated; and Eli, losing all self-control, came tumbling from the desk +and sprawled at his relation's feet, sobbing like the weak fool he was, +and saying: "Oh, Mr. Pendoggat, 'ow can you talk so shameful? Oh, uncle, +I never did." + +The people behind were standing up and pressing forward, shocked to +discover that their minister had been standing on such feet of clay. +Pendoggat looked at his watch and smiled. He had judged Pezzack +accurately; the weak fool was in his hands. The grocer, scarlet to the +tip of his nose, caught his nephew by the neck, shook him, and, +forgetting everything but his own losses desecrated the chapel by his +mercenary shouts: "Where's my money, you rascal? Give me back my money, +every penny of it, or I'll turn you out of house and home, and make a +beggar of you." + +"I 'aven't got it, uncle. I never 'ad a penny of it. I 'anded it over as +fast as it come to Mr. Pendoggat, and he 'ave got it now." + +This was literally true, as the money was in Pendoggat's pocket, but the +grocer had formed his own impressions and these were entirely +unfavourable to Eli. He went on shaking his nephew, while the jam-maker +in moving his foot kicked the bankrupt, and found the operation so +soothing to his nerves that he repeated the act with intention. + +"I ain't got none o' the money. I gave it 'im, and he's been keeping +wife and me. I thought he was my friend. He've a shook me by the 'and +many a time, and we've been like brothers. I didn't never call you a +simple old chap, uncle. I love you and respect you. I've always tried to +do my duty, and my wife's expecting, uncle." + +"You married on my money. Don't tell me you didn't. 'Twas a trick of +yours to get married. If you don't pay it back, I'll turn you out, you +and your wife, into the street. I'll get a bit of my own back that way, +sure as I'm a Christian." + +"Ask Jeconiah," sobbed Eli. "I've 'ad no secrets from her. She'll tell +you I 'aven't touched a penny of your money 'cept what Mr. Pendoggat +gave us." + +The jam-maker kicked again, finding a softer spot, and muttered +something about one being as bad as the other, and that if he couldn't +find a more likely story he had better keep his mouth shut. + +Pendoggat stepped forward, took the wretched man by the shoulders, +making him shudder, and asked reproachfully: "Why did you tell these +gentlemen I have the money?" + +"God 'elp you, Mr. Pendoggat," moaned Eli. "You have used me for your +own ends, and now you turn against me. I don't understand it. 'Tis +cruelty that passes understanding. I will just wait and 'ope. If I am +not cleared now I shall be some day, I shall be when we stand together +before the judgment seat of God. There will be no money there, Mr. +Pendoggat, nothing that corrupteth or maketh a lie, only justice and +mercy, and I won't be the one to suffer then." + +Had the grocer been less angry he must have been impressed by his +nephew's earnestness. As it was he pushed him aside and said-- + +"I'll get my own back. Pay us our money, or you go to prison. I'll give +you till to-morrow, and if I don't have it before evening I'll get a +warrant out." + +"Oh, 'elp me, Mr. Pendoggat. 'Elp me in the name of friendship, for my +poor wife's sake," sobbed Eli. + +"I'll forgive you," Pendoggat muttered. "I don't bear you any +ill-feeling. Here's my hand on it." + +But Eli wanted no more grasps of good fellowship. He buried his big +hands between his knees, and put his simple head down, and wept like a +child. + +The chapel emptied slowly, and the people stood about the road talking +of the great scandal. Some thought the minister innocent, but the +majority inclined towards his guilt. All agreed that it would be +advisable, for the sake of the chapel's reputation, to ask him to accept +another pulpit, which was a polite euphemism for telling him to go to +the dogs. They did not like Pendoggat, but they believed he had spoken +the truth when they remembered how strongly he had opposed the minister +when the scheme of the nickel mine was first suggested. The grocer and +jam-maker drove away in a rage and a small cart, to put up for the night +in Tavistock; and Pendoggat walked away by himself towards the +swaling-fires. His time had come. He had only to put a few things +together, and then depart through the frosty night to find a new home. +But before going he thought it best to make himself absolutely safe by +burning the brake of furze, and burying in some secret spot upon the +moor what had been hidden there. + +Before morning Pezzack had fled from his uncle's anger. Always a weak +man, he could not face the strong; and so he set the seal of guilt upon +himself by flight. He was going to work his way out to Canada, and when +he succeeded there, if he did, he would send for his wife. They could +think of no better plan. His wife went back to her parents, to become +their drudge as before, with the burden of a child to nurse added to her +lot. It was a dreary ending to their romance; there was no "happy ever +after" for them; but then they were both poor things, and the light of +imagination had never shone across their paths. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +ABOUT SWALING-FIRES + + +Peter sat by his hearthstone and repeated with the monotony of a tolling +bell-- + +"There be a lot o' volks in the world, and some be vulish, and some be +artful, but me, Peter, be artful." + +This was numbered one-hundred-and-seventy, and it was the latest gem +from his book of aphorisms; artful meaning in that connection clever, +the author having a tendency to use irregular forms of speech. Peter +read the thought aloud until most people would have found him tedious; +he recited it to every one; he had carried it to Master, and made the +old man commit it to memory. Master finally inscribed it, number and +all, in his presentation copy of Shakespeare, thinking the sentiment +well worthy of being incorporated with the work of the poet, and +declared that Peter's literary fame was assured. He added the +information that his old pupil was beyond question a philosopher, and +Peter agreed, then asked Master for his dictionary. It was an old book, +however, and the word was not given, at least not in its proper place, +under the letter F; so Peter failed at that time to discover his precise +position in the intellectual world. + +The diary was certainly advancing, as Peter was already in his second +pennyworth of paper, and his bottle of ink was on the ebb. Thoughts had +been coming so freely of late that interesting details of the daily life +were crowded out. He omitted such confidential details as Mary was +dunging the potato-patch, or he had just mended his trousers; he filled +his pages instead with ingenious reflections which he supposed, and not +without some justification, had possibly not occurred to the minds of +thinkers in the past. He neglected biography for philosophy, and the +fluency with which such aphorisms as "'Tis better to be happy than good" +came from his pen, merely confirmed his earlier impression that the +manufacture of literary works was child's play. He would not have +allowed that he had been assisted by collaboration, even if the meaning +of the word had been explained to him; although most of the sentiments +which adorned, or rather which blotted, his pages were distorted +versions of remarks which had fallen from the lips of Boodles. His work +was entirely original in one respect; the style of spelling was unique. + +Boodles did not know that she had developed into an inspiration, and the +poor child was certainly far too miserable to care. She came to Ger +Cottage every evening in the dimsies, stopped the night with Mary, and +went home in the morning. She followed Mary like a dog, knowing that the +strong creature would protect her. Her mind would have gone entirely had +she stayed at Lewside during those endless winter evenings and the long +nights. She owed her life, or at least her reason, to Mary. There was a +good heart under that strong creature's rough hide, a heart as soft and +tender as Boodles who clung to her. At first the child had refused to +leave Lewside Cottage, but when she screamed, "The shadows are getting +awful, Mary; they seem to bite me," the stalwart savage picked her up +like a baby, finding her much too light, and stalked over the moor deaf +to protest. She made up a little bed for Boodles in the corner of her +hut, and every night there was the strange sight of Mary bringing the +little girl a glass of hot milk to drink before going to sleep, and +singing quaint old ballads to her when she couldn't. Mary had got into +the way of asking Boodles for a kiss every night; she said it did her +good, and no doubt she spoke the truth. It seemed to give her something +she had missed. + +"But I am ugly now, Mary," said Boodles, in response to her nurse's +oft-repeated "purty dear." + +"That yew bain't," came the decided answer. "You'm butiful. I never saw +ye look nothing like so butiful as yew be now." + +"I feel hideous anyhow," said the child. "I don't believe I can look +pretty when I feel ugly." + +Peter overheard that, put his head on one side in philosophic +contemplation, and presently took his pen and wrote: "Bootiful maids +what feels ugly still be bootiful. It be contrairy like, but it be +true;" and the number of that thought was one-hundred-and-seventy-one. + +Mary was not far wrong, for Boodles was quite as attractive as ever. She +was more womanly, and had put pathos on her face with the little lines +and shadows which impelled love for very pity. Her eyes seemed to have +become larger, and her pale frightened face, under the radiant hair +which had not changed, was fascinating with its restless changes. There +was one thing left to her, and she called