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diff --git a/75281-h/75281-h.htm b/75281-h/75281-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9c7ccfd --- /dev/null +++ b/75281-h/75281-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,12308 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + Dorset dear | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2 { + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} +@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.tdr {text-align: right;} + +.pagenum { + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + text-indent: 0; +} + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 17.5%; + margin-right: 17.5%; +} + +.x-ebookmaker .blockquot { + margin-left: 7.5%; + margin-right: 7.5%; +} + +.bbox {border: 2px solid; padding: 1em;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.allsmcap {font-variant: small-caps; text-transform: lowercase;} + +.ph1 {text-align: center; font-size: large; font-weight: bold;} +.ph2 {text-align: center; font-size: xx-large; font-weight: bold;} + +div.titlepage {text-align: center; page-break-before: always; page-break-after: always;} +div.titlepage p {text-align: center; font-weight: bold; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 2em;} + +.xxlarge {font-size: 200%;} +.large {font-size: 125%;} + +.x-ebookmaker .hide {display: none; visibility: hidden;} + + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + +.antiqua { + font-family: Blackletter, Fraktur, Textur, "Old English Text MT", "Olde English Mt", "Olde English", + "Old English", "Engravers Old English BT", "Collins Old English", "New Old English", Gothic, serif, sans-serif;} + +.poetry-container {display: flex; justify-content: center;} +.poetry-container {text-align: center;} +.poetry {text-align: left; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} +.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} +.poetry .verse {text-indent: -2.5em; padding-left: 3em;} +.poetry .verseright { text-align: right;} +.poetry .first {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3.2em;} + +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:smaller; + margin-left: 17.5%; + margin-right: 17.5%; + padding: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; } + + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75281 ***</div> + +<div class="figcenter hide"><img src="images/coversmall.jpg" width="450" alt=""></div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h1>DORSET DEAR</h1> +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="bbox"> +<p class="ph1"><i>BY THE SAME AUTHOR</i></p> + +<p>IN A NORTH COUNTRY VILLAGE<br> +THE STORY OF DAN<br> +A DAUGHTER OF THE SOIL<br> +MAIME O’ THE CORNER<br> +FRIEZE AND FUSTIAN<br> +AMONG THE UNTRODDEN WAYS<br> +MISS ERIN<br> +THE DUENNA OF A GENIUS<br> +YEOMAN FLEETWOOD<br> +PASTORALS OF DORSET<br> +FIANDER’S WIDOW<br> +NORTH, SOUTH, AND OVER THE SEA<br> +THE MANOR FARM<br> +CHRISTIAN THAL<br> +LYCHGATE HALL</p> +</div></div></div></div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/titlepage.jpg" alt="title page"></div> +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="titlepage"> +<p class="ph2">DORSET DEAR</p> + +<p><span class="xxlarge"><i>IDYLLS OF COUNTRY LIFE</i></span></p> + +<p>BY<br> +<span class="large">M. E. FRANCIS</span><br> +(<span class="smcap">Mrs.</span> FRANCIS BLUNDELL)</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="stanza"> +<div class="verse">“Vor Do’set dear,</div> +<div class="verse">Then gi’e woone cheer,</div> +<div class="verse">D’ye hear? woone cheer!”</div> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<div class="verseright">—<span class="smcap">William Barnes</span></div> +</div></div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/titlepageillo.jpg" alt="publisher's logo"></div> + +<p><span class="large">LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.</span><br> +91 <span class="allsmcap">AND</span> 93 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK<br> +LONDON AND BOMBAY<br> +1905</p> +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><i>These stories originally appeared in</i> Country Life, The Graphic, +Longman’s Magazine <i>and</i> The Illustrated London News. <i>The +Author’s thanks are due to the Editors of these periodicals for their +kind permission to reproduce them.</i></p> +</div></div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="center"><span class="antiqua">To the Memory</span><br> +<small>OF</small><br> +<span class="large">LADY SMITH-MARRIOTT,</span><br> +<small>KIND NEIGHBOUR AND TRUE FRIEND.</small></p> +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS.</h2> +</div> + +<table> + +<tr><td class="tdr" colspan="2"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Witch Ann</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_1"> 1</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">A Runaway Couple</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_28"> 28</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Postman Chris</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_43"> 43</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Keeper Guppy</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_60"> 60</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Worm that Turned</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_89"> 89</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Olf and the Little Maid</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_109"> 109</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">In the Heart of the Green</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_127"> 127</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Wold Stockin’</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_149"> 149</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">A Woodland Idyll</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_168"> 168</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Carrier’s Tale</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_192"> 192</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Mrs. Sibley and the Sexton</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_207"> 207</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Call of the Woods</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_222"> 222</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Home-coming of Dada</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_246"> 246</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Majesty of the Law</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_256"> 256</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Spur of the Moment</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_279"> 279</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>“<span class="smcap">A Terr’ble Voolish Little Maid</span>”   </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_296"> 296</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Sweetbriar Lane</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_317"> 317</a></td></tr> +</table> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[1]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">WITCH ANN.</h2> +</div> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Ann Kerley</span> had lived in great peace and contentment +for more than seventy-three years. Her neighbours considered +her a good plain ’ooman, who always had a kind +word for every one, and was so ready to do a good turn +for another body as heart could wish. But, lo and behold! +one fine morning old Ann Kerley awoke to find herself a +witch.</p> + +<p>The previous day had been sultry and wild, with spells +of fierce sunshine that smote down upon honest people’s +heads as they toiled in cornfield or potato-plot, bringing +out great drops of sweat on sunburnt faces, and forcing +more than one labourer to supplement the shade and +comfort of his broad chip hat by a cool moist cabbage +leaf. Withal furious gusts of wind rose every now and +then—storm-wind, old Jan Belbin said, and he was considered +wonderful weather-wise—wind that set the men’s +shirt-sleeves flapping for all the world like the sleeves of a +racing jockey, and blew the women’s aprons into the air, +and twisted the maids’ hats round upon their heads if they +so much as crossed the road to the well. Yet this wind +would drop as suddenly as it had sprung up; the land +would lie all bathed in fiery heat, and a curious sense of +uneasiness and expectancy would seem to pervade the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[2]</span> +whole of Nature. The very beasts were disquieted in +their pasture; the corn stood up straight and stiff, each +ear, as it were, on the alert; not a leaf stirred in hedgerow +or tree-top; and then “all to once,” as Jan Belbin +pointed out, the storm-wind sprang up again, tossing the +golden waste of wheat hither and thither like a troubled +sea, and making every individual branch and twig creak +and groan.</p> + +<p>Twilight was at last closing in with brooding stillness, +and a group of lads, who had been working for an hour +or two in the allotments, gathered idly round the gate, +gossiping, and some of them smoking, before proceeding +homewards. It was too dark, as Joe Pilcher declared, to +see the difference between a ’tater and a turnip, and ’twas +about time they were steppin’ anyways. He was in the +act of relating some interesting anecdote with regard to +last Saturday’s practice in the Cricket field, when he broke +off, and pointed up the stony path which led past the +allotments.</p> + +<p>“Hullo! Whatever’s that?” he cried.</p> + +<p>The bent outline of a small figure could be seen creeping +along the irregular line of hedge. It was apparently hump-backed, +and wore a kind of hood projecting over its face.</p> + +<p>“’Tis a wold hag, seemin’ly,” said Jim Ford, craning +forward over the top rail.</p> + +<p>“There!” cried Joe, “I took it for a sprite, but I don’t +know as I shouldn’t be just so much afeared of a witch +any day. It be a witch, sure.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t be a sammy,” interposed an older man. “’Tis +nothin’ but some poor wold body what has been gatherin’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[3]</span> +scroff. They’ve felled a tree up-along in wood, an’ she’ve +a-been a-pickin’ up all as she can lay hands on for her fire. +There, ’tis wold Ann Kerley. I can see her now. She’ve +a-got a big nitch o’ sticks upon her back, an’ she do croopy +down under the weight on’t, an’ she’ve a-tied her handkercher +over her bonnet, poor body, to keep it fro’ blowin’ +away. There’s your hag for you, Joe!”</p> + +<p>“I be afeared, I say,” insisted Joe, feigning to tremble +violently. He considered himself a wag, and had quite a +following of the village good-for-noughts. “’Tis a witch, +sartin sure ’tis a witch. Don’t ye go for to overlook I, +Ann Kerley, for I tell ’ee I won’t a-bear it!”</p> + +<p>As the unconscious Ann drew nearer he squatted down +behind the gate-post, loudly announcing that he was that +frayed he was fair bibbering. Two or three of the others +made believe to hide themselves too, pretending to shiver +in imitation of their leader; and peering out like him between +the bars of the gate.</p> + +<p>Such unusual proceedings could not fail to attract the +old woman’s attention, and she paused in astonishment +when she reached the spot.</p> + +<p>“Why, whatever be to do here?” she inquired.</p> + +<p>Joe uttered a kind of howl, and burrowed into the hedge.</p> + +<p>“She be overlookin’ of we,” he shouted. “The witch +be overlookin’ of we.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t ye take no notice, my dear woman,” said Abel +Bond, the man who had before spoken. “They be but a +lot o’ silly bwoys a-talkin’ nonsense.”</p> + +<p>“Witch!” cried Joe.</p> + +<p>“Witch! witch!” echoed the rest.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[4]</span>Ann looked from one to the other of the grinning faces +that kept popping up over the rail, and disappearing again.</p> + +<p>“Whatever be they a-talkin’ on?” she gasped.</p> + +<p>“You be a witch, Ann,” cried Joe. “If you was served +right you’d be ducked in the pond. E-es, that you would.”</p> + +<p>A small boy, fired with a desire to distinguish himself, +picked up a clod of earth, and flung it at her with so true +an aim that it grazed her cheek.</p> + +<p>“Take that, witch!” he cried.</p> + +<p>Joe, not to be outdone, threw another; pellets of earth +and even small pebbles began to assail the old woman +from the whole line.</p> + +<p>Abel Bond promptly came to the rescue, knocking the +ringleaders’ heads together, and impartially distributing +kicks and cuffs among the remainder.</p> + +<p>“Bad luck to the witch!” cried the irrepressible Joe, +wriggling himself free; and the shout was taken up by the +rest, even as they dodged the avenger.</p> + +<p>“Bad luck, yourself,” retorted poor Ann, trembling with +wrath and alarm. “I’m sure nar’n o’ ye do deserve such +very good luck arter insultin’ a poor wold ’ooman what +never did ye no harm.”</p> + +<p>And she went on her way, grumbling and indignant.</p> + +<p>But when she had reached her own little house in the +“dip,” and had walked up the flagged path between the +phlox bushes and the lavender, and pussy had come rubbing +against her legs in greeting, her anger cooled; and by +the time her kettle had begun to sing over a bright wood +fire, and she had laid out her modest repast of bread and +watercress, she fairly laughed to herself.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[5]</span>“Lard! they bwoys be simple!” she said. “They did +call I a witch, along o’ my havin’ tied my handkercher over +my head. Abel did give it to ’em, but I reckon he didn’t +hurt ’em much. Bwoys! there, they do seem so hard as +stoones very near. ‘Witch!’ says they. Well, that’s a +notion.”</p> + +<p>She chuckled again, and set down a saucer of milk for +the cat to lap.</p> + +<p>“They’ll be callin’ you a witch next, puss,” said she +laughing.</p> + +<p>Ann carried her bucket to the well as usual next morning, +feeling rather more cheerful than was her custom. +Rain had fallen shortly after daybreak, but the sky was +now clear and limpid, and the air cool. On her way to +the well her attention was caught by a loud clucking in her +neighbour’s garden, and looking across the dividing hedge +she descried a hen violently agitating herself inside a coop, +while a brood of yellow downy ducklings some few hours +old paddled in and out of a pool beside the path.</p> + +<p>“Well, of all the beauties!” cried Ann, clapping her +hands together until the bucket rattled on her arm; “why, +Mrs. Clarke, my dear, you must have hatched out every +one—’tis a wonderful bit o’ luck.”</p> + +<p>“E-es, indeed,” agreed Mrs. Clarke, “hatchin’ out so late +an’ all. I hope I may do well wi’ ’em.”</p> + +<p>“I hope so, that do I,” agreed Ann heartily, and hobbled +on towards the well.</p> + +<p>One or two women were there, who responded to +her greeting with a coldness which she did not at once +realise.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[6]</span>“Fine rain this marnin’,” she remarked cheerfully, as +her bucket went clattering down the well; “we’ve had a +good drop to-year, haven’t we? Farmers may grumble, +but, as I do say, ’tis good for the well. We’ll be like to +draw a bit less chalk nor we do in the dry seasons. There +be all sarts in our well, bain’t there? Water an’ chalk, +an’ a good few snails. There, when I do hear folks +a-talkin’ about the Government doin’ this an doin’ that, +I do say to myself, I wish Government ’ud see to our +well.”</p> + +<p>Usually such a sally would have been applauded, but, to +poor old Ann’s astonishment and chagrin, her remark was +received on this occasion in solemn silence. To hide her +discomfiture she peered into the moss-grown depths of the +well.</p> + +<p>“Don’t ye go a-lookin’ into it like that, Ann,” cried a +vinegary-faced matron in an aggressive tone. “Chalky +water, e-es, an’ water wi’ snails in’t is better than no water +at all. ’Tis sure—’tis by a long ways.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, ’tis!” agreed the others, eyeing Ann suspiciously.</p> + +<p>She straightened herself and looked round in surprise.</p> + +<p>“I never said it wasn’t,” she faltered. “Why do ye look +at me so nasty, Mrs. Biles?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, ye don’t know, I s’pose?” retorted Mrs. Biles +sourly. “How be your ’taters, Ann Kerley, this marnin’?”</p> + +<p>“Doin’ finely, thanks be,” said poor Ann, brightening +up, as she considered the conversation was taking a more +agreeable turn.</p> + +<p>“Not blighted, I s’pose?” put in a little fat woman who +had hitherto been silent.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[7]</span>“Not a sign o’ blight about ’em,” said Mrs. Kerley joyfully. +“There, I did just chance to look at ’em when I +did first get up, an’ they’re beautiful.”</p> + +<p>“That’s strange,” remarked Mrs. Biles, with a meaning +sniff. “Every single ’tater at the ’lotments be blighted, +they do tell I. Mrs. Pilcher did say when her husband +went up there this marnin’ he could smell ’em near a +quarter of a mile away.”</p> + +<p>“Dear, to be sure!” groaned Ann, sympathetically, being +quite willing to condone any little asperities of temper on +the part of folks suffering from such a calamity. “’Tis a +terr’ble pity, Mrs. Biles. There, ’tis along o’ the ’lotments +layin’ out so open like, I d’ ’low. Now my bit o’ garden +be sheltered.”</p> + +<p>The little fat woman, usually a meek sort of body, +snorted fiercely.</p> + +<p>“’Tisn’t very likely as your garden ’ud suffer, Mrs. +Kerley,” she cried, in a voice that trembled with wrath. +“Your garden is safe enough—an’ so was the ’lotments +till yesterday.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I be pure sorry, I’m sure,” said Ann, looking +from one to the other in bewilderment. “’Tis just as luck +would have it, I s’pose.”</p> + +<p>“Luck, indeed!” cried Mrs. Biles meaningly. “There’s +them as went by yesterday as wished bad luck, an’ bad +luck did come.”</p> + +<p>Ann fairly gasped. Mrs. Biles threw out her hand +warningly.</p> + +<p>“Take your eyes off I, Mrs. Kerley. Take ’em off, I +say! I bain’t a-goin’ to have ’ee overlookin’ of I, same as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[8]</span> +you did do to poor Joe Pilcher—’tis well if the poor bwoy +don’t die of it.”</p> + +<p>Ann obediently dropped her eyes, a nightmare-like +sensation of oppression overwhelming her.</p> + +<p>“I d’ ’low ye won’t deny ye did overlook Joe Pilcher,” +went on Mrs. Biles; “there, ye did no sooner turn your +back yesterday, nor the lad was took wi’ sich a bad pain +in his innards that he went all doubly up same as a wold +man.”</p> + +<p>“Well, that’s none o’ my fault,” expostulated Ann +warmly, for even a worm will turn. “He’ve a-been eatin’ +summat as disagreed wi’ he.”</p> + +<p>“Nothin’ o’ the kind!” cried the women in chorus.</p> + +<p>“It comed so sharp as a knife,” added one, “all twisty +turny.”</p> + +<p>“The poor bwoy did lie upon the floor all night,” put +in another, “a-pankin’ and a-groanin’ so pitiful. ‘Ann +Kerley has bewitched I,’ says he. E-es, the bwoy come +out wi’ the truth. ‘’Tis Mother Kerley what has overlooked +I,’ says he.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” returned Ann vehemently, “I never did nothin’ +at all to the bwoy. ’Tis nonsense what you do talk, all on +you. He’ve a-been eatin’ green apples—that’s what the +matter wi’ he.”</p> + +<p>“Green apples!” exclaimed Mrs. Biles, with shrill sarcasm. +“Dear, to be sure, if a bwoy was to be upset every +time he ate a green apple, there wouldn’t be a sound child +in village. He hadn’t had above five or six, his mother +did say herself, an’ he can put away as many as fourteen +wi’out feelin’ the worse for it. Ye must agree ’tis very<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span> +strange, Ann—there, ye did say out plain for all to hear: +‘Bad luck, yourself,’ says you to the innercent bwoy. ‘Ye +won’t be like to have such very good luck, nar’n o’ you,’ +says you, an’, sure enough, there be the ’taters blighted, +an’ there be the poor bwoy upset in’s inside.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t really mean it, neighbours,” faltered Ann, +looking piteously round. “I was a bit vexed at the time, +an’ when the lads did start a-floutin’ me wi’ stones an’ that, +and a-callin’ ill names and a-wishin’ me bad luck, I just +says back to ’em, quick like, ‘Bad luck, yourself!’ an’ +’twasn’t very like they’d have good luck; but I didn’t +mean it in my heart—not me, indeed. The Lard sees I +hadn’t no thought o’ really wishin’ evil to nobody—that +I hadn’t, neighbours. You don’t believe I did have, do +’ee now, Mrs. Whittle?”—turning in despair to the little +woman on her right—“you, what has knowed I sich a many +year—you did ought to know I wouldn’t wish no harm to +nobody.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Whittle looked sheepish and uncomfortable. Despite +the sinister aspect of things, her heart melted at her +old crony’s appeal.</p> + +<p>“Why, I scarce can believe it,” she was beginning, when +Mrs. Biles struck in:—</p> + +<p>“Deny it if you can, Ann Kerley. There’s the ’taters +blighted, an’ there’s the bwoy took bad, an’ it’s you what +wished ’em ill-luck. What can ye make o’ that, Mrs. +Whittle? Ye’ll ’low ’tis strange.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Whittle shook her head dubiously, and Ann, deprived, +as she thought, of her only ally, threw her apron +over her head, and wept behind it.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span>“Don’t ’ee take on, Mrs. Kerley, that’s a dear,” said +Mrs. Whittle, softening once more. “’Twas maybe a +chance thing. You did say them words wi’out thinkin’ +an’ they did come true to be a warnin’ to ’ee. We do all +do wrong sometimes; this ’ere did ought to be a warnin’ +to all on us.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sure ’twill be a lesson to I,” sobbed Ann inarticulately. +“So long as I do live I’ll never say such things +again. ’Twas very ill-done o’ me to ha’ spoke wi’out +thought, sich a wold ’ooman as I be, an’ so near my end +an’ all, an’ the Lard has chastised I. I can’t do more nor +say I’m sorry, an’ I hope the A’mighty ’ull forgive me.”</p> + +<p>“There, the ’ooman can’t say no fairer nor that,” said +Mrs. Whittle, looking round appealingly; “she can’t do +more nor repent.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, if she do repent it’ll be well enough,” said Mrs. +Biles darkly. “’Tis to be hoped as she do repent. But +by all accounts ’tis easier for to begin that kind o’ work +nor to leave it off again.”</p> + +<p>She turned on her heel with this parting innuendo, and, +taking up her full bucket, walked away. The others +followed suit, and Ann, left alone, sobbed on for a moment +or two with a feeling akin to despair, and then, drawing +down her apron, wiped her eyes with it sadly, wound up +her pail from the depths where it had lain forgotten, and +made her way homewards.</p> + +<p>For days afterwards she was ashamed to show her face, +and rose at extraordinarily early hours in order to procure +her supply of water, and crept out of her own quarters at +dusk to make her necessary purchases.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span>One morning, about a week after the affair at the allotments, +when Ann sallied forth as usual for water, she +paused incidentally to look over her neighbour’s gate. +The hen-coop was still in view, the hen cackling, and the +ducklings waddling up and down the path. But how few +of them there were! Only three! What could have become +of the others? Possibly they were squatting at the +back of the coop. She was craning her head round in +order to ascertain if this were the case, when a window in +Mrs. Clarke’s house was thrown open, and that lady’s +voice was heard in angry tones:—</p> + +<p>“I’ve catched you at it, have I? I’ve catched you at +it! Well, you did ought to be ashamed of yourself, Ann +Kerley. To try an’ do me a mischief—me, as has been +sich a good neighbour to ’ee.”</p> + +<p>“Why, what’s the matter?” returned Ann, backing away +from the gate, and raising dim, distracted eyes.</p> + +<p>“I’ve catched you in the very act,” continued Mrs. +Clarke vehemently. “Says I to myself when the ducklin’s +kep’ a-droppin’ off like that, ‘I wonder if it can be +Ann?’ says I, an’ then I thinks, ‘No, it never can be +Ann; her an’ me was always friends,’ I says. Ah, you +ungrateful, spiteful creetur’!”</p> + +<p>An arm, clad in checked flannelette, was here thrust forth, +and the fist appertaining thereto emphatically shaken.</p> + +<p>“I’m sure,” protested the unfortunate Ann, staggering +back against her own little gate, “I don’t know whatever +you can mean by such talk, Mrs. Clarke; I never touched +your ducks. I be a honest ’ooman, an’ I wouldn’t take +nothin’ what didn’t belong to I.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span>“I don’t say you stole ’em,” retorted Mrs. Clarke, “but +I say you overlooked ’em, an’ that’s worse; a body ’ud +know what to be at if ’twas only a thief as was makin’ +away wi’ ’em, but when ’tis a witch—Lard, whatever is to +be done? I couldn’t ha’ thought ye’d ha’ found it in your +heart to go striking down they poor little innercent things. +What harm did they do ye? Sich beauties as they was. +But there, ye must go gettin’ up in the very dummet that +ye mid overlook the poor little creetur’s, so that, one after +another, they do just croopy down an’ die.”</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Clarke,” said Anne, solemnly and desperately, +“I can’t tell how sich a thing did come about—I can’t +indeed. ’Tis no fault o’ mine, I do assure ye. I wouldn’t +ha’ had they poor little duck die for anything. I never +wished ’em ill. I was admirin’ of ’em. I never had no +other thought.”</p> + +<p>“Well, see here,” returned Mrs. Clarke, somewhat +mollified. “Don’t ye look at ’em at all, that’s a good +’ooman. Maybe ’tis no fault o’ yourn, but ’tis very +strange, Mrs. Kerley, what do seem to have come to you +to-year. You do seem to bring bad luck, though you +midn’t do it a-purpose.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sure I don’t,” protested Ann, “an’ I can’t believe, +Mrs. Clarke, as a body can do bad wi’out knowin’ it.”</p> + +<p>“Well, ’tis queer, I d’ ’low,” agreed her neighbour, “but +when a body sees sich things for theirsel’s as do happen +along o’ you, they can’t but believe their own eyes. Ye +mind that there bar-hive what Mr. Bridle got last +month?”</p> + +<p>“E-es,” returned Ann feebly, “I mind it well. I never<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span> +see sich a handsome contrivance nor so clever. Mr. Bridle +showed it to I.”</p> + +<p>“E-es, I d’ ’low he did,” agreed the other, with a +certain triumph. “I d’ ’low ye was a-lookin’ at it a long +time.”</p> + +<p>“I was,” confessed Ann, with a sinking heart.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Clarke nodded portentously. “That’s it,” she said. +“The bees be all dead, Mrs. Kerley. Bridle, he did say +to I yesterday, ‘I couldn’t think,’ says he, ‘whatever took +the bees. I had but just moved them out of the wold +skip and they did seem to take to the bar-hive so nice,’ +he says, ‘an’ now they be all a-dyin’ off so quick as they +can. I couldn’t think,’ he says, ‘what could be the reason, +but I do know now. I do know it was a great mistake to +ha’ brought Ann Kerley up to look at ’em.’”</p> + +<p>“Oh dear, oh dear,” cried the last-named poor old +woman, wringing her hands, “do he really think I did +hurt ’em?”</p> + +<p>“He do, indeed,” said Mrs. Clarke firmly. “There, my +dear, it do seem a terr’ble thing, but you be turned into a +witch seemin’ly, whether it be against your will or whether +it bain’t.”</p> + +<p>Ann stood motionless for a moment, her hands squeezed +tightly together, her face haggard and drawn.</p> + +<p>“I think I’ll go indoor a bit,” she said, after a pause. +“I’ll go indoor an’ set me down. I don’t know what to +do. Mrs. Clarke——?”</p> + +<p>“E-es, my dear. There, you needn’t look up at I so +earnest—I can hear ’ee quite well wi’out that.”</p> + +<p>Ann turned away with an impatient groan, and went<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span> +staggering up her path. The other looked after her +remorsefully.</p> + +<p>“Bide a bit, Mrs. Kerley, do ’ee now. What was ye +goin’ to ax I?”</p> + +<p>“I was but goin’ to ax,” faltered Ann, still with her +face averted, “if you’d be so kind as to fetch I a drop +o’ water this marnin’ when you do go to get some for +yoursel’. There, I don’t some way feel as if I could face +folks—an’ there mid be some about. ’Tis gettin’ a bit +late now.”</p> + +<p>“E-es, sure; I could do it easy,” agreed Mrs. Clarke +eagerly. “I could do it every marnin’—’tisn’t a bit more +trouble to fill two pails nor one. An’ ’t ’ud be better for +ee, Ann, my dear, not to go about more nor you can help +till this ’ere visitation wears of.”</p> + +<p>“’T ’ull never wear off,” said Ann gloomily, as she +walked unsteadily away.</p> + +<p>Now, as Mrs. Clarke subsequently remarked, those +words of Ann’s made her fair bibber, same as if a bucket +of cold water were thrown down her back. She was full +of compassion for her neighbour, and, though she was +willing to believe that the strange, unpleasant power of +which she had suddenly become possessed was unwelcome +to her and unconsciously used, she was nevertheless forced +to agree with Mrs. Biles that that didn’t make the thing +no better, and that the more Ann Kerley kept herself to +herself the safer it would be for all parties.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, the anguish of mind endured by the unwilling +sorceress defies description. Day by day her deplorable +plight became more evident to her. Now an<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span> +indignant farmer’s wife would come to complain that +butter had not come, and on poor Ann’s protesting that +she had never so much as set foot near the dairy, would +retort that she had been seen gathering sticks at nightfall +in the pasture, and had doubtless bewitched the cows. +Now a village mother would hastily snatch up a child +when it toddled towards the witch’s house; even the +baker tossed the weekly loaf over the gate in fear, and +left his bill at Mrs. Clarke’s, saying he would call for the +money there. That lady informed her of the fact through +the closed door as she dumped her morning bucket of +water on the path without, adding that if she would like +to leave the money in the bucket when she put it ready +overnight, it would save trouble to every one.</p> + +<p>Ann Kerley understood: even her old crony was now +afraid to meet her face to face.</p> + +<p>As she realised this she fell to crying feebly and hopelessly, +as she had done so often of late, and Pussy came +and jumped upon her knee, rubbing herself against her, +and gazing at her with golden inscrutable eyes. The +warm contact of a living creature, even a cat, was comforting, +and the old woman hugged her favourite closely; +but presently, struck by a sudden thought, she pushed it +away, and turned aside her head.</p> + +<p>“There! get down, love! do—get away with ’ee, else +I’ll maybe be doin’ thee a mischief. Oh dear, Puss, whatever +should I do if anything happened to thee?”</p> + +<p>The idea positively appalled her, and from that moment +she was careful to avert her face when she set the cat’s +food before her.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span>Perhaps the greatest trial of all was the Sunday church-going.</p> + +<p>“I d’ ’low the Lard won’t let I do nobody no harm in +His House,” she had said to herself at first, almost hopefully; +and she had donned her decent Sunday clothes +eagerly, not to say joyfully. She was by nature sociable, +and had suffered as severely from the inability to +indulge in an occasional chat, a little harmless gossip, +with this one and that one, as from a sense of being +under a ban.</p> + +<p>So she had set forth cheerily, volunteering “A fine +marnin’, neighbours,” to the first group she had passed +upon the road. But dear, to be sure! how the folks had +jumped and squeezed themselves against the wall to let +her go by! She had not had the heart to greet the next +couple, staid elderly folk, who were pacing along in front +of her, full of Sabbath righteousness; but presently the +man had looked round, and had then nudged his wife, +and she had gathered up her skirts and scuttled on without +so much as a glance over her shoulder. Poor Ann +had fallen back and turned aside into a by-path until all +the congregation had streamed in, and then had crept up +the steps alone, and made her way to her place blindly, +for her eyes were full once more of piteous tears.</p> + +<p>But even there humiliation awaited her, for she found +herself alone in her pew, none of its accustomed occupants +being willing to worship in such dangerous proximity.</p> + +<p>“I must be a terr’ble wicked ’ooman, sure,” groaned +Ann to herself, and raised her poor smarting eyes to the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span> +east window, whence the figure of the Good Shepherd +looked back at her, full of compassion and benignity.</p> + +<p>But Ann quickly dropped her eyes again. Was He +not carrying a lamb upon His shoulder? It seemed to +her that even the painted innocent would droop and +falter beneath her gaze.</p> + +<p>And so thenceforth she started for church long after +the other members of the congregation, and instead of +seeking her own place, stole humbly to a dark corner, +where, hidden away behind a pillar, she worshipped in +sorrow of heart.</p> + +<p>Such a state of things could not have continued if the +old rector had been at home, but he was away holiday-making +in Switzerland, and the <i>locum tenens</i>, a young +curate from the neighbouring town, could not be expected +to notice a matter of the kind.</p> + +<p>One Sunday afternoon it chanced that Farmer Joyce, +who lived up Riverton way, drove over to Little Branston, +and was good enough to give a lift to his neighbour, +Martha Hansford, Ann’s married daughter, who was +feeling, as she confessed, a bit anxious at not hearing +from her mother.</p> + +<p>“There, she haven’t a-wrote since I can’t say when,” +she explained to the farmer, as the trap went spinning +along the road; “she don’t write herself, mother don’t, +but she do generally get somebody to drop me a line for +her, and I haven’t heard a word to-month; no, nor last +month either.”</p> + +<p>“Rheumatics perhaps,” suggested the farmer.</p> + +<p>“I’m sure I hope not, Mr. Joyce. My mother have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span> +never had sich a thing in her life, an’ ’tis to be hoped she +bain’t a-goin’ to begin now.”</p> + +<p>“The wold lady’s busy, very like,” hazarded Mr. Joyce, +after ruminating a while. “The time do slip away so +quick, an’ one day do seem so like another, folks can’t +always be expected to put their minds to letter-writin’.”</p> + +<p>“Lard love ’ee, sir,” returned Martha, startled into +familiarity, “farmer folks mid be busy enough, an’ lab’rin’ +folks too—I can scarce find the day long enough to put in +all as I’ve a-got to do—but mother! what can a poor wold +body like mother have to work at, wi’out it’s a bit o’ knittin’, +or some such thing. No, it’s summat else, an’ I’m +sure I can’t think what it can be.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Joyce was not imaginative enough to assist her by +any further hypothesis; therefore, he merely touched up +the horse and remarked reassuringly that they would soon +be there. And for the rest of the drive Martha devoted +herself to the somewhat difficult task of keeping her three-year-old +boy, Ally, from wriggling out of her arms.</p> + +<p>Dropped at the bottom of the “dip” wherein was +situated Mrs. Kerley’s cottage, Martha hastened towards +it, Ally trotting gleefully beside her. Instead of finding +the cottage door open—as might have been expected this +sunny October afternoon—and catching a glimpse of her +mother’s quiet figure in its elbow-chair, she found the +house shut up, and apparently no sign of life about the +place. The very garden had a neglected look, or so it +seemed to her; and the little window, usually gay with +flowers, was blank and desolate, the check curtain within +being drawn across it.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span>“Mother!” cried Martha, in a tone of such anguish +that Ally immediately set up a corresponding wail. “Oh +mother, whatever is to do? Be you dead? Oh, mother! +be you dead?”</p> + +<p>To her intense relief she heard the sound of a chair +being pushed back over the flagged floor within, and her +mother’s well-known step slowly cross the little kitchen.</p> + +<p>“Martha! be it you, my dear?” But she did not open +the door, and when Martha eagerly tried the latch she +found that it did not yield.</p> + +<p>“Mother, mother,” she cried in an agony of fear, “oh, +mother, what is it? Why don’t ye let I in?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t, my dear,” came the tremulous voice from within. +“No, don’t ax it of I. I dursen’t, Martha! There, I mid +do ’ee a mischief.”</p> + +<p>“Mother, what be talkin’ on?” Martha was beginning +incredulously, when her small son, impatient of the delay, +fairly drowned her voice with shrill clamour for admittance, +and vigorous kicking of his little hobnailed boots at the +panels of the door. Martha snatched him up and impatiently +clapped her hand over the protesting mouth. +In the momentary pause that ensued she heard her mother +weeping.</p> + +<p>“Be that Ally? Oh, my blessed lamb! Oh, dear +heart! Oh, oh!” Then in a louder key came the +words broken by sobs: “Take en away, Martha, do—take +en away, lovey! Somethin’ bad might happen +else!”</p> + +<p>Here Ally, wrenching himself free, burst into a roar of +indignation, and his mother, popping him down on the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span> +ground, threw herself upon the door, and, exerting all +her strength, succeeded in bursting it open.</p> + +<p>With a wail Ann shrank away from her into the farthest +corner of the room, hiding her face against the wall.</p> + +<p>“Don’t ye come a-nigh me, Martha, don’t ye—don’t ye! +And take the blessed child away! Take him away this +minute!”</p> + +<p>“I’ll do nothin’ o’ the kind,” returned Martha vehemently. +“Be you gone crazy, mother? Whatever is the +matter?”</p> + +<p>“Nay, my dear, I bain’t gone crazy—it be worse, a +deal worse. I can’t tell however it did come about, Martha, +but, there, I be turned into a witch! I be evil-eyed, they +d’ say! There, ye’d never believe the terr’ble things +what have a-come about along o’ me jist lookin’.”</p> + +<p>Martha dropped down in a chair and burst out laughing. +She was a hale, hearty young woman, who had had a bit +of schooling, and took a sane and cheerful view of life.</p> + +<p>“God bless us, mother!” she cried, wiping her eyes at +last and springing up, “what put such a notion as that in +your head? You a witch! You hurtin’ things wi’ lookin’ +at ’em! I never did hear such nonsense-talk in my life!”</p> + +<p>“But it be true, Martha—it be true!” returned Ann, +still hiding her face in her trembling hands. “There, I’ve +seed it myself. Don’t you come too nigh, my dear, and +for mercy’s sake keep the darlin’ child away!”</p> + +<p>“Nay, but I won’t,” retorted Martha; and, catching up +the child, she advanced with a determined air. “You +shall look at us—both of us—that you shall! Kiss +grandma, Ally, love—that’s it! Pull away her hands,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span> +and give her a big hug. There, the mischief’s done now, +if mischief there be. Bain’t he growed, grandma? Bain’t +he a fine boy? There, come an’ sit ye down and take en +on your knee and feel the weight of en.”</p> + +<p>Ann could not withstand the spell of the little clinging +arms, the kisses rained upon her withered cheek. She +suffered the child to climb from his mother’s arms into +hers, and hugged him back passionately.</p> + +<p>“Bless you, my lamb! Bless you, my darlin’ little +angel! Dear, but he be a fine boy, Martha. Bless you, +love! E-es; grandma ’ull find en a lump o’ sugar. Ah, +Martha, I be a-feared—it do seem a terr’ble risk; but, +there, I can’t think but what the Lard ’ull purtect the +innercent child.”</p> + +<p>“Now, you come along, mother, and sit ye down, an’ +don’t ye go so trembly. You’ll not hurt Ally; he be a +deal more like to hurt you, such a mischievous boy as he +be. Now, then, whoever has been frightenin’ of ye with +such talk?”</p> + +<p>“My dear, they do all say it,” murmured Ann, looking +fearfully round.