it everything. Each week the +cold weather went away for a few hours, and warm June came round with a +burst of flowers and sunshine, and her heart woke up and sang to her; +for Aubrey had not forgotten. He wrote to her, though she kept her +promise and did not write to him. Every week the question came: "Why +don't you write?" and sometimes she thought the letters were getting +colder, and then the stage sunshine was turned off and real thunder +rolled. He had written to his parents, but they had told him nothing. +They didn't even refer to her in their letters. It seemed to him as if +she was dead, and he was getting miserable. But she would not break her +promise and write; and if consent had been given she could not tell him +the truth, send him out of her life for ever, and end those wonderful +mornings when the postman came. + +Aubrey loved her still, that gave her everything, and while his love +lasted she was still on the green oasis, and could shut her eyes to the +desert, scarred with the bodies of those who had tried to cross it and +had fallen in the attempt, the bare desert of life without any sweet +water of love, which she would have to try and cross without a guide +when he came back and she had told him plainly what she was. She thought +it would kill her, for love cannot be removed without altering the +entire universe; for with love the sun goes, and the flowers go, and all +the pleasant nooks; and there is nothing left but the rocks, the moaning +of the sea, the fierce and ugly things, and faces that scowl but never +smile. The only perfect happiness is the birth of love; the only +absolute misery is the death of it; and it is such a tender growth that +one careless word may chill it into death. + +The three were sitting together in the lamplight, and Peter was giving +oral evidence of his inspiration, when there came a knock upon the door, +a thing almost without precedent after dark. Boodles shivered because +she hated sudden knocks which suggested unpleasant visitors and horrors, +while Mary turned from her work and went to the door. Annie was standing +there, or staggering rather, a black shawl round her head, her face +ghastly. + +"Please to come in," said Mary. + +Annie lurched in, and gazed about her wildly. She was sober enough to +know what she had come for. She stared at them, then upon the +hearthstone where the ceremonial of witchcraft was still being observed; +while Peter babbled of great thoughts like a running brook. The door was +open, and some of the smoke of the swaling-fires entered, and they could +hear the crackling of distant flames. + +"I reckon yew can tak' 'en off," said Annie hoarsely, pointing to the +hearthstone. "He've done his work. All Dartmoor be in flames, and the +Barton be in flame tu, I reckon. I flung the lamp into the kitchen and +set a match to 'en. Coming wi' me, Mary Tavy? Best come wi' me and see +the end on't." + +"What would I want to come wi' yew for, woman?" said Mary. + +"Where be the old goose yew was so fond of?" + +"My Old Sal. He be gone. Mebbe he got stugged, and some old fox come +along and took 'en," said Mary. + +"Stugged was he? I saw 'en stugged," Annie shouted. "Came across Barton +court, he did, and the man took 'en, and twisted the neck of 'en, and +flung 'en in the vuzz. 'He be Mary's Old Sal,' I ses, but he only +swore." + +Mary spat upon her hands. + +"He picked up a stick, and hit me on the ear, me, a free woman. I ses to +'en avore, 'If yew lifts your arm at me, Mary knows.'" + +"I be coming," said Mary. + +"Me tu," said Peter. + +There was much for Mary to avenge. Pendoggat had beaten her brother, had +terrified Boodles, to say nothing of his attempt to rob her, and now +Mary knew he had killed the old goose. She had never ceased to mourn for +Old Sal; and Pendoggat had destroyed the leader of her flock out of +sheer malice and cruelty. The spirit of the lawless Gubbings entered +into Mary as she picked up her staff and made for the door, while Peter +shambled after her, a philosopher no longer, but a savage like herself. + +But Boodles was crying: "Don't leave me, Mary. The shadows will get big +and thick and take hold of me." + +"Aw, don't ye be soft, maid," cried Annie. + +"Bide here, my dear. Us will lock ye in, and no one shan't touch ye," +said Mary. + +"He may come this way. I can't stay here, with the light of these fires +upon the window. I shall scream all the time." + +"Come along wi' us," said Mary. "Come between Peter and me, my dear. +Lord love ye, I'd break the head of any one what touched ye." + +Peter left the hut-circles last, securing both doors, and dropping the +keys in his baggy pocket. Then they set forth, the smoke over them, the +fires on each side, and the white frost like snow upon the ground. + + * * * * * + +Pendoggat gave a sigh of relief as he descended into the hollow of the +Barton and saw nobody, and heard nothing except the crackling of the +flames and the furze screaming as the fire rushed through it; for the +furze screams when it is burnt like a creature in torment. There was a +smell of fire about the house and the heavy stink of paraffin; and in +the kitchen he saw the broken lamp, but the fire had gone out; it could +not feed upon damp stones. Pendoggat smiled when he saw the kitchen. So +Annie was drunk again, which was what he had hoped for, as she was less +dangerous in that condition; she could only scream and tumble about, +hurting nobody but herself. She would not be able to follow him, and if +she picked up his gun she would be more likely to kill herself than him. +Probably she was lying in the linhay, or on her bed, hardly conscious, +groaning herself to sleep. Everything was in his favour; the whole night +was before him, and he had only to finish his work there, then escape +through the warm scented smoke. He was feeling sorry for the minister, +but the ordeal which Eli had just undergone might prove a blessing, +strengthen his character, make a man of him. Annie was not in the house. +Perhaps she had gone down to the Tavy to drown herself. Pendoggat shook +his head as that idea occurred to him. There could be no hope in the +future state for a suicide. Still it was better she should drown herself +than obstruct him; and after all she was getting on in years, she would +soon be homeless, and would naturally shrink from the workhouse. +Pendoggat was not going to judge her harshly, as that would not be +right, and she had looked after him well at one time. If she had not +been so foolish as to grow elderly, and have grey hairs, he might have +remained constant to her. + +He had destroyed everything in his secret drawer already, so he had only +to collect a few things, burn the furze and tidy up there. He fastened +up his things into a bundle before remembering that Annie had a bag +which was not likely to be of much use to her, so he went and fetched it +and packed his things in that. He brought the bag into the court, went +to the linhay for a spade, carried it to the edge of the furze, then +discovered he had no matches. He went back towards the house, but as he +crossed the court a figure came out of the smoke and laughed at him, the +figure of a white-faced woman who seemed pleased to see him; and behind +her towered another figure, tall and gaunt, the sort of figure which +might have made those weird footprints in the snow; and as the smoke +drifted upward there were two others in the background, a little girl +wrapped up in a big coat, and gnome-like Peter with big beard and +turned-up nose like an old man of the moor. + +Annie said nothing, but only laughed, as a woman will when she feels +satisfied. She staggered to one side, and Mary came forward. There was +no laughter on her wooden face, and no drunken stupor over her body. She +dropped the big stick and it clattered upon the stones of the court. The +swaling-fires were all round, and they gave light enough, a weird kind +of light which tinted the smoke and made the walls of the Barton red. + +"Aw, man," cried Mary. "You killed my Old Sal, and I be come to pay ye +vor't." + +Pendoggat went white when he heard that. He could not stand before the +wiry creature who seemed to represent no sex, but the cruel principle of +natural strength. The trap had snapped upon him and he felt its iron +teeth. He had caught others and enjoyed watching their struggles, and +now he was caught himself and others were enjoying his struggles. A few +yards cut him off from the moor, but there was no way out except by the +gate of the court, and Mary was before him. He wondered if Brightly had +felt like that when he was running for his liberty with the hand of +every man against him. + +"I never knew the old bird was yours," he muttered; and added: "I'll pay +you for him;" but Annie watched him, saw his face, and laughed louder. + +Mary made an ungainly movement, a sort of lurch as if to collect her +strength, then she caught him by the neck. He struggled free and she had +him round the body, twisting him like a willow-stick; a big hand came +upon his throat and he felt as if water was rushing over his head. He +could hear Annie's mad laughter and her jeering voice: "You'm a strong +man, they ses. Why don't ye get away? She'm only a woman. Why don't ye +throw her off, man?" He began to fight at that, struggling and hitting +wildly, but Mary had a certain science as well as strength. She knew an +animal's weak points. She struck at them with a fist like a lump of +granite, and when he retaliated by hitting her on the face her savage +blood seemed to rise before her eyes, and she drove him about the court +until his face was bloody. Boodles turned away then, and went to the +side of the house between the wall and the brake of furze, half-sick, +trying not to give way. She had never felt so horribly alone. Mary, her +friend and protector, was a wild beast of the moor, the savage principle +of the cruel Nature which was crushing her. The red light of the fire +fell upon her radiant head, which resembled it, as if she had been +intended to punish Pendoggat, and not Mary, because her head was like +fire just as his nature was like furze. All the time she could hear +Annie's furious laughter and her mocking voice: "Why don't ye stand up +to she, man? Tak' your stick and hit she on the head till she'm mazed. +Hit she on the ear, man, same as you hit me. Yew twisted the old +goosie's neck easy enough. Why don't ye du the like to she?" + +"Aw, man, I reckon I've paid ye," gasped Mary. + +"Two or dree more vor I," shouted little Peter, jumping about the court +in riotous joy. + +Mary was satisfied. She flung the man aside, still holding him by the +collar of the coat, which was an old one, as he was too miserly to buy a +better. The fabric parted at the seam, and as he fell the coat came +asunder and half remained in Mary's hand, the sleeve rending off with +the violence of her strength. It was the part containing the pocket +which was bulging, and when Mary threw it away Annie snatched it up and +tore out the contents, a letter or two, some papers, and the precious +roll of notes, which Pendoggat had played for with all his cunning, had +ruined the minister for, and finally had won; only Annie was too dazed +and mad to know what she was holding. She staggered to the furze, +holding the packet above her head, and flung it as far as she could; and +it fell in the centre and settled down there invisible among the frosted +prickles. + +Pendoggat watched as he stood half-dazed against the well, wiping the +blood from his face, and again thanked his stars which remained +propitious. His soul had been thrown into the furze, but he could regain +it. Annie's madness had saved him. Had she been more sane and sober she +might have discovered what it was she had taken. Nobody knew he had the +money even then. His punishment was over. He deserved it for being +perhaps unnecessarily hard upon the minister; and now he was not only a +free man, but the sin had been wiped away, because he had been punished +for it and had suffered for it. The disgrace was nothing, as he would +never be seen there again. He edged away towards the furze, and no one +stood in his way. He caught up the spade, which he had placed there, and +began to hack at the big bushes, trying to make a passage. The +swaling-fires above were dying down and the red light was fading from +the hollow. + +"Ah, go in there, man. Go in," muttered Annie, becoming quiet when she +saw what he was after. + +Pendoggat had lost his senses, as men will when their money is taken +from them. Had he waited a little, until Mary had gone, and he had got +rid of Annie for a time, he might have started for Tavistock presently +with nothing lost except honour which was of no value. But he could not +wait; he was dazed by Mary's blows; and all the time he fancied he saw +that precious packet which contained his future stuck in the furze; and +if he could not see it he knew it was there and he must get at it. He +went on hacking at the bushes, burrowing his way in, without feeling the +prickles; while Mary picked up her stick, turned to Peter, and said she +was going home. Then she looked for Boodles, but the girl was not there, +and when she started round Annie was not there either. She and Peter +were alone in the court, and the furze beyond was convulsed as though a +beast had fallen there and was trying to flounder its way out. + +"He'm mazed, sure 'nuff," said Peter, in a happy voice. The blows which +Pendoggat had dealt him were avenged. Peter forgot just then the power +of witchcraft which he had invoked by the arts that were in him. Neither +he nor Mary remembered the mommet, but Annie had not forgotten. She +thought of the little clay doll squatting in the glowing peat, and she +seemed to see the fantastic object shaking its head at her and saying: +"Who is on my side?" Annie went into the house for something, then +passed round the wall, and came upon Boodles standing at the other end +of the furze brake, rubbing the frost off the white grass stalks. + +"Is it all over?" asked the child. + +"Aw ees, it be done. You'm cold, my dear," whispered Annie hoarsely. +"Tak' this, my dear, and warm yourself. You've been out swaling, I +reckon." + +She pushed a box of matches into the girl's hand. + +"He wun't have it burnt just to spite me. Makes the kitchen so cruel +dark I can't see from one side to t'other. Now be the time, for he'm +mazed and can't stop us. Sot a match here, my dear." + +"It's so close to the house," said Boodles. + +"The house can't burn. 'Tis stone and slates. I don't want 'en to think +I did it," said Annie cunningly. "Quick, my dear. Mary be calling ye." + +Boodles loved swaling expeditions. In the past, furze-burning had been +almost her only outdoor pleasure; and, though she was unhappy then, she +was very young and the sense of enjoyment remained. That huge brake +would make the most glorious blaze she had ever seen. Dropping to her +knees she struck a match, hearing Annie gasp once, and then the fire +touched the tinder-like masses of dead growth, there was a splutter +caused by the frost, a flame darted up, then down, and up again higher; +and then there was a roar, and the brake before her became in an instant +like an open furnace and she jumped back to save her face and hair. + +"Oh, it's splendid," she cried. + +Annie was leaning against the wall screaming, sheltering her face, +perhaps from the heat, perhaps from what she might see. + +"It's done. My God, it's done, and nothing can put it out." + +Somewhere in those flames a man's voice was shouting horribly. The fire +seemed to sweep through with the rapidity of light, but nothing else +could be heard except the roaring and the screaming and hissing as the +big bushes melted away. Mary came running round, and Annie screamed at +her-- + +"I never done it. I never put the match to 'en." + +"Aw, my dear, what have ye done?" + +"I am swaling. Did you ever see such a blaze?" cried innocent Boodles. + +"Her don't know," screamed Annie. Then she staggered into the court and +fell fainting. + +"The man's in the vuzz," Mary shouted. + +All the sounds had ceased, and already the great flames were going out, +leaving a red smoulder of ashes and big scarlet stems. It seemed to be +getting very dark. Boodles did not realise what she had done, and Mary +said no more; but Peter shuffled round, understanding it all perfectly, +though not in the least ashamed. + +"'Twas just the mommet," he explained. "Her had to du it 'cause her +couldn't help it." + +Presently they trod over the fiery ground and dragged the body out, +without clothes, without hair, without sight; without money also, for +the roll of notes had melted away in one touch of those terrible flames. +He looked dead, but, like the furze which seemed to be annihilated, he +lived. The heart was beating in the man's body, and the roots were alive +in the glowing soil. Both would rise again, the one into a fierce +prickly shrub; the other into a man destined for the charity of others, +scarred, maimed, and blind. There was to be no escape for Pendoggat, no +new life for him. Boodles of the fiery head had fulfilled her destiny; +had burnt out one malignant moorland growth which had caught so many in +its thorns; and had rendered it harmless for ever. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +ABOUT 'DUPPENCE' + + +Down the hill from St. Mary Tavy to Brentor came Brightly, most +irrepressible of unwanted things, his basket on his arm, feeding on air +and sunshine. It was early spring, there were pleasant odours and a fine +blue sky, all good and gratuitous. Brightly had been discharged from +prison as a man of no reputation, to be avoided by some and trampled on +by others. His one idea was to get back to business; rabbit-skins ought +to have accumulated, he thought, during' the months of his confinement; +there would be a rich harvest awaiting him, which might mean the pony +and cart at last, with prosperity and a potato-patch to cheer his +closing days. He went for his basket, and it was not until it was slung +upon his arm and he had bent himself into the old half-hoop shape to +carry it over the moor, that he comprehended its emptiness. Formerly his +stomach was empty and the basket was full; now both were empty; and the +crushing difficulty of starting afresh without capital was with him +again. + +Brightly determined to subsist for a little on charity, but he soon made +the discovery that Samaritanism was no longer included among the +Christian virtues. People refused to do business with him on a +benevolent basis. They slammed the doors in his face, and called him +unpleasant names. They reminded him he had been in prison, as if he had +forgotten it; and some of them added an opinion that he had got off far +too cheaply. Others said if he came there again they would set the dog +on him. Brightly soon became very hungry, and almost longed for the +comforts of prison. It had been no easy matter to make a sort of living +during those days when he thought himself honest. Now that he knew he +was a criminal it appeared impossible. + +Brightly was in danger of becoming an atheist. He stopped his +hymn-singing; verses descriptive of the wonderful dairy were no longer +found in his mouth, nor did he use the jingling refrain which concludes: +"Jesu, Master, us belongs to yew." What was the use of belonging to some +one who did nothing for him? Wise men have puzzled over that question, +so it was not surprising if it bewildered poor foolish Brightly. He had +been told in the