</p> + +<p>Brokenly, and with many digressions, she told her tale. +Long before she had ended Martha was weeping too—weeping +with indignation and with a sense of despair; for, +argue as she might, she could not divest her mother of her +persuasion in her own fell powers. If Ann herself could +not be convinced of the folly of the supposition, what hope +could Martha have to do away with the unjust suspicions +of the neighbours?</p> + +<p>Each fresh proof of the ostracism which had become<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span> +her mother’s portion added to her wrath and woe. She +had not had a bit of meat to her dinner, as was invariably +the case on Sunday, not having dared to venture forth to +buy it. There was not so much as a drop of milk in the +house, the child who usually brought it having declined to +perform that office. Ann had not liked even to go out +and get herself a few “spuds”—there were so many folks +about on Saturdays, she explained. There was no fire in +the grate, though the autumn day was sharp, for Farmer +Cosser had “dared” her to pick up any more sticks in his +field.</p> + +<p>“I d’ ’low ye’d ha’ been dead afore long, if I hadn’t ha’ +come,” cried Martha, and then fell a-sobbing again. What +was the use of her having come? What good could she +do?</p> + +<p>The two women were sitting together in very melancholy +mood, when Farmer Joyce called to say that he +would hitch the horse at six o’clock, and Martha must +meet him at the top of the road.</p> + +<p>“Hullo!” he cried, breaking off short at sight of their +tearful faces, “be you all a-cryin’ in here?”</p> + +<p>And then Martha, eager for sympathy, made bold to +clutch at his stout arm and pour forth her tale. The +farmer, leaning against the door-post, listened at first in +amusement, afterwards with an indignation almost equal +to the daughter’s own.</p> + +<p>“I never did hear such a thing!” he cried emphatically, +as she paused for breath. “They must be a pack o’ sammies +in this place—and wicked uns, too. Dear heart +alive! they’ve fair gallied the poor wold ’ooman out of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span> +her wits. Be there any one about? I’ll soon show ’em +what I think of ’em.”</p> + +<p>“There’s a good few folks just goin’ their ways to +church,” cried Martha, eagerly pointing up the lane.</p> + +<p>“Then I’ll step up and give ’em a bit o’ my mind,” returned +he. “You come along wi’ I, Mrs. Kerley—don’t +ye stop for to put on your bonnet—throw this ’ere ’ankercher +over your cap—else we’ll not be in time to catch ’em, +maybe.”</p> + +<p>“No, I dursen’t do that,” protested Ann, plucking away +the handkerchief which he had thrown over her head; +“’twas that which did first start the notion. ’Twas a +windy day, d’ye see, an’ I was going to pick a bit o’ scroff, +an’ I just tied my handkercher round my head—an’ when +the bwoys did see I, they did pelt I wi’ stones and call I +witch.”</p> + +<p>“Young rascals!” ejaculated the farmer, who had by +this time hauled her out of the house, and was hurrying +with her up the lane. “Come on, Martha! Make haste, +’ooman! There be a lot of ’em yonder.”</p> + +<p>In a few moments he and the breathless women found +themselves in the midst of quite a little crowd, for Farmer +Joyce had waylaid the first group he came across, and the +sound of his stentorian tones, raised in wrathful accusation, +speedily summoned others.</p> + +<p>“You be a wise lot here, you be!” he cried; “you do +know summat, you do. Tell ’ee what—you be the biggest +lot o’ stunpolls as ever was seed or heerd on. This be +your witch, be it?—thikky poor wold ’ooman what have +never done anybody a bit o’ harm in her life—poor wold<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span> +Ann Kerley what was born and bred here, and did get +married to a Little Branston man an’ all, and what have +lived among ye so quiet an’ peaceful as a body could do. +Why, look at her! Look at the poor wold frightened +face of her; d’ye mean for to tell I that’s the face of a +witch?”</p> + +<p>“Well, she did blight our ’taters,” growled somebody.</p> + +<p>“An’ she did overlook Mrs. Clarke’s young duck——”</p> + +<p>“Did she?” retorted Farmer Joyce, sarcastically. +“Well, she didn’t overlook my young duck, and they be +dead—the most on ’em—what do ye make o’ that? Did +ye never hear, you wise folk, as duckling do mostly die +in thunder weather? And I’ll warrant you be too wise +hereabouts to have heerd that this be a blight-year. A +lot o’ my ’taters be blighted——”</p> + +<p>“I’m sure,” put in poor Martha, eagerly, “our ’taters +be blighted too. There, my husband do say ’tis scarce +worth while to get ’em up.”</p> + +<p>“I s’pose,” cried Farmer Joyce, looking round with +withering sarcasm, “I s’pose this ’ere witch have a-gone +and wished ill-luck to her own darter’s ’taters. ’Tis very +likely, I’m sure. And there’s another thing—I did hear +some tale o’ bees a-dyin’ arter they’d a-been put in a new +hive.”</p> + +<p>“That’s true enough.” “’Tis true, sure,” came one or +two voices in reply, not with any great enthusiasm, however; +then a man’s sullen tones—“’Tis so true as anything. +They was my bees, an’ I can answer for ’t bein’ true.”</p> + +<p>“How much food did ye put in for ’em when ye did +shift ’em?” inquired Joyce, fixing his eyes on the speaker.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span>“How much food? I d’ ’low bees be like to keep +theirselves.”</p> + +<p>“Not when you do take their store off ’em so late in +the season. You’ve a-killed your own bees, good man; +they were too weak, d’ye see, to keep wosses off when +they did come a-fightin’ of ’em. I’d ha’ thought you’d ha’ +been clever enough to ha’ knowed that, seein’ what knowin’ +folks you be in Little Branston. There, you did know +poor wold Mrs. Kerley tied her ’andkercher over her head +to make herself a witch—’twas that what made her a +witch, weren’t it? Now I be a witch, bain’t I?”</p> + +<p>He whisked off his hat suddenly, and drawing a cotton +handkerchief from his pocket threw it over his head and +tied the ends beneath his chin. The sight of his large red +face with its fringe of grey whisker looking jubilantly out +of the red and yellow folds, was irresistibly comic; the +bystanders fairly roared. The farmer was quick to follow +up his advantage.</p> + +<p>“I must be a witch,” he persisted, “seein’ as I’ve a-got +a witch’s head on;” then, seized by a yet more luminous +inspiration, he crowned the meek and trembling Ann +Kerley with his own broad-brimmed and shaggy beaver.</p> + +<p>“Now, Mrs. Kerley be a farmer. She must be a farmer, +sure, for she be a-wearin’ a farmer’s hat. There be jist so +mich sense in the one notion as t’other. Here we be—Farmer +Kerley and Witch Joyce!”</p> + +<p>The merriment at this point grew so uproarious that +the clergyman in his distant vestry very nearly sallied +forth to inquire the cause; but it died away as suddenly +as it had begun. The sight of poor old Ann’s lined face<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span> +looking patiently out from beneath its ridiculous headgear +was, on the whole, more pathetic than ludicrous; folks +began to look at each other, and to own to themselves +that they had been not only foolish, but cruel. Every +word that the farmer spoke had carried weight, and he +could have employed no more forcible argument than the +practical demonstration at the end. He was the very best +advocate who could have been chosen to plead for her—a +good plain man, like themselves, who thoroughly understood +the case. By the time Farmer Joyce had resumed +his hat and restored his handkerchief to his pocket, the +cause was won. People had gathered round Ann with +rough apologies and kindly handshakes, and she was +escorted homewards by more than one long-estranged +friend.</p> + +<p>When little Ally, who had been asleep on the settle, +woke at the sound of the approaching voices, and came +trotting out of the banned house, rubbing his eyes and +calling loudly for “Grandma,” the good women nodded +to each other meaningly, and said that he was a fine boy, +bless him, and he wouldn’t be likely to look so well if—— And +then somebody sniffed the air, and observed +that he shouldn’t wonder but what Mrs. Kerley’s ’taters was +a bit blighted too, and Mrs. Kerley replied that she was +sure they mid be, but she didn’t know, for she hadn’t had +the heart to look. And then the expert returned authoritatively +that he was quite sure they was done for, which +seemed wonderfully satisfactory to all parties.</p> + +<p>And then Farmer Joyce bethought him that it was time +to hitch the horse, and the rest of Ann’s friends remembered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span> +that “last bell” would soon ha’ done ringing; so +gradually the little crowd melted away, and Martha embraced +her mother with a thankful heart, and went away +likewise, leaving Ally behind, according to the farmer’s +advice, who had reminded her in a gruff whisper that the +little chap would be more like to take off the wold body’s +mind from that there queer notion nor anything else.</p> + +<p>So the little house, which had been so desolate a few +hours before, was now restored to homely joy and peace; +and when Martha looked back from the summit of the +lane, she saw her mother standing, all smiles, in the open +doorway, shading her eyes from the sun, which was making +a glory round the curly head of the child in her arms.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">A RUNAWAY COUPLE.</h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Summer</span> dawn; a thousand delicate tints in the sky above +and dewy world beneath; birds stretching drowsy little +wings and piping to each other; dumb things waking up +one by one and sending forth their several calls. But as +yet nothing seemed astir in the old house; the windows, +open for the most part, were still curtained; no thin spiral +of smoke wound its way upwards from the kitchen chimney. +Ruddy shafts of light made cheer, indeed, on the mullioned +panes and the moss-grown coping, picked out the stone-crops +and saxifrages on the roof, ran along the stone +gutter, bathed the old chimney stacks with a glow that +would seem to mock at the empty hearths within.</p> + +<p>Presently a great clucking and crowing was heard from +the poultry-yard at the rear of the house, and a moment +or two after a little old lady came trotting along the mossy +path behind the yew hedge and picked her way daintily +between the apple-trees in the orchard. As she proceeded +she looked to right and to left as though in fear, yet her +face was wreathed in the broadest of smiles, and every now +and then she uttered an ecstatic chuckle. Now out at the +wicket-gate and down the lane to the right. Lo! standing +outlined against the purple expanse of moor a hundred +paces or so from the gate an equipage was drawn up; two<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span> +men were stationed by the horses’ heads, one of whom +hurried forward to meet her, while the other stiffly climbed +up on the box. The first, a tall burly old man, wearing a +white top-hat, an old-fashioned embroidered waistcoat, +and a spick-and-span suit of broadcloth, beckoned eagerly +as he hastened towards her, while the figure on the box +waved his whip, and jerked his elbow with every sign of +impatience.</p> + +<p>“So there ye be at last, my dear!” cried the old gentleman. +“Blest if I didn’t think they’d catched ye. Come +along, hurry up! Let’s be off; it’s close upon four o’clock.”</p> + +<p>The lady, who was plump and somewhat short of breath, +merely chuckled again by way of rejoinder, and suffered +herself to be hoisted into the waiting chaise. It was an +extremely old-fashioned chaise with a hood and a rumble; +the coachman was equally antiquated in appearance, and +wore a moth-eaten livery of obsolete cut and a beaver +hat.</p> + +<p>“Now off with ye, Jem,” cried the old gentleman in a +stage whisper. “Let ’em go, my lad. Don’t spare the +cattle! We must be miles away from here before the +folks yonder have time to miss us. But whatever did +keep ye so long, Susan?” he inquired, turning to the lady.</p> + +<p>“My dear,” said she, with a delighted giggle, “I’ve been +to feed the chickens.”</p> + +<p>Thereupon her companion fell into a paroxysm of suppressed +merriment, growing purple in the face, and slapping +his thigh in ecstacy. The old coachman turned round +upon the box and bent down his ear to catch the joke.</p> + +<p>“Missus has been to feed chicken, Jem,” laughed his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span> +master. “Ho! ho! ho!—she wouldn’t leave out that part, +ye may be sure.”</p> + +<p>Jem grinned. “No, I d’ ’low she wouldn’t. Missus be +a grand hand at feedin’ chicken; she’ve a-had prac<i>tise</i>, +haven’t she, Measter? I’ll go warrant she have.”</p> + +<p>“And I’ve been doing something else too, John,” continued +she, when the explosion had in some measure +subsided. “See here!”</p> + +<p>She opened the lid of the little covered basket which +she carried, and displayed three nosegays of white flowers.</p> + +<p>“I thought we might wear these,” she remarked. “I +very nearly brought favours for the horses, too, but I was +afraid it would excite remark.”</p> + +<p>“And you were right,” said he; “but I think we’ve +managed pretty well to put ’em off the scent. Jem did +drive a good bit along the Dorchester road, and back very +quiet over the heath. ’Twas very artful of ’ee, my dear, +to be talkin’ so innercent-like about Weymouth yesterday—they’ll +think we’ve a-gone there, for sure.”</p> + +<p>The old lady drew herself up with a little conscious air.</p> + +<p>“It takes a woman’s wit to think of them things,” she +said: “But I do feel sorry for them all, too. I left just a +bit of a line for Mary to say she wasn’t to be frightened and +we was just gone for the day, and they mustn’t think of +looking for us. But I can’t help thinking it does seem a +shame. There, all the poor things will be comin’ from +this place and that place and bringing the children, and +making ready their little speeches, and getting out their +little presents——”</p> + +<p>The old man began to chuckle again.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span>She looked at him reproachfully, and he laughed louder +and rubbed his hands.</p> + +<p>“’Tis very unfeeling of you to laugh like that, John. +I’m sure it is. Haven’t you got no feeling for your own +flesh and blood?”</p> + +<p>“If you come to that,” said John, “whose notion was +it? Says I, ‘I do wish,’ I says, ‘we could give ’em all the +slip and spend the happy day quiet by our two selves.’ +And says you, ‘Why shouldn’t we, then?’ says you. +‘Look here,’ you says, ‘why shouldn’t we do it over +again, John?’ ‘What?’ says I. ‘What we done fifty +years ago,’ says you. ‘Well,’ I says, and I say now, ‘it +takes a woman’s cleverness to think o’ such things.’ So +here we be a-runnin’ away again, love; bain’t we?”</p> + +<p>She extended her little mittened hand to him with a +gracious smile that had in it a droll assumption of coyness.</p> + +<p>“There’s the ring, though,” said he; “that there ring +ought to come off, Susan, else it ’ull not seem real-like.”</p> + +<p>His gnarled old fingers were already fumbling with the +ring, but she jerked away her hand quickly.</p> + +<p>“No, indeed!” she cried. “Have it off! I wouldn’t +have it off for a thousand pounds. It’s never been off my +finger all these years, John, and I’m certainly not going to +have it off to-day.”</p> + +<p>She pinned the nosegay in his coat, assumed a similar +decoration herself, and handed one to Jem. Then they +drove onwards with renewed speed. Jem, following his +master’s advice, was not sparing the cattle; the old chaise +rocked from side to side, the horses flew along the road. +They had now left the heath behind and found themselves<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span> +on the highway; the country was looking its best this fine +sunny morning; the hedges were still white with bloom; +the leafage of the woods through which they passed was +yet untarnished by heat or dust; a spicy fragrance was +wafted towards them from the fir plantations; in the +villages the folks were beginning to stir; chimneys were +smoking; women moving to and fro, here and there a +man sauntering fieldwards.</p> + +<p>They looked after the rattling chaise with astonishment.</p> + +<p>“I hope nobody will set up a hue and cry,” ejaculated +the old lady nervously. “There’s nobody coming after +us, is there, Jem?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t ye be afeared, mum,” returned Jem valiantly. +“You sit still, Mrs. Bussell; nobody’s thinkin’ o’ sich a +thing, an’ if they was, we’d soon leave ’em behind. I +brought ye safe to Branston this day fifty year ago, an’ +I’ll do the same to-day, dalled if I don’t.”</p> + +<p>“So ye did, Jem, so ye did,” exclaimed his master. +“Dear heart alive, do ye mind, Sukey, that time we heard +such a clatterin’ behind us, and you thought all was lost, +and Jem turned right into Yellowham Wood. How he +done it I can never think. But we crope out of sight and +the folks rattled past. And ’twasn’t nobody thinkin’ of us +at all. ’Twas young Squire Frampton drivin’ for a wager.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, my father was looking for us along the Dorchester +road,” said she, laughing again.</p> + +<p>“He! he!” chimed in Jem, “I mind that well. ’Twas +my cousin Joe what took yon empty shay. He couldn’t +for the life of en make out why he were to ride so fast +wi’ nobody inside. ‘Never you mind, Joe,’ says I, ‘ride<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span> +away for your gold piece,’ I says. I weren’t a-goin’ to tell +he what was a-goin’ on. He weren’t to be trusted same as +me. He understood about the gold piece right enough, +and, dally! he did understand Squire Sherren’s horsewhip, +too, when he comed up wi’ en and couldn’t make Joe tell +en where he was gone. I d’ ’low ye was half-way to Lunnon +by that time.”</p> + +<p>“Poor Joe!” said Mrs. Bussell compassionately.</p> + +<p>“Pooh!” exclaimed bluff old John, “a gold piece would +mend many broken bones. Well, my dear, I’m gettin’ +sharp-set, what do ye say to a bit of breakfast? Pull up +at the first sheltered place you come to, Jem.”</p> + +<p>“But let it be somewhere where you can keep a look-out,” +put in the old lady anxiously. “Don’t let’s be +caught.”</p> + +<p>By-and-by they arrived at a suitable place, and Jem +duly pulled up, and John brought out a well-packed hamper +from the rumble, and Mrs. Bussell made tea from a +spirit-lamp, and dispensed goodly portions of buttered roll, +and ham, and hard-boiled eggs, and John and Jem took +turns to act sentry, and little Mrs. Bussell raised an alarm +about every five minutes and entered more and more into +the spirit of the enterprise. Her husband, setting his +white hat rakishly on the back of his head, and looking +extremely jocose, endeavoured to throw himself into the +part which he had played a half-century before, but did +not altogether succeed in representing the trembling young +lover, even though he called the old lady by her maiden +name, and delivered himself of sundry amorous speeches +with a fervour that was occasionally mixed with hilarity.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span>“Faith, my dear,” he cried when she took him to +task, “you must let me talk as I please. I was your +lover then, and I am your lover now, for all we’ve been +man and wife this fifty years. What signifies it whether +your hair is gold or silver, or whether you are fat or slim? +Handsome is as handsome does, I say, and you’ve a-been +the best wife a man could have.”</p> + +<p>“La! John,” said she, and winked away a tear. John +put out his rugged old hand and gripped hers.</p> + +<p>“The best wife a man could have,” he repeated earnestly. +“Fifty years!—I wish we mid have fifty years more together.”</p> + +<p>“I wish we was back at the beginning,” said she. “I’d +like to go through it all over again, John. I’d take it all +and be thankful—the rough and the smooth, and the joy and +the sorrow. Except maybe—poor little Ben, you know—I +don’t think I’d like to live through those years again. +How we hoped, didn’t we? And he was took at the last.”</p> + +<p>“Well, ye have the other seven, Susan, my dear, alive +and well, and their children. Why, you mid say that one +loss has been made up to ye by more than a score of other +blessings.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bussell shook her head, but smiled, and presently +wondered aloud if John’s Annie would bring the baby.</p> + +<p>“I’d like to have seen it, too,” she added. “I hope +Mary will have the sense to keep them. I told her a good +many of them would stop the night.”