prison that if he prayed for anything it would be +granted; and his informer had added it was obviously his duty to pray +for honesty. Brightly did nothing of the kind; he prayed for the pony +and cart, throwing himself heart and soul into the business, as he had +plenty of time. Instead of being a purveyor of rabbit-skins he became a +praying machine. He considered that if there was any truth in the theory +that prayers are answered, he ought to find the pony and cart awaiting +him at the door of the prison. He did see one as he came out, but it +could not have been intended for him, as the name upon the board was not +A. Brightly, and near it was a man looking like a sweep who would +probably have resisted Brightly's claims with every prospect of success. +His teacher would have said the prayer was not answered because it was +not a proper one, but that would not have helped Brightly in the least. + +The little man went down the hill sniffing at the sweet wind, but +conscious that it was not invigorating as it used to be. The truth of +the matter was he was getting tired of life. He had become feeble, his +cough was worse, and his eyes troubled him so much that he had to stop +often, take off his spectacles, and rub them. But he couldn't rub the +darkness away. The eyes were getting bigger than ever because he +strained them so, trying to find the road. Sometimes he found himself +sinking in a bog; his eyes had never played him such a trick before he +became a criminal. As he walked he would look back and whistle or say: +"Us will pitch presently." He was always forgetting that Ju had ceased +to exist; and when he sat down to rest he would talk to her or stroke +the heather beside him. + +He entered the village of Brentor, but trade remained "cruel dull," so +he gave it up and tramped along the road towards the church on the tor. +As he went an idea came to him. He must give up the old stretch and try +a new one. He might take the eastern side of the moor, Moreton to +Ashburton, with the villages between, taking in Widdecombe where the +devil dwelt. His old road had been dominated in a sense by St. Michael's +Church upon its mount, but the connection had proved of no service to +him, and the devil might be a better patron. He could get across to the +other side in two days, and perhaps he would find there some one who +would give him half-a-crown and set him up in business again. + +Brightly was not entirely without capital, for Boodles had given him +twopence with his basket, saying she was sorry it was so little, but she +too was poor. That was another blow to Brightly; the angel had her +limitations, and seemed to have lost her power of working wonders for +the time. She too looked ill and miserable, and when celestial beings +suffered what chance was there for him? Brightly was not going to invest +that twopence in the rabbit-skin business, nor did he regard it as the +nucleus round which the fund for his pony and cart would gather. He +wrapped it up in many changes of paper, vowing not to touch it until he +should require food. The time had almost come, he thought, when he +should want food, not to stimulate his body, but to cease its action +entirely. The twopence was set aside for his funeral as it were, or +rather for the rat-poison which would make the funeral necessary. It +amused Brightly to think that people would have to spend money upon him +when he was dead, though they refused to give him anything while he was +living. + +He left Brentor behind and went along the winding road; and the sun came +out so pleasantly he wondered if the gods or human beings would be +offended if he whistled. He decided to remain silent, as the constable +might be in hiding behind one of the furze-bushes, and he would be sent +back to prison for making obscene noises. He knew every yard of the +country, though he could see so little of it. Higher up was a big slab +of granite, flat and smooth like an altar-tomb, upon which he had often +sat and watched the tower of St. Michael's juggling with the big ball of +the setting sun. He went up there, and it was not until his boot touched +the flat stone that he discovered it was already occupied. A woman was +sitting on it. Brightly apologised most humbly for his intrusion, for +walking along the road, and for cumbering the face of the earth. He was +always meeting people, and he felt he had no right to do so. + +"You'm welcome," said the woman. + +Then Brightly opened his nearly useless eyes wider and found that she +was Thomasine, the young woman who had been so good to him and Ju, and +had fed them when they were starving, and helped them on the way to +Tavistock. He had always associated Thomasine with a well-stocked +kitchen and food in abundance. She had become mixed up in his mind with +Jerusalem, and he had thought of her as presiding over the milk and +honey, and ladling them out in large quantities at the back door to +hungry men and dogs. And there she was sitting on the big stone looking +miserable, with her clothes bedraggled and boots muddy. Brightly began +to think hard and to reason with himself. He was not the only miserable +creature after all; there were other human things belonging to the +neuter gender besides himself. Even the angel was miserable and had +confessed to poverty; and not a scrap of food surrounded the former Lady +Bountiful of Town Rising. Brightly was in Thomasine's debt, and he was +prepared to pay what he owed as well as he could. He was willing to +share his twopence with Thomasine; she should have an equal portion of +the rat-poison if she was hungry for it; and they could wash the meal +down with sweet water from the moor. As for Thomasine, the little +dried-up fragment which had once represented a mind responded to +Brightly's presence and she recognised a friend. + +"I be in trouble," she said. + +Brightly was glad to hear it, though he did not say so. It was good to +find a partner who would enter into an alliance with him against the fat +constable, the Bench of Magistrates, and all the wigs and ermine of +oppression. Here was another Ju, a human being this time, and perhaps +she too had been sentenced to be destroyed because she was savage, and +was trying to hide from the constable and the crowd. Brightly was +prepared to show her all sorts of secret places where she would be safe. + +"Be yew a criminal tu?" he asked. + +Thomasine was not sure, but thought she must be. + +"I be one. I be the worst criminal on Dartmoor," said Brightly, trying +to draw himself up and look conceited. He had never done any good in his +business, but as a criminal he was entitled to regard himself as a +complete success. + +"I ain't got no friends. My volks wun't ha' me to home, and I've lost my +character," said Thomasine. + +"I never had no friends, nor volks, nor yet character," said Brightly. + +"You'm the man what went to prison for robbing Varmer Chegwidden," she +said, using her memory with some success. + +"Dree months wi' hard labour," said Brightly proudly. + +"Yew never done it. I know who done it. 'Twas Varmer Pendoggat," she +said. + +"I thought mebbe I might ha' done it and never knowed," explained +Brightly. "Why didn't 'em tak' he then?" + +"No one knows 'cept me, and I only guesses. He was wi' I just avore I +heard master galloping over the moor, and he mun ha' passed master lying +in the road. 'Twas no good me speaking. They wouldn't ha' took my word, +and he'd ha' killed I if I'd spoke. 'Tis through he I be here now." + +Adversity had sharpened Thomasine's tongue. She could not remember when +she had last made such a lengthy speech. + +"Where be yew going?" asked Brightly. + +"Nowheres," said the girl. "Where be yew?" + +"Anywhere," said Brightly, which meant the same thing. "Shall us get +on?" he added. + +Thomasine accepted the invitation, rose from the stone, and they walked +on, up the road and the steep tor, and came out at last beside the +church with its tiny burying-place of granite and its weather-beaten +gravestones. They sat down to rest upon the edge of the precipice, and +Thomasine wanted to know why they had come there. + +"I wun't never be here again. I used to come up here to whistle and +sing, and now I be come to look out for the last time," said Brightly. +"I reckon I'll try t'other side o' the moor. Mebbe volks bain't so cruel +wicked there." + +"I reckon 'em be," said Thomasine. + +"Du ye reckon they'll know I be a criminal?" + +"Sure 'nuff. Policeman will tell 'em." + +"My cough be cruel bad got, and I can't hardly see. If I can't mak' a +living what be I to du?" asked Brightly. + +This was much too difficult a question for Thomasine, and she did not +attempt to answer it. + +"B'est hungry?" she asked. + +"I've ha' been hungry for years and years, 'cept when I was in prison, +and then I was hungry for air," said Brightly. + +"Got any money?" + +"Duppence." + +"I ain't got nothing," she said. + +"Shall us get on?" said the restless little man. He felt business +calling him, though he could do nothing with his empty basket. + +They went back the way they had come, through Brentor village, and +towards Lydford, Brightly walking on one side of the road and Thomasine +upon the other. The only remark the girl made was: "This bain't the way +to Plymouth;" and Brightly replied: "It bain't the place for yew." He +had some knowledge of the world, and knew that it could not be well for +a girl without home or friends or character to walk about the streets of +a big town. + +They stopped at Lydford, and Thomasine went to a cottage where people +dwelt whom she had known in the days of respectability, and they gave +her food which she brought out and shared with her companion. They went +to the foot of the cascade in the gorge and ate their meal to the +subdued