</p> + +<p>“Somebody’s coming!” announced Jem at this juncture.</p> + +<p>And then what a bustle and clatter ensued, what hasty +packing of the hamper, what tremulous climbing into the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span> +chaise on the part of the “missus”; with what an air of +firmness and resolution did the master straighten his hat +and square his shoulders as though preparing to defy all +pursuers. And after all it was only the mail cart bowling +merrily along; and the driver gave the runaway couple +a cheery good-day as he passed. Then, though they +laughed long and loud over the false alarm, they realised +that the time was getting on, and that it behoved them to +hasten to their destination.</p> + +<p>The little town of Branston was not yet very wide-awake +when they did arrive at the Royal George, and +Jem pulled up with a flourish, and threw the reins to a +gaping stable-boy with as great an air as would have +befitted a coachman in the palmy days when the Flying +Stage used to change horses at Branston. The little old +lady alighted demurely, her husband supporting her while +she planted first one neat little foot, clad in a buckled +shoe and clocked white stocking, on the step, and then its +fellow, and lifting her off bodily, with much the same +tender gallantry as that with which he had doubtless performed +a similar office fifty years ago. At his request, +Mrs. Bussell was conducted to the best private room; she +seemed to have quite identified herself with those bygone +days, and clung to his arm fearfully as they mounted the +stairs; while in her husband past and present were +pleasantly mingled. Thus, when, having deposited his +fair charge in the George’s largest sitting-room, he strolled +down to the lower premises to give certain orders regarding +the horses, he made no ado about taking the landlord +into his confidence.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span>“This ’ere is a runaway trip,” he remarked, with a +jocular wink. “’Tis our golden weddin’ day, and the +missus and me had a notion o’ spendin’ it quiet, just by +our two selves. They’re makin’ a great to-do at our place—children +and grandchildren comin’ from all sides, but +we just thought we’d give them the slip, and keep the day +here same as we done fifty year ago.”</p> + +<p>“Ah,” put in the landlord, much interested, “I heard +somethin’ about that. You and your lady run off, didn’t +ye?”</p> + +<p>“We did,” returned John. “Her father, ye see, old +Sherren—they did use to call en Squire—she was the +only child, and he reckoned on her makin’ a grand match, +takin’ up wi’ one o’ the reg’lar gentry, ye know; but he +wasn’t a bit better nor the rest of any of us yeoman farmers. +Well, I wasn’t much of a match in those days—my +father had a long family and not much to divide +between us; but I liked the maid, and the maid she did +like me, so we took the law into our own hands. My +missus, she did use to go a-feedin’ of her chicken very +early in the mornin’, so the folks got accustomed to hearin’ +her get up and go out before daylight almost—and one +mornin’ she did go out and she didn’t never go back.”</p> + +<p>“I remember,” cried the other, “you tricked them wi’ an +empty post-chaise, didn’t ye?”</p> + +<p>“To be sure,” returned the old farmer chuckling. +“’Twas Joe Boyt did that. He did ride for all he were +worth, the wrong way. And me and the maid ran a +couple of mile on our own legs, till we come to the high +road where Jem was awaitin’ for us wi’ the very same old<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span> +shay as we did drive over in to-day. I did swear I’d buy +it if ever I had the chance, and I’d take Jem into my +service. And I did both.”</p> + +<p>“The old Squire came round before long,” remarked +the landlord; “yes, I heard the tale often enough. +There’s an old chap here as used to be ostler in the old +days, and he minds well how you and the lady came here +to hide, so to speak, till the coach came up.”</p> + +<p>“That’s it!” cried old John delightedly, slapping his +thigh to give emphasis to his words. “The coach took us +to Bath and we had the job done there—licence, you +know. And the missus and I, d’ye see, had the notion +o’ stoppin’ here to-day in memory of that time, and makin’ +believe we was doin’ it over again. Between you and me,” +said John, poking the landlord in the waistcoat and winking +knowingly, “I d’ ’low my old woman does truly believe +she is back in the old times again. Women do seem to +have a wonderful power of imagination. There, she was +a-feedin’ her chicken this mornin’, if ye please, just as she +done the mornin’ we made off.”</p> + +<p>“Well, well,” commented the landlord. “You ought +to let old ’Neas Bright have a look at ye both. He’s up +in the almhouse now, poor old chap, through not bein’ +able to work any more, but he’d hobble down if he was to +know ye were here.”</p> + +<p>“Send for en, then, send for en,” cried John eagerly; +“but look ye, landlord—keep the secret. Don’t ye let +the folks know who we are or what we’ve come for, else +maybe the children ’ull catch as yet.”</p> + +<p>The landlord laughed and promised, and thereupon<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span> +John went back to his lady, whom he found peeping cautiously +out at the Market Place from behind the window +curtain.</p> + +<p>“Did you think about ordering dinner?” inquired she.</p> + +<p>“No, my dear, I left that to you.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, John,” she cried bashfully, “I feel nervous-like. I +don’t want to ring the bell and have folks starin’ at me. +Go down again and order it—at twelve sharp.”</p> + +<p>“What shall we have?” he inquired.</p> + +<p>“There now—to ask such a thing. Why, the same as +we had this day fifty year ago, of course.”</p> + +<p>“And what was that?” asked he.</p> + +<p>“Why, John, I never thought you would forget anything +about that day. We had a beefsteak-pudding and a boiled +fowl with parsley-and-butter sauce, and potatoes in their +jackets, and greens.”</p> + +<p>“So we had,” said John.</p> + +<p>“And you had cheese and a crusty loaf, and I had a bit +o’ rice puddin’. And you had a tankard o’ best October +ale, and I had a glass of sherry wine. Don’t you remember, +John, you would make me take the wine though I +wasn’t used to it and was afraid it might go to my head?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, to be sure,” returned he. “Well, I’ll go and order +all that.”</p> + +<p>“And then come back to me—come straight back to +me, John. Don’t stay gossiping downstairs. I feel quite +nervous.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think this was the room we had?” inquired +John, pausing half-way to the door. “It don’t look the +same somehow.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span>“They’ve spoilt it with this new-fangled furniture,” returned +she; “but it is the same. I remember this little +window at the end looking towards the Market Place. +Oh, John—see here.”</p> + +<p>“What is that, my dear?”</p> + +<p>“Why, look here at the corner of the pane. Here are +our very name letters, S for Susan, and J for John, and the +true-lovers’-knot on the top. I remember your scratching +’em quite well.”</p> + +<p>“Why, so I did,” cried he. “I’d a glass-cutter in my +big knife. Well, to be sure! There they are—and here +we are!”</p> + +<p>“Here we are,” echoed she. “Thanks be to God for +all His mercies.”</p> + +<p>And thereupon she clasped both her little wrinkled +hands round his arm and gave it a tender squeeze, and he +stooped down and kissed her round, wholesome, pink old +cheek.</p> + +<p>Well, after John had ordered the dinner, and after old +’Neas Bright had come limping down from the almshouse +and had related divers anecdotes, and drunk the couple’s +health, and gone away rejoicing with a half-crown piece in +his pocket, John and Susan sat down behind the screen +which cut off one corner of the room from the rest, and +gave themselves up to repose and reminiscence.</p> + +<p>Perhaps it was because they were so happy and so much +absorbed in each other, and also perhaps because they had +both of them grown a trifle hard of hearing of late years, +that they did not notice a sudden bustle and excitement +in the street below.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span>Had they looked out they would have seen a string of +vehicles of different kinds drawn up just outside—spring-carts, +gigs, a waggonette, and last but not least, a waggon +drawn by a team of splendid farm-horses and filled to +overflowing with country people. All the occupants of +these conveyances were dressed in holiday attire, all wore +enormous white nosegays, while the horses’ blinkers and the +drivers’ whips were alike decorated with snowy streamers. +The door opened suddenly, and some one ran round the +screen.</p> + +<p>“Why, there they are!” cried a child’s jubilant voice. +“There’s grandpa and grandma a-sittin’ hand-in-hand.”</p> + +<p>And then from the staircase, and from the hall, and +from the street arose a sudden deafening cheer.</p> + +<p>“I d’ ’low they’ve caught us!” cried John, with a whimsical +glance at his spouse; but she was already engaged +in fondling the child and scarcely heard him.</p> + +<p>A moment afterwards the room was crowded with the +descendants of the old folks—three generations of them: +middle-aged prosperous-looking sons and daughters; rosy +grandchildren and even one great-grandchild, for young +John’s Annie <i>had</i> brought her baby, which proved to be +the finest child of its age that had ever been seen, and to +have “come on wonderful” since Mrs. Bussell last beheld +it. And there was such a kissing and hugging and scolding +and laughing as had surely never before been heard in +that staid, respectable old room, and grandma was very +arch and coy on being reproached for her unkind notion, +and grandpa chuckled boisterously, and rubbed his hands, +and Mary, the only unmarried daughter, related how her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span> +suspicions had at first been aroused on discovering that the +chickens had been fed so early—all the family knowing +the history of that bygone ruse by heart; and how, though +she <i>did</i> at first fancy they might have gone to Weymouth, +she had made inquiries in the neighbourhood, and had +ascertained that a chaise with three people wearing white +nosegays had been seen driving Branston-way very soon +after daylight. And then John, the eldest son, took up +the tale, and related how they had settled to wait till all +the family had arrived, and how he had declared that the +labourers and their wives should not be baulked of their +share of merry-making, and how the whole party was come +to keep the golden wedding at Branston.</p> + +<p>“The folks are waiting for you outside now,” he concluded; +“you’d best show yourselves to them, else they’ll +never forgive you.”</p> + +<p>So over to the window marched the bridal couple, and +there they stood arm-in-arm, the illusion being a little +damaged by the presence of the baby which grandma +would not relinquish, and by the background of laughing +folk, all of whom bore so strong a family likeness to their +progenitors that their relationship could not be doubted.</p> + +<p>A rousing cheer went up once more, and John waved +his hat in reply, and Susan laughed and nodded, and was +suddenly taken by surprise by a dimness in the eyes and a +choking sensation in the throat.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know however I could have had the heart to +run away from them,” she murmured.</p> + +<p>And then when the speeches had been made, and the +presents delivered, and the wedding-feast, supplemented<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span> +by many substantial additions, set forth upon the table, +and when she sat down with John the elder on her right +and John the younger on her left, and Annie’s baby sound +asleep in her lap, and looked round at the kindly happy +faces, she surreptitiously squeezed her husband’s hand:—</p> + +<p>“You and me was very happy this time fifty year,” she +said, “but after all—I don’t know—I d’ ’low this is best.”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">POSTMAN CHRIS.</h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was about four o’clock of the afternoon when Postman +Chris set forth on his second round. He swung along at +a rapid pace, looking about him with the pleased, alert air +of one for whom his surroundings had not yet lost the +charm of novelty.</p> + +<p>He had, indeed, that very morning entered on his duties +as postman for the first time, though he had served his +country in another way before. For Postman Chris Ryves +had been Trooper Chris Ryves in a previous state of existence. +He had had his fill of warfare in South Africa, +and had indeed been wounded at Graspan; the left breast +of his brand-new blue uniform was decorated with a medal +and quite a row of clasps. Though Postman Chris walked +at ease he held himself with the erectness due to military +training, and his straw hat was perched at the rakish angle +which in earlier days, when he had paraded at Knightsbridge +Barracks, had caused the heart of more than one +artless city maiden to flutter in her bosom.</p> + +<p>But for all these past glories of his, Postman Chris was +an eminently pleasant and affable person; at any chance +salutation of a passer-by the white teeth would flash out +in that brown, brown face of his with the most good-humoured +of smiles; he delivered up his letters with an<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span> +urbanity of demeanour that was only surpassed by his +soldierly promptitude, and he was willing to exchange the +news of the day with any pedestrian who cared to march +a short distance in his company.</p> + +<p>The bag which he carried was not unduly heavy, nor +his way fatiguingly long; it was a six-mile round in fact—starting +from Chudbury-Marshall, proceeding through +Riverton and Little Branston to the market town of +Branston and so back again.</p> + +<p>It chanced that as Chris approached Little Branston +Schoolhouse on this particular day, his attention was +attracted by a hubbub of voices and laughter proceeding +from the adjoining field. Pausing a moment in his rapid +progress he looked through a gap in the hedge. A feast +was evidently in progress; some of the children still sat in +rows on the grass, armed with great cups of sickly-looking +tea and munching vigorously, buns or hunches of bread-and-jam; +others, having finished their meal, were already +at play.</p> + +<p>Here “Blind-man’s-buff” was going on, there “Drop +Handkerchief”. In the corner of the field directly under +the postman’s observation a game of Forfeits was proceeding. +The schoolmistress, who sat facing him, was holding +up one object after the other over the blindfolded head of +a pupil-teacher, a bright little girl who had left school recently +enough to enter still with almost childish zest into +such amusements.</p> + +<p>“Here’s a Fine Thing and a very Fine Thing; what is the +owner of this Fine Thing to do?” cried the schoolmistress. +She had a pleasant, clear voice, and though she sat back<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span> +upon her heels like many of her pupils, there was something +particularly graceful about figure and attitude.</p> + +<p>“That’s a shapely maid,” remarked Postman Chris to +himself; “yes, and a vitty one too.”</p> + +<p>It will be seen that Chris Ryves was a Dorset man, as +indeed his name betokened; he came in fact from the +other side of the county.</p> + +<p>The face which he looked on was as pretty as the +figure, its fresh bloom enhanced by the darkness of eyes +and hair.</p> + +<p>“What is the owner of this Fine Thing to do?” she +repeated.</p> + +<p>“She must bite an inch off a stick,” responded the pupil-teacher, +with a delighted giggle.</p> + +<p>The owner of the forfeit, a peculiarly stolid-looking +child, came slowly up to redeem her pledge, and, after a +mystified but determined attempt to obey the mandate +literally, was duly initiated into the proper and innocuous +manner of accomplishing it. Then the performance was +resumed.</p> + +<p>“Here’s a Fine Thing and a very Fine Thing; and what +must the owner of this very Fine Thing do?” chanted the +schoolmistress.</p> + +<p>“Is it a boy or a girl?” asked the blindfolded oracle.</p> + +<p>“Boy,” responded the schoolmistress.</p> + +<p>“Then he must bow to the wittiest, kneel to the prettiest, +and kiss the one he loves best.”</p> + +<p>A little round-faced urchin came forward to claim his +cap, and, after much prompting and not a little pushing, +was induced to carry out the prescribed programme.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span>He duly pulled a forelock to the pupil-teacher, bent his +knee to a small person with a necklace and a profusion of +corkscrew ringlets, and bestowed a careless salute on the +chubby cheek of a smaller and still more round-faced +female edition of himself—evidently a sister.</p> + +<p>“Well, I’m dalled!” said the postman. “Them children +ha’n’t got no eyes in their heads.”</p> + +<p>And with that he stepped back from the hedge, hitched +up his bag a little higher on his shoulder, and strode off +towards Branston.</p> + +<p>The next day at the same hour Ruby Damory, the +schoolmistress, was standing on the threshold of the +schoolhouse with a copybook in her hand. She sometimes +lingered after school had broken up and the pupil-teacher +had made things tidy and betaken herself homewards, +to look over the children’s exercises before returning +to her lodgings; and as the interior of the house was close +and stuffy she preferred to accomplish this task in the +porch. The school-yard was as dusty and bleak as such +places usually are; but by some strange chance the rose-tree +which was trained over the porch remained uninjured +by the constant passing of little feet and contact of little +persons. It grew luxuriantly, and its clustering blossoms +formed a pretty setting to the slim figure which stood +propped against the wall beneath.</p> + +<p>All at once Ruby raised her eyes from her book; a +rapid step was advancing along the footpath from the +direction of Riverton; over the irregular line of hedge she +could see a straw hat set at a knowing angle on a head of +bright red hair. It was the new postman from Chudbury—she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span> +had seen him go past that morning before she had +yet left her room.</p> + +<p>Now he was opposite the schoolhouse gate, but instead +of passing it he stood still, wheeled about with military +precision, and took off his hat with a flourish.</p> + +<p>“I bow to the wittiest,” said Postman Chris.</p> + +<p>Then, before she had time either to respond or to turn +away, he was marching on again, and soon disappeared +behind the tall hedge on the other side of the school +precincts.</p> + +<p>“Well, to be sure!” said Ruby, and she laughed to herself; +“he must have noticed our game yesterday. He +was very complimentary, I must say, though I don’t quite +know how he could find out I was witty. I suppose he +thinks I must be because I’m the schoolmistress.”</p> + +<p>And thereupon she returned to the exercise.</p> + +<p>But in spite of herself her thoughts kept wandering to +Postman Chris and his odd proceedings, and she said to +herself that, though his hair was red it was not at all an +ugly colour—in fact when he took off his hat it flashed in +the sun like burnished copper. The phrase took her fancy +for she liked a fine word or two when opportunity offered; +and she was pleased too with the aptness of the simile, for +she possessed a little copper tea-kettle which she only used +on great occasions, and which was, she fancied, precisely +the colour of the new postman’s hair in the sunshine. He +had a nice smile, too, and such quick, bright, brown eyes. +And then that medal, and those clasps and orders—decidedly +Postman Chris appeared to the schoolmistress +somewhat in the light of a hero.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span>All the evening she thought of his brown face and his +pleasant voice, and of how his hair had flashed in the sun. +On going home she got down the copper tea-kettle and +looked at it, turning it about in the lamplight—yes, it +really recalled the glow of the new postman’s hair.</p> + +<p>When, on the next day, Ruby heard the regular and +rapid steps approaching, she stood for a moment in doubt; +should she go indoors, or should she give the man a civil +good-day as he passed.</p> + +<p>She chose the latter alternative, but as she opened her +lips to speak the words died on them, for Postman Chris, +once more pausing in front of the gate, dropped on his +knees and bowed his head. Their eyes met as he raised +it again, and he said emphatically: “I kneel to the +prettiest.”</p> + +<p>Then, springing to his feet, he was gone before Ruby +had time to recover from her astonishment. She went +inside the larger schoolroom and sat down on the nearest +bench, trembling from head to foot.</p> + +<p>What did the man mean? Was he laughing at her? +No, the brown eyes had looked into hers with as earnest +and straightforward a gaze as was to be found in the eyes +of man. Was he courting her then? It looked like it, +but what a strange way to set about it. No preliminaries—no +permission asked—not even a question exchanged +between them. Did he intend to carry out the third part +of the programme with the same speed and decision with +which he had set about fulfilling the first two?</p> + +<p>Ruby blushed hotly to herself, and then tossed her head. +She was not to be won without due wooing, and after all<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span> +was she, in any event, to be won by this man? She knew +nothing of him except that he was a reservist with a small +pension, and that he was a postman—a village postman. +Was it likely that a girl of her education and position +would throw herself away on a fellow like that—even if he +had a kindly face, and a nice way of looking at one, and +hair the colour of a copper tea-kettle? Besides, he should +know better than to approach her with so light a spirit.</p> + +<p>The next day when Postman Chris came swinging along +the Branston road the schoolhouse porch was empty, the +door bolted and barred. For a full moment he stood +gazing towards it, and Ruby, peering cautiously out at +him from behind the sheltering blackboard, saw his expression +change from the eager tenderness which had for +the fraction of a second almost made her wish that she +were indeed standing in the porch, to one of hurt and +proud surprise.</p> + +<p>He wheeled about without delay, and the sound of his +steps fell like a knell upon her heart.</p> + +<p>Acting upon an unaccountable impulse she flung open +the door and darted to the gate, but Postman Chris never +turned his head.</p> + +<p>On the next day she again watched from behind the +blackboard, and saw the postman march past, without so +much as a glance either to right or to left. On the day +after, strange to relate, Miss Ruby Damory, the schoolmistress, +happened to be correcting exercises in the porch +when the postman from Chudbury-Marshall walked by; +but Postman Chris never caught sight of the schoolmistress. +He was whistling as he walked, and held a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span> +little cane in his hand with which he switched at the +hedge. When he passed the school-gate he tapped it +with his cane, and subsequently drew it along the railings +which bordered the yard; but he never turned his head.</p> + +<p>There was no afternoon post on Sunday, but Postman +Chris was at Evening Church, and there Ruby saw him +with the light of the stained-glass window falling on his +uncovered head and making a very nimbus of his hair.</p> + +<p>When Monday afternoon came she was standing, not in +the school-porch but at the gate, and when Postman Chris +drew near she accosted him in a small voice which did +not sound like hers. Indeed, she felt at the time as though +it were not she herself who was thus laying aside maidenly +dignity, but some wicked little spirit within her, who acted +for her against her will.</p> + +<p>“Good-day, postman,” said Ruby, or the demon within +her.</p> + +<p>Postman Chris brought his heels together and saluted—not +having yet learnt to lay aside this habit—but his face +wore an expression of surprise.</p> + +<p>“Have you got a letter for me, to-day?” went on the +voice.</p> + +<p>“Name?” said Chris succinctly.</p> + +<p>“Miss Ruby Damory,” came the hurried answer.</p> + +<p>The postman shook his head.</p> + +<p>“I’m expecting a letter,” went on Ruby confusedly. +“Perhaps you may have left one at my lodgings in Little +Branston? I live at Mrs. Maidment’s at the corner of +Green Lane.”</p> + +<p>The postman looked at her with an expression which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span> +would seem to indicate that Ruby’s place of abode was a +matter of supreme indifference to him.</p> + +<p>“If any letter comes as is directed there, of course it +will be left there,” he said, with a coldly business-like air.</p> + +<p>“You didn’t leave one for me, to-day, I suppose?” +faltered Ruby.</p> + +<p>“Not as I know on,” returned Chris stolidly.</p> + +<p>Tears rushed to the girl’s eyes; she felt wounded, +insulted by this sudden change from warm admiration—admiration +which possibly might have ripened to something +else—to complete indifference. She hastily turned +away her head to conceal them, but not before she had +caught sight of a kind of gleam in the postman’s brown +eyes.</p> + +<p>“Are ye so terrible disappointed?” he inquired roughly, +not to say harshly.</p> + +<p>“I—oh, yes, of course I am.”</p> + +<p>She spoke truly enough, poor girl, though her disappointment +arose from another cause than the ostensible +one.</p> + +<p>Chris eyed her sharply.</p> + +<p>“Well, it’ll come in time, I suppose!” he remarked, still +in the same surly tone, “and when it <i>do</i> come, you shall +have it.”</p> + +<p>And thereupon he saluted, hitched up his bag, and +walked away.</p> + +<p>Ruby went back to the school-porch, with a scarlet face +and a mist before her eyes:—</p> + +<p>“He’s a rude fellow,” she said; “I’ll think of him no +more.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span>But she was in a manner forced to think of him.</p> + +<p>It was an unkind Fate, indeed, which decreed that Postman +Chris Ryves’ beat should bring him under Ruby +Damory’s notice twice in the day. Early in the morning, +while still in her little lodging at the corner of Green Lane, +she heard his brisk step ring out beneath her window, and +looking down, as indeed she sometimes did from beneath +the corner of her blind, she caught a glimpse of a blue +uniform and a red head; but Postman Chris never looked +up, and no letter was ever left for Miss Ruby Damory, +care of Mrs. Maidment.</p> + +<p>Then as the church clock struck half-past four a tall +figure was always to be seen swinging along behind the +green hedge, which drew near the school-gate, and passed +by the school-yard without a single glance at the mistress +correcting exercises in the porch.</p> + +<p>It was out of pure contradictoriness of course that Ruby +Damory learned to listen for that step and to watch for +that figure. She grew thin and pale, slept brokenly, and +dreamt frequently about Postman Chris; and Mrs. Maidment +averred almost with tears that Miss Damory seemed +to have no relish for her victuals, and could indeed be +scarce persuaded to eat a radish with her tea.</p> + +<p>One day the girl took herself seriously to task. “I am +a fool and worse,” she said. “I must make an end of it. +The man does not care a snap of his fingers for me—I’ll +try to forget he’s in the world.”</p> + +<p>Therefore she refrained from peeping out from behind +her blind on the following morning, and, in the afternoon, +she locked up the schoolhouse directly the children had left,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span> +and proceeded homewards with the exercise-books under +her arm. But whether because Postman Chris was more +punctual than usual that day, or because Ruby Damory +walked slowly, this manœuvre did not have the desired +effect, for, strange to say, the postman overtook her on +the road.</p> + +<p>Ruby had heard him coming, and had made valiant +resolution not to look round, but when he came up with +her she could not resist turning towards him, and their +eyes met.</p> + +<p>“Did you speak?” said Postman Chris.</p> + +<p>“No—I—I—” She stopped short; her heart was +thumping so violently, indeed, that she could scarcely +breathe.</p> + +<p>“I thought you might have a letter for me,” she murmured +at last, in the frantic endeavour to cover her +confusion.</p> + +<p>“Not I,” said the postman.</p> + +<p>He made as if he would pass on, but wheeled round +again. “What have you been doing to yourself?” he +asked sharply.</p> + +<p>“I? Oh, nothing.”</p> + +<p>“Ye bain’t half the maid ye was,” insisted Chris, eyeing +her with severe disapproval. “Been frettin’ about +summat?”</p> + +<p>If Ruby had been pale before, she was rosy enough now.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?” she stammered; “what makes +you say that?”</p> + +<p>“I thought you mid be disapp’inted-like about that +letter,” responded the postman.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span>“Oh, the letter. Yes—’tis very strange it doesn’t come.”</p> + +<p>“Well, it’s none o’ my fault,” retorted Chris roughly. +“Ye needn’t look at me like that. I’d bring it to ye fast +enough if ’twas there.”</p> + +<p>“Well, of course—I never thought you wouldn’t. I’m +sure I never said anything——” cried poor Ruby, more +and more agitated.</p> + +<p>“Ye shouldn’t go frettin’ yourself though,” he remarked. +“That won’t make it come any faster. And you shouldn’t +blame me.”</p> + +<p>“I <i>don’t</i> blame you,” gasped the girl. “I don’t—indeed +I don’t”—but here, in spite of herself, her voice was lost +in a burst of sobs.</p> + +<p>Postman Chris set down his bag and produced a khaki +pocket handkerchief—a relic no doubt of South African +days. This he tendered very gallantly to Ruby, who, if +truth be told, was at that moment at a loss for one, having +used her own to wipe out a particularly impracticable sum +from a small pupil’s slate.</p> + +<p>She accepted the offering in the spirit in which it was +meant, dried her eyes, and returned the handkerchief to +the postman with a watery smile. At that smile Chris +changed colour, but he tucked away the handkerchief in +his sleeve without a word, respectfully saluted, and departed. +He never looked back at the girl, but as he walked away +he said to himself: “That there maid, she be all I thought +her. ’Tis a pity I didn’t see her afore she took up wi’ +t’other chap. I wouldn’t ha’ left her a-pinin’ so long, and +a-waitin’ and a-waitin’ for a letter what never comes. But +she’ll stick to him—ah, sure she’ll stick to him.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span>And with that he heaved a profound sigh, and turned +off in the direction of the post-office.</p> + +<p>The former mode of procedure was now changed. Ruby +locked up the schoolhouse every day after lesson-time +and Postman Chris regularly overtook her on the way +home. By mutual consent they avoided the painful subject +of the letter and conversed on indifferent topics; and +more than once when Chris walked away he muttered +to himself: “She be the prettiest, and she be the wittiest, +and she be—ah, ’tis a dalled pity I weren’t on the field +first.”</p> + +<p>One day when the well-known step came up behind +Ruby it was accompanied by a shout:—</p> + +<p>“Hi!” cried Postman Chris; “hi! Miss Damory! I’ve +a-got summat for ye at last.”</p> + +<p>Ruby turned towards him without any very great elation, +for, if truth be told, a letter from her only correspondent +had never caused her heart to beat one tittle faster than +its wont. But as Chris came up with an excited face she +felt she could do no less than simulate great delight at his +news.</p> + +<p>“At last!” cried she, holding out her hand for the letter. +But Chris did not deliver it up at once. He looked up +the road and down the road—it was indeed little more +than a lane, and at that hour solitary enough; there was +a strange flash in his eye.</p> + +<p>“This’ll be the end of all between you and me, I suppose?” +said he. “Ye’ll have got your letter, and ye’ll not +care for seein’ me come no more. I’ve a mind to make +you pay for it.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span>Ruby’s extended hand dropped by her side, and she +started back.</p> + +<p>“Here’s a Fine Thing,” said Postman Chris, still with +that gleam in his eye as he held up the letter. “Here’s a +Fine Thing and a very Fine Thing; what’s the owner of +Fine Thing to do?”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?” whispered Ruby.</p> + +<p>“’Tis your turn to pay the forfeit now!” cried he. “I’ve +bowed to the wittiest and knelt to the prettiest; I’d have +finished the job if you’d ha’ let me. ’Tis your turn, I say; +I’ll let you off all but the last.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know what you take me for, Chris Ryves,” +cried Ruby tremulously. “I think you should be ashamed +of yourself. You ought to know enough of me by this +time to see that I’m not that kind of girl.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I be that kind o’ man,” returned Chris obstinately. +“This here’s the end—this here’s my last chance. +If you want your precious letter, you must pay for it.”</p> + +<p>“How dare you?” cried Ruby, turning as white as a +sheet. “You are very much mistaken, Mr. Ryves. I’d +rather die—than—than——”</p> + +<p>“Than have anything to say to me,” he interrupted +fiercely. “Oh, I know that very well, Miss Damory; +you’re not for the likes o’ me, as you did show me plain +enough at the beginning of our acquaintance. But a +chap isn’t so very bad if he does ask for a crumb before +the whole loaf is handed over to another man. Give me +one, Ruby—just one!”</p> + +<p>Ruby backed away from him against the hedge.</p> + +<p>“This is an insult,” she cried.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span>“An insult!” he repeated, suddenly sobered. “Oh, if +you look on it that way. There’s your letter,” he went +on, dropping his voice. “There’s your letter, Miss Damory; +I hope it’ll give ye every joy and satisfaction.”</p> + +<p>And with that he handed the disputed document to the +schoolmistress, took off his hat with a flourish, and marched +away quick time. Not so quick, however, but that a little +petulant cry fell upon his ears, and, wheeling involuntarily, +he saw that the letter had been flung upon the ground, +and that Ruby Damory was leaning against the hedge +with her face buried in her hands.</p> + +<p>Chris came back at the double.</p> + +<p>“There!” he cried penitently. “I’m a brute beast. I +beg your pardon, my maid. I’m truly sorry—truly, I am.”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” sobbed Ruby, “how could you be so unkind?”</p> + +<p>“I’m sure I don’t know how I came for to forget myself +like that,” he returned ruefully; “but I’ll never offend +again, Miss Damory—never.”</p> + +<p>“To expect me—to—to do that,” faltered Ruby, “when +you’d never said a word of love to me—when you’d never +even asked to walk with me.”</p> + +<p>The postman’s brown face assumed a puzzled air; he +drew a step nearer, and picked up the letter.</p> + +<p>“But,” said he; then paused, and once more tendered +the document to the schoolmistress.</p> + +<p>“Oh, bother!” cried she irritably. “It’ll keep.”</p> + +<p>Chris’s countenance lit up suddenly.</p> + +<p>“Will it, indeed?” cried he. “That’s a tale—a very +different tale. There, when I was comin’ along wi’ that +letter, ’twas all I could do not to bury it or to drop it into<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span> +a ditch. I mastered myself, ye know, but I were terr’ble +tempted, and that was why,” he added with a sly glance, +“I did look for some reward.”</p> + +<p>“But why did you want to destroy my aunt’s letter?” +asked Ruby.</p> + +<p>“Your aunt!” exclaimed Chris. “Your <i>aunt</i>! Well, +that beats all.”</p> + +<p>He took off his hat and waved it; he danced a kind of +jig upon the footpath; he threw himself sideways against +the hedge, laughing all the while, so that Ruby stared in +amazement. Suddenly he composed himself.</p> + +<p>“That be another tale, indeed, my maid,” said he. “I +were a-thinking all the time ’twas your young man you +was expectin’ to hear from. But why was you always so +eager on the look-out for me?”</p> + +<p>“I’m sure I wasn’t,” said Ruby, and she blushed to the +roots of her hair. She dared not look at Chris for a full +moment, but at last was constrained to raise her eyes to +his face, and there, lo, and behold! he was blushing too. +And looking at her—yes—with that very self-same expression +which she had seen in his eyes on the morning +when she had first hidden herself behind the blackboard. +He came a step nearer, and his blue-coated arm +began to insinuate itself between the hedge and her trim +waist.</p> + +<p>“Then why, my maid,” he began gently—“that there +game, ye know—why didn’t you let me finish?”</p> + +<p>“Why,” said Ruby, between laughing and crying, “because +you hadn’t begun.”</p> + +<p>He whistled softly under his breath.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span>“Shall us begin now?” said he. “You and me—we’ll +do it proper this time.”</p> + +<p>“Begin courting?” said she innocently.</p> + +<p>“Yes, we’ll play the game right. Here’s a Fine Thing +and a very Fine Thing—that’s you, my dear—now what’s +the owner of this Fine Thing to do? The owner—that’s +me—why—this——”</p> + +<p>He accompanied the word with appropriate action.</p> + +<p>“For shame!” cried she, in a tone which nevertheless +was not displeased, “you’ve begun at the wrong end after +all.”</p> + +<p>“Not at all,” he retorted, “’tis the proper way to start a +courtship. I’ll tell ye summat, Ruby, my maid. We’ll +have the banns put up on Sunday.”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">KEEPER GUPPY.</h2> +</div> + +<p>“<span class="smcap">Lard</span> ha’ mercy me! What be doin’, Jan? You that’s +only jist out o’ your bed! Whatever ’ud Doctor say? +Boots too! Where be goin’?”</p> + +<p>Old John Guppy cast a lowering glance at his spouse, +and continued to button his gaiters in silence. This task +concluded, he stretched out his hand and pointed imperatively +to the gun slung over the chimney-piece.</p> + +<p>“Reach that down,” he commanded.</p> + +<p>“Ye’re never goin’ out! You as has been four month +and more on your back! What’s the use on’t? There’s +a new keeper yonder—new ways, and strangers pretty +nigh everywhere. I’d ha’ had a bit more sperrit nor to +go up there where I bain’t wanted.”</p> + +<p>“I be goin’, woman. Squire do pay I money, an’ I’ll +give en his money’s worth. I must have an eye to things, +or they’ll be gettin’ in a reg’lar caddle up yon. New +keeper, he’ll not know so very much about the place, and +Jim—he were always a terr’ble sammy—he never did seem +to see what was under his nose wi’out I were there to rub +it into it.”</p> + +<p>“Well, but Jan, the bit o’ money what Squire gives +’ee is a pension—same as what soldiers an’ sick-like do +get i’ their ancient years. Squire don’t expect ’ee to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span> +do no more work for en now, and ye be so fearful punished +wi’ the rheumatics, an’ all. No—‘Mrs. Guppy,’ says +Squire to I, so considerate as could be, ‘Mrs. Guppy,’ he +says, ‘Jan have served I faithful nigh upon two score year—now +he can take a bit o’ rest,’ he says; ‘I’ve a-made +sure as he’ll be comfortable in’s old age. The pension +’ull be paid reg’lar so long as he do live,’ says he, ‘or so +long as I do live,’ he says, laughin’ cheerful-like, ‘for ’pon +my word, I do think your Jan ’ll very likely see I down—he +be uncommon tough, so old as he mid be,’ says +Squire. ‘And if I do go first, my son ’ll see as he +wants for nothin’ in his time,’ he says. So let I light +your pipe, Jan, my dear, and sit ’ee down sensible like, i’ +the chimbley corner—’tis the best place for ’ee, good +man.”</p> + +<p>“You can light my pipe, if you like,” said John, still +gloomily, “but I be goin’ up-along all the same. Things +’ull be goin’ to ruin if I don’t tell ’em how they used to be +carried on i’ my time.”</p> + +<p>“I d’ ’low ye’ll not get so far,” said Mrs. Guppy; “but +of all the obstinate men—well, there, ’tis a good thing as +the A’mighty made half the world o’ women-folk, else +everythin’ ’ud be fair topsy-turvy.”