murmur of the long white veil of water sliding down the face of +the precipice. They were alone in the gorge, where the Gubbingses had +once dwelt, as the place is deserted during the early months of the +year. + +"Have ye got a home?" asked Thomasine. + +"Ees, a proper old cave to Belstone Cleave." + +"What be I to du?" she murmured. + +"Come wi' I," said Brightly gallantly. "I be going home." + +The girl tried to think, but soon gave up in despair. She was barely +twenty-three, and her life seemed done already. Her parents had shut the +door upon her, and erased her name from the book of life--the family +Bible which retained the record of those who were respectable--not so +much because she had done wrong as because the man who had led her +astray would not marry her. It was quaint logic, but the world reasons +that way. She was ready to go with Brightly because he was friendly and +she required friendship badly; she hardly looked upon him as a man; he +was such a poor incomplete thing; if a man, without the power of sinning +like a man. She would go with him to the cave in the cleave, and cook +for him, if there was anything to be cooked, with the old frying-pan +with a bottom like a sieve. + +"Ees, I've got a butiful home," muttered ridiculous Brightly with pride. + +He was regarding Thomasine as the reincarnation of Ju. The little dog +had come back to him in the form of a woman. He could talk to her, tell +her trade was dull, and he was hungry; could whistle, and sing for her +amusement, and pat her gently when she rested upon the heather. She +could reply to him in a manner that was better than tail-wagging. Ju had +come to the cave gladly and found it homelike, so why not Thomasine? He +would not be called on to pay seven-and-sixpence a year for her; but on +the other hand she was so big, larger than himself in fact, and he was +afraid she would want a lot of food. Brightly became prouder every +minute. He had a woman of his own and "duppence" wrapped up in bits of +paper. He would not touch his hat to the next man he met on the road. He +would stare him in the face and say: "How be ye?" just as if he had been +a man himself. + +"Shall us get on?" he said again. + +They went on and reached windy Bridestowe that night. Brightly, who knew +every building upon that part of the moor, found a shelter for Thomasine +in a peat-linhay, and a resting-place for himself in a farmyard. They +started off early in the morning, and Brightly produced eggs with the +half-apologetic and half-proud explanation: "Us be criminals." He had +stolen them. Up to the time of his conviction he had never been a thief, +but since leaving prison he had felt it was necessary to live up to his +reputation as a desperate character, and so he took anything he could +find. Under the oil-cloth of his basket was a feathered fowl, and +Thomasine was informed there would be a good supper for her that +evening. + +"Yew stoled 'en?" exclaimed the girl. + +"Volks wun't give I nothing," said Brightly. "They ses 'you'm a thief,' +and 'tis no use being called a thief if yew bain't. Yew fed me and Ju +when us was starving, and now I be going to feed yew." + +They reached the cave, and Brightly produced all his possessions with +pride, explaining to his housekeeper that a fire must not be lighted +until after dark lest the commoners should see the smoke. The girl +shivered at the wretched prospect, but resigned herself; and that night +she told Brightly her story, and he told her all about his ambitions, +and about the pony and cart which would not come in spite of the vain +repetitions which he called prayers. + +Miserable days followed. The spell of fine weather ceased and frost +returned; with it a biting wind which swept across the moor and got into +the cave, the outside of which became a pretty piece of architecture +with icicles hanging from the rock to the ground like bars of cold steel +through which the prisoners gazed into the depths of the gorge. Brightly +had become a real criminal at last; and the basket, which had been the +symbol of honesty, was then a receiver of stolen goods. He sallied out +every day to rob fowl-houses and dairies; to gather articles of clothing +from hedges and furze-bushes where they had been put out to dry. His +eyes had been opened by necessity and justice; dishonesty was the only +way in business; had he practised it from the start he would have +obtained all those good things which he had always desired; the cottage +and potato-patch, the pony and cart; perhaps his asthma and blindness +would have been stayed as well. It would have been better for Brightly +had he died in prison; he was living too long, and had become a moral +failure, a complete failure now in every sense. + +One Sunday evening they crept out of their hole in the gorge and went to +Sticklepath. Thomasine wanted to hear the pure gospel preached again, +and she persuaded Brightly to come with her to the big chapel in the +middle of the village that he might have his frosted soul warmed by +listening to a realistic account of the place "down under" towards which +he was hurrying. A strange preacher arose in the pulpit, an old +white-bearded man near the end of his days, and he preached from the +text: "I have been young, and now am old, and yet saw I never the +righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging their bread." He seemed a pious +old man, although he could not have been observant, or perhaps he had +gone about with his eyes shut, as the psalmist must have done; but he +was eloquent, and his words thundered upon the congregation like +Dartmoor rain upon a tin roof. + +When they left the chapel Thomasine was weeping, and Brightly seemed to +have become quite blind. Still he could not understand things. He had +been righteous, as he had comprehended it, slipping into a church or +chapel as often as he dared, and singing "Jerusalem the Golden" at every +opportunity. Yet he had been forsaken and had begged his bread; Ju had +been taken from him; he had been cast into prison. Who could explain +these things? Perhaps he had not endured long enough; if he had held out +another year the pony and cart might have been brought to him driven by +the angel; but he could not hold out when people would not permit him to +do business, and when he was starving. It was too late then to go back +and tread the old road, for he had fallen at last, become dishonest in +act; and if he went on in his wicked ways the policeman would run him +down again; and if he reverted to honesty the poorhouse would claim him. +There was only one way out. He must buy a ticket for Jerusalem. It would +only cost twopence. + +They returned to the cave, and Thomasine went on crying. She said she +could stand it no longer. The moor was black with storm clouds, a thaw +had set in, and water was trickling everywhere. Brightly sat huddled up +and moaning. His eyes were nearly useless, and rheumatism racked his +poor limbs. He knew that the decree had been given against him, he had +been found guilty in the higher court, judgment had been signed against +"A. Brightly. Rabbit-skin merchant. Abode Nowhere." + +"Us mun get on," he said firmly. + +"I can't bide here," sobbed Thomasine. + +"Us will walk to-morrow," said Brightly. + +"I'll go to Plymouth," she said. + +"Live honest;" he begged. "Don't ye go to the dirty trade." + +"I wun't," she cried. "I'll live clean if they'll let me. No one knows +me there, and I'll get some job mebbe." + +"I ha' been young, and now I be getting old," said Brightly. "I ha' been +righteous tu, and I ha' begged, and I ha' prayed, and got nought." + +"What be yew going to du?" she asked. + +"I be coming wi' yew as far as Okehampton. I'll set ye on the road to +Plymouth." + +"Wun't ye come tu?" + +"'Twould kill me," said Brightly. "I be that blind I'd get run over, and +my asthma be got so cruel bad I wouldn't be able to breathe. I reckon +I'll stop on Dartmoor." + +"You'll live honest?" she said. + +"I wun't tak' what bain't mine no more," Brightly promised. + +In the morning they set out. It was raining, but they did not notice +that. They crossed the Taw river, passed through Belstone, and struck +into the lane which would bring them down to the Okehampton road. They +had not gone far before they came upon a pony and cart fastened to a +gate, belonging to the washerwoman, but the cart was empty and there was +no one in sight. It carried a lamp, and a board was at the side +revealing the owner's name, and the bottom was covered with fern. +Brightly brought his pinched face near the cart, stopped to regard this +revelation of his life-long dream, and then he succumbed to the great +temptation. He unfastened the pony, climbed into the cart, and drove in +majesty up the lane. + +"What be yew doing?" cried Thomasine in great fear. "It bain't yourn." + +Brightly did not hear her. He knew at last what it was like to jog along +the lane in a little pony-cart, and for five precious minutes he was in +dreamland. In that short space of time he completed the allotted span of +human existence. He was returning to the littlie cottage in the midst of +the potato-patch, after a day of successful work. The cart behind was +piled high with rabbit-skins, and in her own little corner Ju was +sitting, fat and content. Brightly put up his ridiculous head and +whistled "Jerusalem the Golden" for the last time. Then he got down, +tied up the pony to another gatepost, and tramped through the mud with +Thomasine. + +In the town they passed a window where a notice was displayed: "Men +wanted," and the girl drew his attention to it, but Brightly only +coughed. The dream had faded and he had returned to realism. Men were +wanted to dig foundations, build houses, work in stone, hairy-armed men +who could