</p> + +<p>John wedged his pipe firmly in the corner of his mouth, +put his gun under his arm, and, taking his thick stick +from the chimney corner, set forth, without vouchsafing +any answer; he limped painfully as he walked, and Mrs. +Guppy, looking sorrowfully after him, opined that he’d +have had enough of it afore he’d gone half a mile. But +though she had been wedded to John for thirty-five years,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span> +she had not yet learned the quality of his spirit; he +uttered many groans as he shambled along, and lifted the +poor limb, which had so long been well-nigh useless, with +increasing effort, but he held bravely on his way until he +reached his destination, a vast stretch of land, half park, +half down, peopled by innumerable rabbits and furnished +with copses and plantations, which no doubt afforded cover +to game of every kind. Here John paused for the first +time, turned his head on one side, clicked his tongue and +jerked forward his gun with a knowing air as a rabbit +crossed his path.</p> + +<p>“If ’t ’ad ha’ been loaded I’d ha’ made short work o’ +thee, my bwoy,” he remarked. “There don’t seem to be +so many o’ you about as there did used to be i’ my time, +though—not by a long ways. That there noo chap ’ull ha’ +let ye go down, I reckon. There bain’t many like poor +old Jan Guppy—nay, I’ll say that for ye, Jan. You was +worth your salt while you were about—’e-es, and so long +as ye be above ground I d’ ’low you’ll make it worth +Squire’s while to keep ye.”</p> + +<p>Having delivered this tribute to himself with a conscientiously +impartial air, he proceeded on his way, and +presently came in sight of the keeper’s cottage, or rather +lodge, set midway in the long avenue which led to the +Squire’s mansion, and smiled to himself at the sudden out-cry +of canine voices which greeted his approach.</p> + +<p>“There they be, the beauties! That’s Jet—I’d know her +bark among a thousand. I d’ ’low she knows my foot,” as +one voice detached itself from the chorus and exchanged +its warning note for a strangled whine of rapture. “She’ll<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span> +break that chain o’ hers if they don’t let her loose. ’Ullo, +Jet, old girl! Hi, Rover! Pull up, Bess!”</p> + +<p>All the barks had now ceased, and a pointer came scurrying +to the gate, followed by a large retriever.</p> + +<p>“There ye be, my lads—too fat, too fat. Ah, they be +feedin’ o’ them too well now—not so good for work, I d’ +’low! Poor old Jet! Ye be tied-up, bain’t ye? There, +we’ll come to ye.”</p> + +<p>Passing through the wicket-gate, he was limping unceremoniously +round to the back of the cottage, when the +door was thrown open and the astonished figure of the +keeper’s wife appeared in the aperture.</p> + +<p>“Mornin’, mum,” said John, lifting his hand half-way +to his forelock, which was his nearest approach to a +polite salutation when in parley with folks of Mrs. +Sanders’ degree. “I be Mr. Guppy, what was keeper +here afore your master. I be jist come to take a look +about.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, indeed,” said Mrs. Sanders, who was a very genteel +and superior person; “my husband would have had great +pleasure in taking you round, Mr. Guppy, but he’s out just +at present.”</p> + +<p>“No matter for that, mum, I’ll go by myself. What, +Jet! There ye be, my beauty; dear, to be sure, a body +’ud never think ’twas the same dog. She do seem to ha’ +fell away terr’ble, mum.”</p> + +<p>Jet, a curly-coated black spaniel, was at that moment +straining wildly at her chain, and wriggling her little black +body in such spasms of ecstasy at the sight of her old +master that it would have needed a very sharp eye to detect<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span> +any alteration in her appearance, if, indeed, such existed; +but John spoke in a tone of conviction.</p> + +<p>“She bain’t half the dog she were. What do you feed her +on, mum? Jet, she did used to be dainty—didn’t ye, Jet? +Her coat do stare dreadful, mum, now don’t it? A prize +dog didn’t ought to have its coat neglected like that. +When I had the charge o’ she, dally! if I didn’t comb +and brush her morn an’ night, same as if she’d been a +young lady. Be dalled if I didn’t! Where be your +master, mum?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sanders’ face, always somewhat frosty in expression, +had become more and more pinched and supercilious +during the colloquy, and she now replied extremely distantly +that she couldn’t say for certain where Mr. Sanders +might be, but that very likely he was looking after the +young pheasants.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” commented John, with interest; “and where +mid he ha’ got them this year?”</p> + +<p>“On this side of the North Plantation,” returned the +lady unwillingly.</p> + +<p>“A bad place, mum, a very bad place; no birds ’ull ever +do well there. If he’d a-come to I, I could ha’ telled en +that. They’ll never thrive up yon in that draughty place—no, +that they won’t; and it’ll be too cold for ’em. I’m +afeared he’ll have a bad season. The North Plantation—dear, +some folks doesn’t know much! Well, I’ll go and +have a look at ’em, and if I do see your husband, I mid be +able to gie en a word or two o’ advice.”</p> + +<p>“Ho! no need for that, I think,” cried Mrs. Sanders +wrathfully. “’Tisn’t very likely as my husband, wot ’as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span> +lived in the fust o’ families, and been keeper to a markis, +’ud want to take advice from an old gentleman like you, +Mr. Guppy, as has never left the one place all your life.”</p> + +<p>“I could have advised en agen the North Plantation, +anyhow,” said John stolidly. “Well, I’ll wish ’ee good-day, +mum. I’ll be goin’ my ways up-along.”</p> + +<p>And he hobbled off, muttering to himself as he went: +“The North Plantation! The chap must be a fool!... They +poor dogs, they was glad to see I!—jist about; but +bain’t he a sammy! There he do go and feed up the +shooting dogs so as they be for all the world like pigs, and +Jet, what we used to keep same as a little queen, he do +seem to take no more notice of nor if she was a cat! +Poor Jet! How she did cry to get to I! Well, well! I +may be able to put things straight a bit.”</p> + +<p>Proceeding at his slow pace, the pilgrimage to the North +Plantation was a matter of considerable time, and it was +noon before he halted at length beside the enclosure where +hundreds of tiny pheasant chicks ran in and out of their +several coops, with a venturesomeness much deplored by +their distracted hen foster-mothers.</p> + +<p>A tall, middle-aged man was walking about amid the +pens, with a proudly proprietary air which announced him +to be the head-keeper.</p> + +<p>Guppy wiped the sweat of weakness and fatigue from +his brow and uttered a quavering “Hullo!” Mr. Sanders +turned and walked majestically towards him.</p> + +<p>“What do you want,” he inquired briefly.</p> + +<p>“I be jist come up-along to have a look round,” announced +John. “I’m Mr. Guppy, what was here afore<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span> +you. You be in my shoes now, I mid say, but I don’t +bear ’ee no grudge for ’t—no, I don’t bear ’ee no grudge,” +he repeated handsomely.</p> + +<p>“Right,” said Sanders, who was a good-humoured fellow +enough, if a little puffed up by the dignity of his position. +“Glad to see you, Mr. Guppy. We’ve got a nice lot here, +haven’t we?”</p> + +<p>“’E-es,” agreed Guppy, with a note of reserve in his +voice; “’e-es, a tidyish lot; but you’ll not bring up the +half o’ them.”</p> + +<p>“Won’t I, indeed?” retorted Sanders, somewhat warmly. +“What makes you say that?”</p> + +<p>“I could ha’ telled ’ee as this here weren’t a fit place +for young pheasants,” returned the ex-keeper, not without +a certain triumph. “If you’d ha’ come to I, I could ha’ +telled ye. I’ve a-been thirty-nine year and nine month i’ +this place, and I’ve never put the young pheasants here +once—never once. What do you say to that?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I say as every man has his own notions,” returned +the other. “You might have a fancy for one +place, as very likely I’d take agen, and, on the other +hand, you seem to have some notion agen this ’ere place, +as <i>I</i> think most suitable.”</p> + +<p>“Well, ye’ll find out your mistake, I d’ ’low,” said Guppy +unflinchingly. “Done pretty well wi’ eggs this year?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, pretty well on the whole. We had to buy a few +hundreds, but, as I told Mr.——”</p> + +<p>“Buy ’em! Buy eggs! You must ha’ managed wonderful +bad. I’ve a-been here nigh upon farty year, and +never bought so much as one—not one. Dally! ’Twill<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span> +come terr’ble expensive for Squire if ye do carry on things +that way.”</p> + +<p>“Something had to be done, you see,” cried Sanders, +who was now beginning to be distinctly nettled. “You +seem to have been such a stick-in-the-mud lot—there was +hardly any game about the place that I could see when I +come.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! and weren’t there?” retorted John sarcastically. +“Ye must ha’ poor eyes, Maister Sanders. There, ’twas +what I did use to say to a cousin o’ Squire’s as used to +come shooting here twenty-five years ago, and couldn’t +hit a haystack. ‘There don’t seem to be anything +to shoot, keeper,’ he’d say; and I’d answer back, ‘Ye +must ha’ wonderful poor eyes, sir.’ Ho, ho! he were +a stuck-up sort o’ gentleman as were always a-findin’ +fault and a-pickin’ holes, but I mind I had a good laugh +agen him once. ’Twas a terr’ble hot day, and we’d walked +miles and miles, and I were a bit done-up at the end, and +thankful for a sup o’ beer. And he comes up to I, and +says, laughin’ nasty-like, ‘Well, Guppy, you don’t seem +much of a walker. Now, I could go all day.’ ‘’E-es, sir,’ +says I, ‘and so can a postman. I d’ ’low your bags ’ad much +same weight at the end o’ your rounds.’”</p> + +<p>Sanders vouchsafed no comment on this anecdote, and +John, propping his stick against the paling, proceeded with +much difficulty to climb over it, and to hobble from one +pen to the other, stooping stiffly to inspect the young +birds and the arrangements made for their comfort.</p> + +<p>“They big speckly hens is too heavy for these here +delicate little fellows,” he remarked. “Game hens is the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span> +best—’twas what I did always have. ’Tis more in nature +as the game hens should make the best mothers to young +pheasants. They be a poor-looking lot, Maister Sanders. +I did use to have ’em a deal more for’ard at this time o’ +year. What be feedin’ ’em on?”</p> + +<p>“Now look ’ere, I’m not going to stand any more o’ +this,” thundered the keeper, fairly losing his temper. “I’m +not going to have you poking and prying about this place +no longer. You’ve got past your work, and I’m doing it +now. If the Squire’s satisfied, that’s all I need think about. +If he isn’t, he can tell me so.”</p> + +<p>“Ha! no man likes bein’ found fault with,” returned +Guppy sententiously; “but sometimes ’tis for their own +good. Now you take a word o’ advice from I, what was +workin’ here afore you was born or thought of very like.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll not, then!” cried the other angrily. “Get out o’ +this, you old meddler, or I’ll report you to the Squire!”</p> + +<p>“You did ought to thank I for not reportin’ of you,” +returned John firmly. “The Squire do think a deal o’ I—a +deal; but I’d be sorry to get a man into trouble as do +seem to be meanin’ well. You mind my words, keeper, +and you’ll find as they’ll come true—ye’ll have a bad +season this year, and maybe ye’ll be a bit more ready to +take advice from them as knows more nor you do. ’Tis +the first year, so I’ll not be hard on ye.”</p> + +<p>He had now recrossed the wire, repossessed himself of +his stick, and with a nod of farewell at his irate successor, +turned his steps homewards.</p> + +<p>He spent the rest of that day lamenting the direful +changes which had taken place since his own withdrawal<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span> +from active life, and privately resolved to be astir early on +the morrow in order to proceed further with his tour of +investigation.</p> + +<p>With the first dawn, therefore, of a lovely spring morning +he left his bed cautiously, dressed in silence, and made +his way out of doors. The cottage which he had occupied +since his resignation of the keepership was situated at the +very end of the village, and as he glanced up the quiet +street he could detect few signs of life. No smoke was +yet stealing upwards into the still air, no cows lowing in +the bartons; the pigeons, indeed, were astir, preening +themselves somewhat sleepily, and cooing in a confidential +undertone, and the clucking of hens was audible here and +there, while more musical bird-voices resounded from trees +and hedgerows. The dew lay heavy on the long grass by +the roadside as John set forth. The morning mists had +not yet disappeared, and the glamour of dawn still enfolded +the world. The dew-washed leaves seemed to be +on fire, as they caught the rosy rays of the morning sun; +every little wayside pool gleamed and glittered. The air +was full of sweet scents, the delicate, distinctive odour of +the primrose being predominant, though here and there +a gush of almost overpowering perfume greeted the old +man’s nostrils, as he passed a wild apple-tree. A kind of +aromatic undertone came forth from damp moss, trunks of +fir-trees, springing young herbage, yet the exquisite fragrance +of the morning itself seemed to belong to none of +these things in particular, but rather to emanate from the +very freshness of the dawn.</p> + +<p>Old John, however, plodded onwards, without appearing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span> +to take heed of his surroundings; once, indeed, he paused +to sniff with a perturbed expression; a fox had passed that +way. His eyes peered warily into the undergrowth, over +the banks, beneath the hedgerows; he paused in traversing +a copse, stooped, uttering an exclamation of astonished disgust, +and some few moments later emerged from the brake +with a bulging pocket and an air of increased importance.</p> + +<p>Jim Neale, the under-keeper, had not long started on +his morning beat when he was hailed by a familiar voice, +and turning beheld his former chief.</p> + +<p>“Hullo, Maister Guppy, I be pure glad to see you on +your legs again. You be afoot early.”</p> + +<p>John surveyed him for a moment with an air of solemn +indignation.</p> + +<p>“’Tis jist so well I were afoot a bit early, Jim. You do +want I at your back, I d’ ’low. Which way have you been +a-goin’?”</p> + +<p>“Why, same as usual—across the big mead, from our +place, and up-along by top side o’ the park.”</p> + +<p>“Jist what I did fancy. You do seem to use your eyes +wonderful well, Jim—jist so well as ever. D’ye mind +how I used to tell ’ee ‘some folks has eyes and some has +none’?”</p> + +<p>“Why, what be amiss?”</p> + +<p>John, without speaking, put his hand in his pocket, and +drew forth a number of rabbit snares, sticks and all, which +he had picked up and secreted in the copse before-mentioned.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” said Jim. “Humph! I wonder who could have +put them there?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span>“Why, Branstone folks what be always a-hangin’ about +seekin’ what they can pick up.”</p> + +<p>“Well, ’twas a good job ye did chance to come along, +Mr. Guppy. I d’ ’low they didn’t have time to catch +nothin’. There weren’t no rabbits in ’em, was there?”</p> + +<p>“There was a rabbit in one of them though,” retorted +John triumphantly; “I’ve a-got en here i’ my pocket.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, and have ye?” queried John, eyeing the pocket in +question somewhat askance. “Well, it’s lucky I’ve a-met +ye—ye can hand en over to me i’stead o’ going all the way +up to Sanders.”</p> + +<p>“I can hand en over to you, can I? Thank ye kindly, +Maister Jim; ‘findins’ is keepins’—or used to be i’ my +day. Well, of all the cheek! ‘Hand en over,’ says he to +I what has been his maister, I mid say, for fifteen year and +more. Hand en over, indeed!”</p> + +<p>Jim, temporarily abashed, pushed his hat a little to the +back of his head, and stared for a moment or two in +silence; then his features relaxed into a slow grin.</p> + +<p>“’Pon my word, if it do come to cheek, be dalled if I +could say which of us has the most of it! Ye bain’t keeper +here no longer, Mr. Guppy, and I don’t know as Squire +’ud be altogether pleased if he was to catch you a-pocketin’ +one of his rabbits.”</p> + +<p>John laughed derisively.</p> + +<p>“Squire ’ud know a bit better nor that,” he remarked, +as soon as he had sufficiently composed himself. “Squire +’ud know better than grudge I a rabbit arter all them hundreds +as I’ve a-had the years and years as I were here. +Be ye a-goin’ on now?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span>“’E-es I be,” returned Jim, somewhat sulkily.</p> + +<p>“Then look sharp, else you’ll very like miss a good few +more things what be under your nose.”</p> + +<p>Jim walked away growling to himself that he wasn’t +a-goin’ to have two masters if he knew it, and that it was +enough to be at one man’s beck and call without being +hauled over the coals by folks what had no right to be +there at all.</p> + +<p>John, leaning on his stick, watched the receding form, +still with an air of lofty sovereignty, till it had disappeared, +and then took his way homewards, feeling that he had +done a good morning’s work.</p> + +<p>It was marvellous how one so decrepit as he could +manage to be as ubiquitous as he thenceforth became. +His bent figure and wrinkled face were perpetually turning +up in most unexpected quarters, to the wrath and occasional +dismay of Mr. Sanders and his underlings, his small keen +eyes frequently detecting some small error or omission +which his quavering voice was immediately uplifted to +denounce and reprehend. Matters reached a climax when, +one sunshiny morning, he discovered the eldest hope of +the Sanders family in the act of climbing a tree in search +of a bird’s nest, and, not content with boxing the urchin’s +ears as soon as he descended to earth again, hauled him +off by the collar to the parental abode. The boy’s outcries +brought his father to the door, accompanied by Jim, who +had chanced to call in for orders.</p> + +<p>“See here what I’ve a-caught your bwoy a-doin’ of. +His pocket be chock-full o’ eggs—pigeon eggs. He ha’n’t +a-got no right to go into the woods arter pigeons’ eggs.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span> +I’ve brought en to ’ee, Maister Sanders, so as ye may gie +en a dressin’. I be too old to do it myself. Nay, nay, at +one time I could ha’ fetched him a crack or two what ’ud +ha’ taught en manners. But I bain’t strong enough for that +now.”</p> + +<p>“Let go of him—let go at once, I say,” shouted the +indignant parent. “Who gave you leave to interfere? +The lad’s my lad, and it’s none o’ your business to go +meddlin’ with him. Come here, Philip-James; go in to +your mother, boy. He’s mauled you fearful.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you must be a soft fellow,” ejaculated John in a +tone of deep disgust. “I couldn’t ha’ believed it! If <i>I</i> +had a-caught a bwoy a-trespassin’ i’ my woods when I was +here, I’d ha’ thrashed him well for ’t—let him be my son +twenty times over.”</p> + +<p>“Trespassin’ indeed! You’re a trespasser yourself,” +cried the keeper. “You’ve no business in these woods +at all; you’ve no business to come near the place. I’ll +summons you, see if I don’t.”</p> + +<p>“Well, that is a tale!” exclaimed John, leaning against +the gate-post that he might the better indulge in a kind +of crow of ironical laughter. “Trespass—<i>me</i> trespass; me +what was keeper here for nigh upon farty year. Lard ha’ +mercy me! What’ll ye say next?”</p> + +<p>“Well, but it <i>be</i> trespassin’, you know, Maister Guppy,” +remarked Jim, thrusting his head round the lintel of the +door; “it be trespassin’ right enough. If you was head-keeper +once, you bain’t head-keeper no more. You ha’n’t +got no call to be here at all. It <i>be</i> trespassin’.”</p> + +<p>“You hold your tongue, Jim Neale,” retorted John<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span> +fiercely—“hold your tongue! Who asked you to speak—you +as did ought to be ashamed of yourself for neglectin’ +the ferrets same as you do. The big dog-ferret have a-got +the mange terr’ble bad. You bain’t the man to give a +opinion, I d’ ’low.”</p> + +<p>Jim, incensed at this sudden home-thrust, uttered a +forcible exclamation, and proceeded with much warmth: +“You’ve a-got a wrong notion i’ your head altogether, +Maister Guppy; you be a-trespassin’ jist the same as you +was a-poachin’ t’other marnin’.”</p> + +<p>“Poachin’!” cried John, his face purple with wrath and +his voice well-nigh strangled—“poachin’! Dall ’ee, Jim, +I’ll not stand here to be insulted. There, I’ve a-passed +over a deal—a deal I have. I’ve overlooked it on account +of the many years as we’ve a-worked here together, but +this here be too much. I’ll report ye, Jim Neale, see if I +don’t; and I’ll report you too, Maister Sanders, for insultin’ +of I same as you’ve a-done. There’s things as a body +can’t overlook, let him be so good-natured as he mid be, +and there’s times when a man’s dooty do stare en i’ the +face. I’ll report ye this very hour.”</p> + +<p>“That’s pretty good,” laughed Sanders. “Upon my +word, that’s pretty good. Maybe Jim an’ me will have +something to report to the Squire too. You’d best come +along with me, Jim, and we’ll see who the Squire listens +to.”</p> + +<p>“Come along then,” cried John valiantly, before Neale +had time to answer. “Come along; we’ll see. I bain’t +afeard o’ the Squire. The Squire do know I so well as if +I was his own brother. Come on, if you be a-comin’.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span>The three set out, walkin’ shoulder to shoulder in grim +silence, the younger perforce accommodating their pace to +the slow gait of the old man, who hobbled along between +them, leaning heavily upon his stick, his face set in resolute +lines.</p> + +<p>They were kept waiting for some little time until the +Squire had finished his breakfast, but were presently admitted +into the billiard-room where they found him smoking +by a blazing wood fire, for he was of a chilly temperament, +and though the morning was sunny, the air was still sufficiently +sharp.</p> + +<p>“Hallo, Guppy!” he cried cheerily, as his eyes fell on +the old man. “What! you’re about again, are you? You’re +a wonderful old fellow! You’ll see me down, I’m sure, +though there are twenty years or so between us.”</p> + +<p>John pulled his forelock and then laid his gnarled hand +in the Squire’s outstretched palm.</p> + +<p>“You’re a splendid old chap,” said his former master, as +he shook it warmly. “I must own I never thought to see +you on your legs again after that stroke, coming as it did +on the top of the rheumatics. How are the rheumatics, +John?”</p> + +<p>“Very bad, thank ye, sir. There, I can scarce turn i’ +my bed, and when I do try for to walk my limbs do seem +to go all twisty-like. I be fair scraggled wi’ it, Squire.”</p> + +<p>“Well, men, what brought you here?” inquired their +master, turning for the first time to the keepers, and +addressing them with some surprise.</p> + +<p>“Why, a rather unpleasant matter, sir, I am sorry to +say,” returned Sanders respectfully, but a trifle tartly.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span> +“’Tis a bit difficult to explain, seein’ as you seem so taken +up with Mr. Guppy here. I understood, sir, when I +accepted your sitooation as I was to have a free hand. I +didn’t look for no interference from anybody but you yourself, +sir.”</p> + +<p>“Well, haven’t you got a free hand? I’m sure I don’t +interfere,” replied the Squire, with a shrug of his shoulders.</p> + +<p>“’Tis Maister Guppy what be al’ays a-meddlin’, sir!” +put in Jim, with a pull at his forelock. “He do come up-along +mostly every mornin’, a-horderin’ and a-pickin’ holes +here, there, and everywhere. Mr. Sanders and me do find +it terr’ble ill-conwenient.”</p> + +<p>“I was just going to say, sir,” resumed Sanders, “when +Neale interrupted me”—here he paused to glare at his +inferior—“as it was what I was never accustomed to—outside +people comin’ and pokin’ and pryin’ and fault-findin’ +and interferin’——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear, how much more!” exclaimed the Squire, +looking from one to the other in affected dismay, mingled +with a little real vexation. “Guppy, what’s all this about?”</p> + +<p>“Playse ye, sir, I couldn’t a-bear to see you a-treated +same as ye be treated by them as ye puts your trust in. +Everythin’ be in a reg’lar caddle all over the place—everythin’ +be a-goin’ wrong, sir, and when I sees it, I tells +’em of it. I can’t do no different—’tis my dooty. You +do pay I by the week reg’lar, and I bain’t a-goin’ to eat +the bread o’ idleness—’t ’ud stick i’ my in’ards—’e-es, that +it would. ‘So soon as I do get upon my legs,’ says I, ‘I’ll +have a look round;’ and I did have a look round, and +what did I find? Every blessed thing a-goin’ wrong—so<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span> +I sarces ’em for ’t. I wasn’t a-goin’ to hold my tongue, and +see you tricked and abused. I was easy wi’ ’em—a dalled +sight too easy—I did ought to have reported of ’em before, +but to-day I couldn’t stand it no longer; when I did speak +to ’em they up and insulted me, both on ’em. ’E-es, they +did. They insulted of I shameful.”</p> + +<p>“I am sorry to hear that——” the Squire was beginning, +when Mr. Sanders, losing patience, interrupted him.</p> + +<p>“Begging your pardon, sir, ’tis more than flesh and blood +can stand; ’tis got to be him or me—that’s all I can say. +Nobody could put up with it. I found things in a very +bad state when I came, and I’m getting them better +gradual, sir, and doing my dooty in all respects as well as +I can; but if Guppy is to be allowed to come pryin’ and +spyin’ after me, and findin’ fault with all my arrangements——”</p> + +<p>“He did call I a trespasser,” broke out John, who had +been ruminating over his private woes, without taking heed +of the keeper’s indictment. “He did call I a trespasser; +he did say I was trespassin’ when I told en I’d a-been +walkin’ through the Long Wood yonder where I did catch +his little rascal of a son a-bird’s-nestin’ so bold as you +playse. And Jim there, what did ought to know better, +up and said I was poachin’ last week. <i>Me</i> poachin’! Me +what brought him back that very day a dozen o’ snares +what I had picked up i’ the hedge as he went gawkin’ +past without taking a bit o’ notice of.”</p> + +<p>“’E-es, but you found a rabbit in one and popped it +into your pocket!” cried Jim irefully. “Popped it into +your pocket and walked off wi’ it, let I say what I would.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span>“In course I did,” retorted John, with great dignity, “in +course I did. ’Tweren’t very likely as I’d leave it wi’ you. +As I telled ’ee at the time—says I: ‘Squire wouldn’t +grudge me a rabbit now arter all the hundreds as I’ve +a-had while I was keeper up yonder.’”</p> + +<p>The Squire covered his mouth with his hand, but tell-tale +wrinkles appeared about his eyes, and the points of +his moustache curled significantly upwards. After a +moment he recovered himself sufficiently to desire the +keepers to withdraw, announcing that he would have a +quiet talk with John Guppy, and that no doubt the matter +could be arranged.</p> + +<p>“So you had hundreds of rabbits while you were in my +service, John,” he remarked, crossing one leg over the +other, and looking at the old man with a smile. “Didn’t +you get very tired of them?”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir, my old woman be wonderful with the cookin’, +and she did do ’em up in a-many different ways. ’E-es, +we did use to have a rabbit for dinner four days out of +seven.”</p> + +<p>“Did you indeed?” returned his former master, much +interested in these revelations. “Do you suppose, John, +the other men had hundreds of rabbits every year, too?”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir, it be a matter o’ taste. Some folks doesn’t +fancy rabbit; but, of course, they can take so many as +they do want.”</p> + +<p>“Of course,” agreed the Squire.</p> + +<p>“’E-es; keepers takes rabbits same as gardeners helps +theirselves to cabbages. I knowed you’d never begrudge +me that there little un.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span>“No, to be sure; but we mustn’t be too hard on Jim. +Jim was doing what he thought to be his duty. Now, you +know, no matter how many rabbits a keeper may take for +himself, he is not supposed to allow other people to take +any.”</p> + +<p>“Nay, sir, nay; I wouldn’t expect it—not other folks. +But I d’ ’low it be different wi’ I, what was head over en +for so many year. He didn’t ought to ha’ gone and +insulted of I.”</p> + +<p>“No, no, of course not; but then, you see, you had +vexed him. He was too angry to discriminate between +poaching and—just helping yourself.”</p> + +<p>“And t’other chap, ’ee telled I I was trespassin’!” resumed +John wrathfully.</p> + +<p>“Well, my dear John, we must consider the point of +view. Every man has his own, you know. As a matter +of fact, I’m afraid, from Sanders’s point of view, you were +trespassing.”</p> + +<p>John’s face was a study.</p> + +<p>“I never thought to live to hear you say that, Squire.”</p> + +<p>“I only said from his point of view,” cried the Squire, +hastily. “He’s naturally, perhaps, a little jealous; you +were here so many years, you know, and of course, like all +young men—young men will have foolish notions, John—he +thinks his way is the best way. We old fogies must +just give in for the sake of peace and comfort.”</p> + +<p>“Noo ways,” agreed the old man, sorrowfully; “noo +folks and noo ways.”</p> + +<p>“As you heard me say just now,” resumed his master, +“<i>I</i> don’t interfere with him, and, upon my life, I think it’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span> +better you shouldn’t interfere, John. I fancy it would be +wiser if you could just keep away for a little bit—then no +one could say you were trespassing, you know.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll keep away, Squire,” said John. “No fear; I’ll +keep away. Ye’ll not have to tell I that twice.”</p> + +<p>“You and I are free to have our own opinions, of course,” +urged the Squire, smiling, “but we’ll keep them to ourselves—these +young folks you know——”</p> + +<p>But John did not smile in return; his head, always bent, +drooped almost to his breast, his lips moved, but uttered +no sound. After a moment or two, he pulled his forelock, +scraped his leg, and turned to depart.</p> + +<p>“You’re not going, John?”</p> + +<p>“’E-es, sir, I be goin’, I bain’t wanted here no more. +As you do say, noo times——”</p> + +<p>“Now, now, I can’t have you going away offended. +Don’t you see how it is, John?”</p> + +<p>“Nay, sir, I don’t see nothin’ but what you’ve a-gone +and thrown over a old servant for a noo un. That be all +as I can see. You didn’t check en for insultin’ of I, and +you did uphold him and made little of I. I be goin’, and +you’ll never be troubled wi’ I again. I’m fit for nothin’. I +be a-eatin’ of your bread and a-takin’ of your money and +doin’ nothin’ for ’t. Eatin’ the bread o’ idleness! I d’ ’low +it ’ull fair choke I.”</p> + +<p>The Squire, vexed and perplexed, in vain sought to soothe +him, but he waved aside all attempts at consolation, and +made his way slowly out of the room and out of the house.</p> + +<p>The Squire watched him as he went tottering down the +avenue. “What’s to be done?” he said to himself. “The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span> +poor old chap is past his work; it would be cruelty to +allow him to attempt it. Sanders is an excellent fellow, +on the other hand—more go-ahead than dear old John, +and, it must be owned, a better keeper. He would certainly +have given notice if I had allowed John to continue +his visitations here. It is the only thing to be done, but I +can’t bear to see the poor old fellow so cut up.”</p> + +<p>As Guppy passed the keeper’s lodge the dogs ran forward, +leaping upon him and whining. He patted them +absently, and then pushed them off. “Down, Rover, +down! There, Bessie, off wi’ you; you should learn a +lesson fro’ your betters. Stick to the noo folks, and get +rid of the wold. Poor beasts! they be fain to see I, I d’ +’low. Dogs bain’t like Christians. They don’t seem to +know when a man be down. They be faithful, all the +same; they haven’t a-got no sense, poor things.”</p> + +<p>He was spent and trembling when he arrived at his own +home, and sank down in his chair by the hearth.</p> + +<p>“There, missis, put away my gun; I’ll not want it no +more; I be done wi’ it—I be done wi’ everythin’. I could +wish that there stroke had a-carried I off. I bain’t no use +i’ this world as I can see. It do seem a strange thing as +the Lard ’ll leave ye to live on and on when folks be tired +o’ ye, and be a-wishin’ of ye under the sod. I wish I were +i’ my long home—aye, that I do.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Guppy was at first alarmed, then affected, and +finally burst into tears.</p> + +<p>“I’m sure I never did hear a man go on the same as you +do, Jan; there, I be all of a tremble. What’s amiss? +What’s come to ye? What’s it all about?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span>“Gi’ I my pipe,” said John; “there’s things a woman +can’t understand.”</p> + +<p>Not another word could she extract from him till dinner-time, +when she summoned him to table.</p> + +<p>He gazed at the food sourly. “All charity!” he murmured. +“Charity, woman. I be eatin’ what I haven’t +earned. I may jist so well go to the Union.”</p> + +<p>A few days later the Squire’s dogcart drew up at the +little gate, and the Squire himself descended therefrom, +carrying a couple of rabbits which he extracted from under +the seat.</p> + +<p>“Good-day, John; good-day, Mrs. Guppy. Well, John, +how are you? Cheering up a bit, I hope.”</p> + +<p>John shook his head slowly.</p> + +<p>“I’ve brought you a couple of rabbits,” continued the +Squire. “It never struck me till the other day how you +must miss them. I’ll send you some every week. There +are enough, Heaven knows.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want no rabbits,” growled Guppy; “I bain’t +a-goin’ to eat of ’em.”</p> + +<p>“John!” gasped his wife, hardly believing her ears.</p> + +<p>“Put ’em back i’ the cart, woman,” he continued; “I +bain’t a-goin’ to eat no rabbits what they chaps up yonder +have a-ketched.”</p> + +<p>“Why, John,” said the Squire, sitting down beside him, +“can’t you get over it? I thought you would be all right +by this time.”</p> + +<p>“I bain’t all right, Squire, and I can’t get over it. Nay, +look at it which way I will, I can’t. Here be I, John +Guppy, a bit scram and a bit wambly; but so sound i’ the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span> +head as ever I was, whatever my legs mid be. Here be I, +anxious for to do my dooty, and able for to do my dooty, +and you won’t let I do it. You do give me money what +I haven’t earned; you do want I to sit here idle when I’m +as ready for a day’s work as any o’ they new-fangled chaps +what you’ve a-set up yonder i’ my place.”</p> + +<p>The Squire sighed and looked hopelessly at Mrs. Guppy, +who stood with her hands folded limply at her waist, and +a most dolorous expression on her countenance, shaking +her head emphatically at every pause in her husband’s +speech. After a few further attempts at consolation, the +Squire rose and went to the door, followed by his hostess.</p> + +<p>“What is to be done, Mrs. Guppy?” he inquired, when +they were out of earshot. “I positively can’t have him +back up there—he isn’t fit for it; and he has been setting +all the other men by the ears.”</p> + +<p>“He’s fair breakin’ ’is ’eart,” murmured Mrs. Guppy +dolefully. “He thinks he bain’t o’ no use—and he bain’t—and +it’s killin’ ’im. If he could even fancy he was doing +summat and ockipy hisself in any way he’d be a different +man. ’Tis the thought as nobody wants en what do cut +en so.”</p> + +<p>The Squire cogitated, and then a sudden light broke +over his face.</p> + +<p>“I have it,” he cried. “I have thought of a job for the +old fellow! We’ll put him to rights yet, Mrs. Guppy—see +if we don’t!”</p> + +<p>He re-entered the cottage, and approached the inglenook +where John still sat, leaning forward, and slowly +rubbing the knees of his corduroys.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span>“John,” he said, “I was almost forgetting a most important +thing I wanted to say to you. Sanders and Jim +have got their hands pretty full up there, as you know.”</p> + +<p>“I d’ ’low they have,” agreed Guppy; “they’re like to +have ’em too full, seein’ as they don’t know how to set +about their work nohow.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes. Well, Sanders is very busy all day and Jim +has a wide beat. Neither of them ever find time to go +near the river. It’s my private belief, John, that that +river is dreadfully poached. We’ve next to no wild duck, +you know.”</p> + +<p>“We never did have none, sir,” interrupted Guppy.</p> + +<p>“Just what I say,” agreed his master; “we never had +the chance. You had <i>your</i> hands pretty full when you +were head-keeper, hadn’t you?”</p> + +<p>“I weren’t one what ’ud ever ha’ let ’em get empty,” +growled Guppy.</p> + +<p>“Well, I was thinking, now that you haven’t very much +to do, you might undertake the control of those meadows +down there by the river, if you feel up to it, and it’s not +asking too much of you.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! I could do it,” returned John, in a mollified tone; +“I could do it right enough if I was let.”</p> + +<p>“I should be very much obliged to you,” resumed the +Squire, “very much obliged indeed. All that part of the +property has got shamefully neglected. I imagine the +people think they’ve got a right-of-way.”</p> + +<p>“Very like they do,” agreed John, whose countenance +was gradually clearing; “but I can soon show ’em whether +they have or not.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span>“Just so. Well, will you undertake to look after that +part of the estate for me? It will be a great relief to my +mind. Don’t overtire yourself, you know; but any day +that you are feeling pretty fit you might stroll round, and +just keep a sharp look-out.”</p> + +<p>“’E-es, I could do that,” said John, after considering for +a moment; “I could do it all right, Squire. I will look +into the matter.”</p> + +<p>“That’s right. Thank you very much, John. I shall +feel quite satisfied about it now.”</p> + +<p>He nodded, and went away, John looking after him +with a satisfied expression.</p> + +<p>“I never did mind obligin’ the Squire,” he remarked +to his wife, “and I’m glad to do en a bit of a good +turn i’ my ancient years. ’Tis true what he do say, +that there bit down by the river have a-been fearful +neglected. I myself could never make time to go down +there, and ’t ain’t very likely as these here chaps ’ull go +out of their way to look round. I’ll put it to rights, +though.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sure it’s very good o’ you, John,” said Mrs. Guppy, +who had listened to the foregoing colloquy with a somewhat +mystified air. “I shouldn’t ha’ thought that there +was anything worth lookin’ arter down there. Why, the +town boys do bathe there reg’lar i’ the summer.”</p> + +<p>“They’ll not bathe there any more,” returned her lord +resolutely. “I’ll teach Mr. Sanders a lesson—I’ll larn ’em +how to see arter a place as it did ought to be looked arter! +Reach me down that gun, woman!”</p> + +<p>He sallied forth that very hour, drawing up his little,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span> +bent form to as close an approach to straightness as he +could manage.</p> + +<p>His first care on reaching his destination was to examine +the gates that gave access to this stretch of meadow-land. +He pursed his nether lip and shook his head disapprovingly +at their shaky condition, making a mental resolution +to repair them at the earliest opportunity, and moreover +to see that they were provided with padlocks. After +diligently hunting in the neighbouring wood, he discovered +a half-defaced board, which had at one time borne the +legend, “Trespassers will be prosecuted,” and, with a sigh +of satisfaction, placed it in a more prominent position.</p> + +<p>His joy was extreme when, late in the afternoon, he +discovered an honest labouring man in the act of climbing +a gate, which, owing to the rickety condition of its hinges, +could not be opened without risk of falling flat upon the +ground.