lift granite, not a poor creeping thing who had hardly the +strength to strangle a fluttering fowl. + +They went through the town, up the long hill on the other side, and near +a quarry of red stone they stopped. + +"It be the way to Plymouth," Brightly said. + +"Thankye kindly," said Thomasine. "Be yew going back?" + +"Ees; I be going back," he answered. + +"Be yew going far?" + +"A bit o' the way towards Meldon." + +"Yew ha' got no money," she said pityingly. + +"I ha' got duppence," he reminded her. + +"You'll live honest?" she said again. + +"It wun't be long. I ha' a sort o' choking feeling," he said, putting a +raw hand to his throat. + +"Be ye going down under?" Thomasine was looking over the hedge and +between the bare trees. Some way below, beside the river, she could just +see the workhouse. + +"I be a going to walk towards Meldon, and sot by the river. If the pains +get bad I'll fall in mebbe." + +"No," she cried. "Don't ye du that." + +"Us mun get on," said Brightly, mindful of business. "I wish ye +good-bye." + +They shook hands, and Thomasine began to cry again. She did not like the +idea of walking along a lonely road all the way to distant Plymouth. +"Thankye kindly," she sobbed. + +"You'm welcome," said Brightly. + +They parted, and the little man shuffled back to the town. Upon the +bridge which spans the Okement he stopped, and took out the little +packet which contained the "duppence." It was a wonderful sum of money, +after all, if it would procure for him admission to the celestial dairy, +where he could feast, and listen to, an organ playing, and see people +dancing; and perhaps Ju would be sitting at his feet, wagging her tail, +looking up, and enjoying it all too. It would be better than the wet +cave, better than the workhouse, better than going back to prison. He +would have to be quick, or they might discover how he had attempted to +steal the pony and cart. He seemed to have become quite blind suddenly, +and his heart was thumping against his side. He had to feel his way +along towards the chemist's, which was the ticket office where he could +obtain his twopenny pass into Palestine. There would be no stop on the +journey, and they would be certain to let him in. Already he seemed to +hear some one like Boodles saying: "Please to step inside, Mr. Brightly. +Have a drop o' milk, will ye?" And there was another Boodles coming +towards him with the pleasant words: "Be this your little dog, mister? +Her's been whining vor ye cruel." + +Brightly held the precious "duppence" for his fare tightly in his raw +hand. He was smiling as he entered the chemist's shop. + + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +ABOUT REGENERATION AND RENUNCIATION + + +Sad-eyed little Boodles stood in the porch of Lewside Cottage holding a +letter which the postman had just left. She did not know who it was +from, nor did she care, as there was no foreign stamp on the envelope, +and the postmark was only unromantic Devonport. Aubrey had not written +for a month, and she knew the reason. His parents had told him the truth +about her, and he was so horrified that he couldn't even send her a line +on a naked postcard as a sort of farewell. Still it was better to have +no letter than a cruel one; if he could not write kindly she was glad he +didn't write at all. + +What was supposed to be spring had come round again, and something which +used to be the sun was shining, and the woods beside the Tavy were +carpeted with patches of blue and yellow which "once upon a time" had +been called bluebells and primroses. The ogre had done his work of +transformation thoroughly, leaving nothing unchanged. During those days +Boodles went about the house so quietly that she wondered sometimes if +she was much better than a shadow; she seemed to have lost the power of +making pleasant noises; and when she caught sight of herself in the +glass as she moved about her bedroom she would say: "There it is +again--the ghost!" She told her friends of the hut-circles that the +cottage was haunted, and Mary exclaimed: "Aw, my dear, I'll be round wi' +my big stick," while Peter rebuked his sister for her folly, pondered +the matter deeply, and at last told Boodles he should come in his own +good time to "exercise the ghost" with various spells. Peter had fallen +into the pernicious habit of using strange words, as he had purchased a +cheap dictionary, and made constant use of it. He was developing other +evil traits of authorship, having added to his ordinary costume of no +collar and leather apron a yard of flimsy material about his neck in the +form of a flowing tie. Master had told him philosophers wore such +things, and Peter was also contemplating the purchase of a pair of +spectacles, not because he required them, but Master declared that no +man could possibly appear philosophic unless he regarded men and matters +through gold-rimmed circles of glass. Every evening Peter approached +Boodles with the utterance: "I be coming. I be coming to-morrow to +exercise the ghost." She reminded him of the clock which he had been +going to clean for two years, and added: "I'm the ghost," which brought +upon her the fierce denunciation of Mary, who still maintained Boodles +to be the "most butiful maid that ever was," and now that her Old Sal +was no more the most perfect of all living creatures; while Peter went +away, not like his apostolic namesake to weep bitterly, but to indite +illegible aphorism number three-hundred-and-one dealing with the sad +truism that men of wisdom do not receive a proper tribute of respect +from the young and foolish. + +Boodles was afraid of her mysterious letter and did not open it for some +time. It might be from some relation of Weevil's, claiming what property +he had left; or from her unknown mother concerning the obligations upon +daughters to support their parents. At last she pulled the envelope +apart, glanced timidly at the signature, and her dread departed, or +became lost in astonishment, when the most extraordinary name caught her +eye: "yours faithfully, Yerbua Eimalleb." + +Boodles had a little fun left in her, not much, but enough to let her +laugh sometimes. She plunged into the letter, to discover that Miss +Eimalleb had only recently come to England, she wanted lodgings on +Dartmoor, and having heard of Miss Weevil she was writing to know if she +could accommodate her. "I believe you prefer old ladies," Boodles read. +"I am not old, indeed I am quite young, and shall be glad to be a +companion to you, but I am not well off, so I cannot come unless your +charges are very moderate. I have only about L80 a year left me by an +aunt, though my parents are still living." + +"Oh, you darling!" cried Boodles. Then she sat down and began to think. +Here was a young girl wanting to come and live with her, and willing to +pay; a girl to be her companion and friend, who would go about with her +everywhere, help her, comfort her, work with her--what a splendid +prospect it was! They would cling together like two sisters, and the +winds would not trouble, and the shadows would not terrify, any more; +and she could laugh at the windy moonlit nights. The gods were being +good to her at last, perhaps because she had been truthful and had not +told Mrs. Bellamie the lie she had invented. They had taken the great +thing from her because it was obviously impossible that she should have +it. Aubrey was gone from her for ever, but surely this was the next best +thing; a girl friend to live with her, perhaps to enter into partnership +with her. Boodles felt she could face the big desert with a friend to +help her, and a companion to depend upon. Love was not for her, but she +would have the next best thing, which is friendship. + +The letter was certainly a remarkable one, the writer's candour being no +less extraordinary than her name. It was obvious she was a foreigner, +but the signature gave Boodles no clue as to her nationality until she +recalled a certain book on Eastern travel which she had once read, where +a Persian name--or at least she thought it was Persian--very much like +Eimalleb had occurred. + +"I hope she's not a nigger," Boodles sighed, as her ethnical knowledge +was slight and she had no idea what a Persian girl would be like. +"Ethiopians have black faces, I'm sure. And she's certain to be a +heathen. What fun it will be! She will wake me at some unearthly hour +and say: 'Come on, Boodles, we must hurry up to the top of Gar Tor and +worship the sun.' I hope she won't have a lot of husbands, though," she +went on with a frown. "Don't they do that? Oh no, it's the men have a +lot of wives, and they are not Persians, but Mohammedans. I am sure +Persians worship fire. Persian cats do, I know. She will kneel before +the grate and say her prayers to the coals." + +Boodles was getting excited. The prospect of a companion was bringing +smiles to her face and colour to her cheeks. One young maid would be +decidedly more congenial to her than a covey of old ones. She would give +up her own bedroom to the Persian girl, and when the cottage was nicely +crammed with unquestionable old maids they could sleep together. She was +sure her friend wouldn't mind, because she seemed so nice. + +"She must be an impulsive, warm-hearted girl," Boodles murmured. +"Telling me, a perfect stranger, about her private affairs." Then she +plunged again into the letter, which was full of astonishing sentences. +"Could you meet me on Friday morning at eleven o'clock in Tavy woods?" +she read. "There is a gate at the Tavistock side and I would meet you +close to that. You are sure to know me, as it is not likely there will +be any one else about. I shall wear grey flannel and a plain straw hat. +I understand you are not elderly. I think you will like me." + +"I shall love you," cried Boodles with much decision, laughing joyously +at the concluding sentences. "She understands I am not elderly, but I +expect she will be astonished when she sees what a very young thing I +am. Perhaps I had better make myself look older, wear a rusty black +frock trimmed with lace, and a huge flat brooch at my throat, and a +bonnet--Boodles, a little black bonnet with a lot of shaking things on +it." + +She ran indoors, singing for the first time since Weevil's death, and +sat down to answer the wonderful letter as primly as she could. "I will +be at the gate of the wood Friday morning," she wrote. Shall I say +weather permitting or God willing? she thought. No, I shall be there +anyhow. "I will come whatever happens," she went on, in defiance of gods +and thunderbolts. "I am rather a small girl with lots of golden hair, +and like you I am quite young. I feel certain I shall like you." This +note she fastened up, and addressed to Miss Y. Eimalleb, again +exclaiming: "What a name!" at the Post Office, Devonport. + +When the fit of high spirits had exhausted itself she became unhappy +again. It was unfortunate that the foreign girl with the wonderful name +should have asked her to come to that gate where she and Aubrey had +parted for ever, the gate which was just outside fairyland. All that +childish nonsense was over, and the story had finished that day they +roamed about the wood, and the gate had closed with unnecessary noise +and violence behind them; but still it would be hard for her to wait +there, not for Aubrey, but for a stranger. Her new friend would be +coming from Tavistock, she supposed, meeting her halfway, just as Aubrey +had done. It was quite natural she should do so, but Boodles wished she +had appointed any other meeting-place. It cheered her a little to think +that the Bellamies had cast aside enough of their respectability to +recommend her, as she did not know how the young foreigner could have +heard of her except through them. "She cannot be quite a lady, or they +would never have sent her to me," was the girl's natural inference. +"Perhaps they think foreigners don't count. I do hope she will have a +nice English girl's face. If she is a nigger I shall scream and run +away." + +She carried the good news to Ger Cottage, but the savages both expressed +their disapproval. Peter, who had travelled to distant lands, such as +Exeter and Plymouth, told Boodles that foreigners, by which he meant +dwellers in the next parish, were fearful folk with no regard whatever +for strangers. Peter did not know anything about Persia, but when +Boodles talked about the East he supposed she meant that mythical land +of dragons and fairies called Somerset, which was the uttermost limit of +his horizon in that direction; and he declared that the folk there were +savage and unscrupulous, and spoke a language which no intelligent +person could understand. Peter implored Boodles to have nothing to do +with such people. While Mary, who had not travelled, except in one +memorable instance from Lydford to Tavistock, said regretfully: "It +bain't a maid yew wants, my dear, but the butiful young gentleman." Mary +was much too outspoken, and was always making Boodles wretched with her +blundering attempts at happy suggestions. + +When Peter was shown the astonishing signature, and had obtained the +mastery over it letter by letter, he nearly strangled himself with his +abnormal tie, and expressed an opinion that the stranger was coming from +absolutely unheard-of places, from the paint-clad aborigines of some +land beyond Somerset, although his geography did not extend beyond that +county. + +"Her's a heathen," he cried, without any regard for the fact that he was +himself no better. "Her will worship idols." + +"Aw, my dear, don't ye ha' nought to du wi' she," begged Mary. + +"I think Persians worship the sun," said Boodles doubtfully. + +"Aw, bain't 'em dafty?" said Mary scornfully, though she too was a +sun-worshipper without being aware of it. + +"Her will be a canister tu," said Peter lugubriously. + +"What be that?" asked Mary, who did not profess to know things. + +"Her will et she, and then mebbe her will come on and et we," explained +Peter, with needless apprehension, as the most ravenous cannibal would +certainly have turned vegetarian before feasting upon him. + +Boodles was always rude enough to correct Peter's most obvious errors, +though he was so much older than herself, and she did so then, with the +usual result that he went away muttering for his dictionary. He looked +up cannon-ball, and of course discovered that he had been quite right +and she was hopelessly in the wrong. Then he looked up canister, and +found that it was a box for holding tea; and when he turned to tea he +discovered it was sometimes made of beef, and beef was meat, and meat is +what human beings are composed of; and canister was, therefore, a box +for containing meat. He had been perfectly right, and the presumption of +young maids was intolerable. + +When Boodles got back to the village she saw the people standing about +the street in groups as if they were expecting some one of importance to +pass that way. She looked about but could see nothing; the people were +almost silent; they did not laugh and spoke only in whispers. She felt +as if some calamity was impending, so she hurried indoors and kept away +from the windows, as it was rather a bright day for her and she did not +want it spoilt; but presently a rumbling sound made her look out, and +soon she was shuddering. A black closed vehicle, like a hearse, passed, +drawn by two horses; and white-faced grey-haired Annie was seated beside +the driver; and then Boodles knew what the people were standing about +for. It was to see the vehicle go through on its way down to the +workhouse infirmary. Boodles went very white, drew back, and hid her +face in her hands. She thought Annie had turned her head and seen her at +the window. + +"Those flames will haunt me all my life," she whispered. "I shall see +them jumping about my bed, and hear them roaring--but it wasn't my +fault. He must have been a brute. How awful it would have been for me if +he had died there." + +Had she known all the evil that Pendoggat had done she would have felt +less guilty and less sorry. She could only comfort herself with the +knowledge that it had been Annie rather than herself who had started +those terrible and uncontrollable flames. She would not be troubled with +either of them again, apart from memory, for the workhouse had received +them; one would remain there, crippled and blind, the other would +doubtless go on into the world, and try to earn a livelihood for a few +years before returning there again in the twilight of her days. + +That night there was moonlight but no wind, and Boodles awoke in horror, +fancying she heard for the second time that rumbling beneath her window, +and screamed when she found and felt her body enveloped in flames. She +sprang up to discover that she had been frightened by her own glowing +hair. She was so sleepy before tumbling into bed that she had neglected +to plait it, and it was all over the sheets like fire. "I shall always +get these horrors while I am alone," she cried; and then she thought +again of the wonderful letter, and the foreign girl with the amazing +name whom she was to meet at the gate of the wood on Friday morning, and +an intense longing for that strange girl came over her, and she cried +aloud to the pale and equally lonely moon: "I hope she is nice. I will +pray for her to be nice. The very first thing I shall ask her will be if +I may sleep with her." + +Friday, day of regeneration, came clothed in a white mist, and found the +girl asking herself: "Shall I try and make myself look older?" She +peeped out, saw the moor shining, and thought she would be natural, and +go out upon it young and fresh; dressed in white to suit the mist, like +a little bride; and, having decided, she was soon trying to make herself +look as sweet as possible. When she had finished, slanting the bedroom +glass to take in as much of the picture as it would, she was fairly well +satisfied, and was just beginning to sing the old song, "I'm only a +baby," when she stopped herself severely with the rebuke that she was +only a common person trying to let lodgings. + +All the spring flowers lifted up their heads and laughed at the +lodging-house keeper when she appeared among them--they were really +spring flowers that morning--and the real sun smiled, and real +singing-birds mocked the little girl in white as she tripped towards the +woods, because it appeared to them quite ridiculous that Boodles should +relinquish her claims to childhood. The book of fairy-tales had been +shut up and put away, thought she; but somehow the young spring things +about her would not admit that. + +Everything in the woods was wide awake and laughing; not crying any +more, and saying, lisping, murmuring, whispering: "Here's the +happy-ever-after little girl." It was the proper ending of the story, +the ending that the gods had written in their manuscript and the +compositor-ogres had tried to mar in their wicked way. How could any +story end unhappily on such a morning? The yellow patches in the woods +were not artificial blobs of colour but real primroses, and the blue +patches were bluebells, and the white patches were wind-flowers with +warm mist hanging to them; and Boodles was not a mere girl any longer, +but the presiding fairy of them all going out to find another fairy to +play with. It was not the best ending perhaps, but it was the second +best. So she went down to the woods and met another fairy, and they +played together happily ever after. The furze, in genial generous mood, +showered its blossoms at her feet and said: "Here is gold for you, fairy +girl." The Tavy roared on cheerily, and a little cataract said to a +conceited whirlpool too young to know how giddy it was: "Isn't that the +goddess Flora crossing by the stepping-stones?" And the flowers said: +"We are going to have a fine day." Boodles was ascending in the romantic +scale. She had started as a lodging-house keeper; then she had become +quite a young girl; from that to the fairy stage was only one step; and +then at a single bound she became the goddess of flowers; and she went +along "our walk" with sunshine for hair, and wind-flowers for eyes, and +primroses for skin; and the world seemed very sweet and fresh as if the +wonderful work of creation had only been finished that morning at nine +o'clock punctually, and Boodles was just going through to see that the +gardener had done his work properly. + +Life at eighteen is glorious and imaginative; sorrows cannot quench its +flame. One hour of real happiness makes the young soul sing again, as +one burst of sunshine purges a haunted house of all its horror. Boodles +was down by Tavy side to bathe in the flowers and wash off the past and +the beastly origin of things; the black time of winter, the awful +loneliness, the windy nights. She was going to meet a friend, a +companion, somebody who would frighten the dark hours away. The past was +to vanish, not as if it had never been, but because it really never had +been. The story was to begin all over again, as the other one had been +conceived so badly that nobody could stand it. The once upon a time +stage had come again, and the ogres had agreed not to interfere this +time. Boodles baptised herself in dew, and rose from the ceremony only a +few hours old. The child's name was Flora; no connection of the poor +little thing which had been flung out to perish because nobody wanted it +except silly old Weevil, who hated to see animals hurt. Weevil belonged +to the other story too, the rejected story, and therefore he had never +existed. Nobody had wanted Boodles, which was natural enough, as she was +merely a wretched illegitimate brat; but every one wanted Flora. The +world would be a dreary place without its flowers. Flora could laugh Mr. +Bellamie to scorn; for the sun was her father and the warm earth her +mother; and nobody would stop to look at the flowers while she was going +by with them all upon her face. + + * * * * * + +At last Boodles looked up. She had been sitting on the warm peat just +outside the gate until all Nature struck eleven; and the warmth and +fragrance of the wood had made her sleepy. Dreams are the natural +accompaniment of sleep, and she was dreaming then; for the expected +figure was close to her, the figure in grey flannel and a plain straw +hat; not elderly certainly, not much older than herself; and it was true +enough she would have liked that figure if it had only been real. + +"Go away," she murmured, rather frightened. "Please go away." + +There was something dreadfully wrong. It was a nice girl's face that she +saw, at least she had often called it so, and it was not black, and the +owner of that face was assuredly going to like her very much indeed, +although it was hardly a case of love at first sight; for the girl had +failed to keep her appointment, the foreign girl with the amazing name +was not there, the Persian girl who was to adore the sun and the coals +of Lewside Cottage was evidently a deceiver of the baser sort. She had +not come, and instead she had sent some one who could not fail to +recognise the little girl waiting at the gate of the wood, who was +calling her fond names, and actually kissing her, just as if the story +was going to end, not in the second best way, but in the most blissful +manner possible, with a dance of fairies on Tavy banks and a +wedding-march. It was Aubrey who had come to the gate of the wood. + +"I wish you wouldn't," said Boodles rather sleepily. "I am waiting here +for a girl." + +Then something appeared before her eyes which woke her up; the letter +which she had written to Devonport; and she heard a voice saying very +close to her ear, so close indeed that the lips were touching it-- + +"I wrote it, darling. I was afraid you would not come unless I deceived +you a little. But I signed it with my own name." + +"Yerbua Eimalleb--what nonsense!" she sighed. + +"It is only Aubrey Bellamie written backwards." + +"Oh, you must not. How could you? It made me so happy. I thought at last +I should have a friend, to drive the loneliness away--and now, it is all +dark again and miserable. You are sending me back to the creeping, +crawling shadows." + +"I have given up the Navy. I have given up my people, and everything, +for the one thing, the best thing, for you," Aubrey said. + +Boodles put her head down, as if the wind had snapped her slender neck, +and he kissed the hair just as he had done at different periods of her +life, when she was a very small girl and the radiance was hanging down, +and when she was rather a bigger girl and the radiance was up--and now. +It was the best kiss of all, a man's kiss, the kiss which regenerated +her and renounced all else. + +"You don't know what you are saying. I am an illegitimate child. You +must not give up anything for me." + +Boodles had forgotten that it was the beginning of a new story. His +great act of renunciation staggered her. Everything, birth, name, +prospects, respectability, for her. She could not let him, but how was +she to resist? She threw the sleep off, and said almost fiercely-- + +"You must not. The time may come when you will be sorry. I shall be a +weight upon you, dragging you down. You might become ashamed of me." + +"Darling, I have been true to you all my life. I will be true for the +rest of it." + +"I promised your parents I would not." + +"You promised me, year after year, that you would." + +Boodles tried to smile. She would have to be false to some one. + +"I have left my father's house, and I am not going back," Aubrey went +on. + +"It will be terrible for them," she murmured. + +"It would be worse for you and for me. They have known nothing but +happiness all their lives. It is their turn to have a little trouble. +They are bringing it upon themselves. I have told them I shall not go +back until they are willing to receive my wife." + +"They will never do that. Oh, Aubrey, you must not marry me. I shall +spoil your life." + +"If I lost you it would be spoilt. I am being selfish after all," he +said. "And if you were left alone what would you do?" + +Boodles said nothing, but the Tavy went roaring by, answering the +question for her. + +"I am going to take you away, darling." He was holding her tightly, and +she did not resist much, perhaps because she felt she ought to give up a +little to him as he was giving up so much for her. "We will be married +at once, and live in a tiny home. I have got it already, at Carbis Bay, +looking over St. Ives at the sea, a lovely place where the sun shines. +We will have our own boat and go fishing--" + +"And drown ourselves sometimes," added happy Boodles. + +"Not till we quarrel, and that will be never." + +"Look, Aubrey!" she cried, lifting herself, pointing between the bars of +the gate into the wood. "There is our walk in a blue mist." + +The atmosphere of the wood was the colour of bluebells, which stretched +in a magic carpet as far as they could see. + +"Let us go in," he said. + +"Not yet. Not unless I--Oh, Aubrey, if we go in it will be all over. Do +I deserve it? Those winter evenings, the loneliness, the winds," she +murmured. + +"It is all over," he said firmly, with a man's seriousness. "We have to +start life now, for I have nobody but you--my little sweetheart, my wife +of the radiant head, and the golden skin--" + +"And the freckles," she said, looking down, without a smile. + +"They have faded. You are so thin, sweet. You have been indoors too +much, out of the sun." + +"There wasn't any sun; not until to-day," she whispered. + +"You see, darling, we are alone together." + +"It is what we wanted always, to be alone. Oh, my boy, I must--I must +spoil your life, because I have got you in my heart and you won't go +out. You never would leave me alone," she said, looking up with the +childlike expression which had come back to her. + +Aubrey swung the gate open and she went to him. They kissed as they went +through, and the gate slammed behind with a pleasant sound. They were +inside, surrounded by the blue mist. It seemed to them very warm in +there. They went on hand in hand, not speaking just then, not laughing +as in the old days; for their eyes were opened, and they understood that +life is not a fairy-tale, but a winding path between rocks and cruel +furze; and only here and there occurs the Garden of Happiness; only here +and there in the whole long path; but the gardens are there, and every +one may walk in them if they can only find the way in. + +"I think you are such a nice boy, Aubrey," said a small voice in sweet +school-girl tones. The little girl was feeling ridiculously young and +shy again. It seemed absurd to think that she was going to be a bride so +soon. + +They were walking upon the magic carpet of bluebells. The work of +regeneration was finished at last; and the world was only a few hours +old. + + +THE END + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Furze the Cruel, by John Trevena + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FURZE THE CRUEL *** + +***** This file should be named 34543.txt or 34543.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/5/4/34543/ + +Produced by Christine Bell and Marc D'Hooghe +http://www.freeliterature.org + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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