</p> + +<p>“Where be goin’ to?” inquired John, sternly.</p> + +<p>“Why, jist home-along,” returned the other, with a good-humoured +smile; “’tis a bit of a short cut this way.”</p> + +<p>“There’s to be no more short cuts here,” cried John, +with a certain almost malignant triumph. “These here +meadows belongs to Squire. They’m his private property.”</p> + +<p>The man’s jaw dropped. “That’ll be summat noo,” he +said doubtfully, but still good-humouredly.</p> + +<p>“’Tis noo times all round,” replied Guppy, with an odd +contraction of the face, “but these ’ere reg’lations ’ull be +carried out strict. You jist turn about, my bwoy.”</p> + +<p>“I be three parts there now,” protested the other.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span>“Then you’ll have to step back three parts, that’s all,” +responded Guppy unmoved.</p> + +<p>The man scratched his head, stared, and finally recrossed +the gate, and walked away, grumbling to himself, +Guppy looking after him with a sense of well-nigh forgotten +dignity. He had vindicated the majesty of the +law.</p> + +<p>All hitherto unconscious trespassers had thenceforth a +bad time of it under the reign of the new river-keeper. +Would-be bathers, small boys on bird’s-nesting intent, +tired women with market-baskets, labourers on their way +to and from their daily work, were ruthlessly turned back +by old Guppy, whose magisterial air carried conviction +with it. The other keepers, laughing perhaps in their +sleeves, let him pursue his tactics unmolested, and the +Squire was careful to congratulate him from time to time +on the success of his labours. John Guppy’s greatest +triumph was, perhaps, when he actually did discover a +wild duck’s nest amid the sedges of the now tranquil +river. How tenderly he watched over it; how proudly +he noted the little brood of downy ducklings when they +first paddled from one group of reeds to another in the +wake of their mother; with what delight he imparted his +discovery to the Squire, and with what supreme joy did +he invite him to set about the destruction of these precious +charges when they were sufficiently grown! Almost +equal rapture was his when, having struggled along the +avenue with a brace of ducks dangling from each hand, he +encountered the head-keeper in the shrubbery.</p> + +<p>“Those are fine ones,” remarked Sanders, good-naturedly;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span> +he was a good-hearted fellow in the main, and did not +grudge the old man his small successes.</p> + +<p>“I should think they was,” returned Guppy, swelling with +pride. “They be uncommon fine uns, Maister Sanders; +they be the only wild duck what was ever seen on this +here property. I be glad to hear,” he added, condescendingly, +“as you’ve done pretty well wi’ the pheasants, too. +Squire was a-tellin’ me about the good season ye did +have.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” rejoined the keeper, with a twinkle in his eye; +“they didn’t turn out so bad, you see, Mr. Guppy.”</p> + +<p>“I be very glad on’t, I’m sure,” said John, still condescendingly; +“of course it be easy to rear a good few +pheasants if you do go in for buyin’ eggs; it bain’t so very +easy to get wild duck to take to a place where they never +did come afore.”</p> + +<p>“No, to be sure,” agreed Sanders affably. “It was a +wonderful piece of luck, that was.”</p> + +<p>“It wasn’t luck, Maister Sanders,” said John impressively, +“it was knowledge.”</p> + +<p>And he walked on, with conscious pride in every line +of face and figure, leaving his successor chuckling.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">THE WORM THAT TURNED.</h2> +</div> + +<p>“<span class="smcap">Where</span> be goin’, William?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I be jest steppin’ up to the Pure Drop.”</p> + +<p>And William Faithfull brought back his abstracted gaze +from the horizon, where it habitually rested when it was +not required for practical purposes in the exercise of his +profession, and fixed itself somewhat shamefacedly on his +interlocutor.</p> + +<p>He was a tall, loose-limbed man, of about forty, with an +expression of countenance chronically dismal, except at +such times when he was employed in some particularly +genial task, such as making a coffin, or repairing the church +trestles, when his neighbours averred that he became quite +lively, and even whistled as he worked.</p> + +<p>His crony now returned his glance with a jocular one, +and slapped his thigh ecstatically.</p> + +<p>“Well, I never seed such a chap! Faithfull by name +and faithful by natur’—ah, sure you are. Why, ’tis nigh +upon twelve year, bain’t it, since ye started coortin’ Martha +Jesty?”</p> + +<p>“Somewhere about that,” replied William; and his +countenance, already ruddy in the sunset glow, assumed a +still deeper tint.</p> + +<p>“Well, I never!” returned the other with a shout of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span> +laughter. “She be gettin’ on pretty well, now—I d’ ’low +she’ll be a staid woman by the time you wed her.”</p> + +<p>William shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he said, after a pause, “I d’ ’low she be worth +waitin’ for. She be wonderful clever, Martha be—an’ that +sprack! No, I don’t regret it—not at all I don’t.”</p> + +<p>“Bain’t the wold man anyways comin’ round?” inquired +his friend with his head on one side.</p> + +<p>“No,” returned Faithfull gloomily. “Not at all. But +he be so terr’ble punished, poor wold chap, one can’t +expect rayson off he.”</p> + +<p>“’Tis the rheumatics, bain’t it?” was the next query in +a commiserating tone.</p> + +<p>“’Tis the sky-attics,” replied the carpenter, not without +a certain pride in his pseudo-father-in-law’s distinguished +ailment. “There, he be so scraggled as anything—all +doubled up by times. Martha do say he goes twisty-like +same as a eel, when it do take en real bad.”</p> + +<p>“Lard, now!” ejaculated the other.</p> + +<p>“’E-es,” said William, shaking his head—“that’s how it +do take en. So, as Martha do say, ye can’t expect the +onpossible. ‘If my father,’ says she, ‘be so scram-like in +his out’ard man, how can ye look for en to act straight-forrard? +He’ve a-set his mind again’ the notion of us +gettin’ wed, so we must just wait till he be underground. +And then,’ says she, ‘I’ll not keep ’ee waitin’ a minute +longer.’”</p> + +<p>“Well, that’s handsome,” agreed the friend, “but I’m +afeard, William, that there complaint bain’t like to carry +en off very soon—no, not so very soon. Nay, I’ve a-knowed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span> +folks keep on a-livin’ in a way that ’ud surprise +ye, as was fair bent in two wi’ pains in all their j’ints. I +reckon you’ll very like go first yerself, William.”</p> + +<p>After a pause of deep depression the carpenter’s face +lighted up.</p> + +<p>“The sky-attics, d’ye see, Tom,” he explained condescendingly—“the +sky-attics is a new-fayshioned ailment, +an’ a deal dangerouser nor the wold rheumatiz an’ newralgy +and sich. Why, when I did mention to Parson +t’other day about wold Jesty’s sky-attics he did laugh. +‘Sky-attics,’ says he. ‘Then he’ll be like to go up’ards afore +very long,’ says he. Well, so long, Tom; I must be steppin’ +up-along now.”</p> + +<p>“Ye’ll find the wold fellow a bit tilty,” remarked Tom; +“whether them there ’attics was troublin’ en or not I can’t +say, but he was a-shoutin’ an’ a bally-raggin’ o’ that poor +faymale while I was drinkin’ my drap o’ beer jist now, till +I wonder she wasn’t dathered.”</p> + +<p>William’s recent elation disappeared; he vouchsafed no +comment on the unwelcome news, however, but with a +sidelong nod at his crony, shambled away, swinging his +long limbs as though every joint of them was loose.</p> + +<p>The Pure Drop was situated a stone’s throw from the +village, and stood at the junction of four cross-roads; a +most excellent position, which enabled it to waylay, as it +were, not only the inhabitants of the hamlet as they set +forth for or returned from their day’s vocations, but to +capture most of the travellers who journeyed that way—cyclists +galore, wagoners, dusty pedestrians. It must be +owned that the aspect of the little place was inviting<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span> +enough to tempt even a teetotaller; the low red-brick +house overgrown with creepers, the mullioned windows +winking brightly in the sun in summer, and in winter +letting streams of ruddy firelight flow forth. It was so +clean and airy, so cosy and trim, that those who went +thither for the first time vowed they would return again, +and old customers nodded knowingly, and declared that +the place had not its like in the country. The liquor was +good, while prudent folk who called for tea might have +it, and a crusty home-baked loaf into the bargain, and +a roll of fresh butter of Martha’s making.</p> + +<p>Then Martha herself—though she was no longer in the +first bloom of youth, she was a tidy, clean-skinned, pleasant-looking +little body; and if her eye was sharp and her +tongue ready, she was none the less popular on these +accounts; every one got hauled over the coals from time to +time, and when it was not your turn it was pleasant enough +to see other folks made to look foolish.</p> + +<p>Miss Jesty was standing in the open doorway when her +lover came up, and immediately made a warning sign to +him.</p> + +<p>“Ye mustn’t come in to-night, William. Father—there! +he’s something awful this evenin’, an’ he’ve a-been on the +look-out for ye, so to speak, ever since dinner-time. Whenever +the door do go, ‘There,’ he’ll cry, ‘is that that good-for-nothin’ +William Faithfull?’ Or if there’s a knock, +‘’Tis that sammy o’ thine, for sure,’ he’ll say.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, an’ does he?” returned poor William, with a +deeper expression of melancholy.</p> + +<p>Martha nodded portentously.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span>“Ye mustn’t come in to-day,” she said with decision; +“no, not even for a minute. Father, he did say to I jist +now, as whatever happened he wouldn’t have no cwortin’ +here. ‘If ye can have the heart to think about cwortin’ +when I’m so bad as I be,’ says he, ‘I’ll take an’ alter my +will.’ So there’s nothin’ for it but for you to turn about +an’ go home again.”</p> + +<p>“I weren’t so much thinkin’ o’ cwortin’ this evenin’, +Martha,” said the swain very meekly. “I wer’ lookin’ for +a drap o’ beer—I be terr’ble dry.”</p> + +<p>Martha hesitated for a moment, and in this interval a +kind of bellow sounded from the interior of the house.</p> + +<p>“That’s him,” she cried in terror. “No, William, ye +can’t have no beer to-night. I dursen’t stay another +minute. Go home-along, do, an’ if ye be so thirsty as +that comes to, can’t ye get a bottle o’ ‘pop’ off Mrs. +Andrews?”</p> + +<p>William gazed at her blankly, but before he could protest +his charmer had disappeared within the house, and he +was forced very dolefully to retrace his steps. He did +indeed purchase the bottle of “pop,” but found it by no +means exhilarating; in fact, as he laid his head on the +pillow that night he was tempted to think he might pay +too high a price even for the hope of becoming one +day Martha’s husband.</p> + +<p>When on the following Sunday evening, however, he +walked in the shady lane hand-in-hand with his sweetheart, +he forgot how irksome was this time of trial, and +listened with the melancholy satisfaction which was his +nearest approach to cheerfulness (on ordinary occasions)<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span> +to the glowing picture with which she depicted the reward +earned by his constancy.</p> + +<p>“I do r’alely think as poor father be a-breakin’ up,” she +remarked consolingly. “When winter comes I reckon +he’ll not be able to hold out. Well,” she added piously, +“’tis what comes to us all, soon or late, an’ I’m sure he be +well prepared, for I don’t think he’ve a-had a day’s health +this twenty year. ’Twill be a mercy when he do go, poor +wold man. An’ the winter ’ud be a very nice time for us +to get married, William; ’twould suit us very well, wouldn’t +it?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, sure,” said William, with a slow smile.</p> + +<p>“We shouldn’t be so busy then, d’ye see,” resumed +Martha. “The harvestin’ ’ud be done an’ the potato-gettin’; +an’ there wouldn’t be so many by-cyclists—there’s +not so much goin’ backwards an’ forrards in winter-time. +We shouldn’t be at much loss if we was to take a holiday.”</p> + +<p>“Ah,” said William, with mournful rapture, “you was +thinkin’ of us takin’ a holiday, was ye, Martha?”</p> + +<p>“I thought we mid go to London,” cried Miss Jesty +triumphantly. “I have always longed to go to London +an’ see the sights there, an’ go to the theayters. There! +Susan Inkpen as wed Miller Dewey did go up to London +for her honeymoon.”</p> + +<p>“For her what?” interrupted Faithfull.</p> + +<p>“For her honeymoon—her weddin’ journey—the jaunt +what folks do take when they gets wed.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, to be sure,” said the carpenter. “An’ you an’ me +be to go to London for our honeymoon, be we?”</p> + +<p>“’E-es,” cried Martha with a chuckle. “We’ll have a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span> +rale week’s pleasurin’, you an’ me. If ’tis winter-time—as +most like ’twill be, on account o’ poor father’s sky-attics, +you know—the pantomines ’ull be goin’ on. Susan Dewey +did go, an’ she said they was the wonderfullest things, wi’ +fairies an’ mermaids, an’ sich-like, an’ Clown an’ Pantaloon +a-knockin’ of each other about. There, she an’ her husband +did fair split their sides wi’ laughin’.”</p> + +<p>William appeared to survey this prospect stolidly, and +made no comment, and Miss Jesty continued eagerly:—</p> + +<p>“Then there’d be the Waxworks, an’ the Zoo, where +all the wild beasts is kept; an’ we’d go an’ see the Tower +o’ London, where all the king’s jools an’ suits of armour is +set out, an’ we’d go to Westminster Abbey——”</p> + +<p>“What’s that?” inquired Mr. Faithfull dubiously.</p> + +<p>Martha was taken aback for a moment.</p> + +<p>“Susan went to see it,” said she hesitatingly, “so I +s’pose ’tis worth lookin’ at. ’Tis a wold ancient church.”</p> + +<p>“A wold church?” repeated William, shaking his head. +“I d’ ’low I shouldn’t care so much to see that. I’d sooner +wait till ’twas done-up fresh-like. I never cared at all for +goin’ into our church till the Rector had it cleaned and +painted-up so good as new. I think ’t ’ud be a foolish +kind o’ thing to go trapesin’ off to yon—what-d’-ye-call-it—Abbey +till they get it repaired.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe not,” agreed Martha cheerfully; “there’s +plenty more to be seen wi’out that. Well, I hope the +Lord ’ull spare father so long as it be good for en, poor +dear man, but if he was to be took, I hope as it may be +in the winter, William.”</p> + +<p>William, who had been trailing beside her arm-in-crook,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span> +suddenly stopped short and faced her with a determined +air.</p> + +<p>“Whether he do go in winter or whether he do go in +summer, Martha,” said he, “you an’ me must be called +home so soon as he be laid underground, mind that.”</p> + +<p>And having come to the turn in the lane where they +usually parted, William went his way, leaving Martha +somewhat in doubt whether to be pleased at this proof of +ardour or indignant at the sudden display of spirit.</p> + +<p>A wilful woman is proverbially supposed to have her +way, yet it sometimes happens that, even when she proposes, +Heaven disposes events otherwise than she would +have had them. Thus, though Martha Jesty had made +arrangements for her father to depart this life in the winter—a +time when business should be conveniently slack—that +worthy old gentleman was removed from this earthly +sphere in the very height of summer, when the harvest +was in full swing, and more than an ordinary number of +tourists halted daily for refreshment at the Pure Drop.</p> + +<p>Tidings of this melancholy event were imparted to +William by a group who entered his yard on the morning +of the occurrence, each eager to be the first to tell the news. +That old Mr. Jesty was gone was an incontrovertible fact, +but none of the newsmongers could agree as to the precise +ailment which had carried him off. He had had a bit of a +cold for a day or two, but while some said it had turned to +“browntitus,” others were sure it was “poomonia,” and +one shrill-voiced old lady delivered it as her opinion that +nothing short of an “apple-complex” could have carried +him off that sudden.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span>Beyond sundry “ohs” and “ahs” and grunts indicative +of surprise and sympathy, William made no remark, though +when one facetious bystander observed that it would be his +turn next—a somewhat obscure phrase, which might be +interpreted in a variety of ways—he grinned appreciatively.</p> + +<p>No sooner had the gossips departed, however, than he +went indoors and assumed his coat, and immediately betook +himself, not to the Pure Drop, but to the Rectory.</p> + +<p>“The Reverend,” as his parishioners frequently called +him, was sitting in his study, tranquilly reading his <i>Times</i>, +when William Faithfull was ushered in.</p> + +<p>“You’ll have heard the noos, sir,” he began abruptly; +“old Abel Jesty up to the Pure Drop, he’s gone at last.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” said the Rector, looking rather startled; “that’s +sudden, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“’E-es,” said William, with a wooden face; “sudden but +not unpre-pared. Martha has been a-lookin’ for en to go +this ten year.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” said the Rector again, this time a little uncertainly.</p> + +<p>“’E-es,” resumed William; “I thought I’d call an’ tell +ye, so as ye need lose no time in settling things.”</p> + +<p>“About the funeral, I suppose you mean?” put in the +clergyman as he paused.</p> + +<p>“No,” said William, who was gazing not only over the +Rector’s head, but apparently through the wall at some +distant sky-line; “about the weddin’—mine an’ Martha’s. +Ye mid call us over on Sunday.”</p> + +<p>“Really, William, I think that is too sudden,” said the +Rector; “why, the poor old man won’t have been dead +a week!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span>“He be so dead as ever he’ll be,” returned William, still +gazing impenetrably at that far point in an imaginary +horizon. “Martha an’ I have a-made it up years ago, +an’ settled as she’d not keep me waitin’ no longer after +her father was took. I’ll thank ye to call us home, sir.”</p> + +<p>And with that he scraped a leg and pulled his forelock +and withdrew, leaving the Rector, half-scandalised, half-amused, +murmuring to himself as the door closed something +about “funeral baked-meats,” which William set +down as a “bit o’ voolishness”.</p> + +<p>He found Martha plunged in the most praiseworthy +grief, thereby much edifying the neighbours who had +gathered together to condole with her; but William, who +could only see the other aspect of the affair, immediately +beckoned her on one side and informed her of the step he +had taken.</p> + +<p>“Lard!” cried she, genuinely taken aback, “whatever +made ye do that? Why, father ’ull only be buried o’ +Thursday. You shouldn’t ha’ done it wi’out axin’ me. +’Tis too sudden. The folks ’ull say we’ve no decency.”</p> + +<p>“Let ’em say what they like,” returned William firmly. +“I’ll keep to my ’greement, an’ I expect you to do the +same. ’Twas drawed out ten year ago an’ more. I’ve +stuck to my word, an’ you must stick to your’n.”</p> + +<p>“’Twill be a very onconvenient time,” said Martha reflectively. +“Three-week come Monday—the middle of +August that’ll be, jist when we do take more money nor +any other month in the year.”</p> + +<p>William cracked his finger joints one after another with +great decision, but made no verbal reply.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span>“There, I’ve a-been lookin’ forward to our honeymoon +all these years,” complained Martha, fresh tears rushing to +her eyes; “it’ll be a shame, I declare, if we have to give +it up! I’ve never took a holiday, no, not since mother died. +I don’t see how we can get away then, William.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t care so much about gettin’ away,” said Faithfull +resolutely. “’Tis the weddin’ I do want. I’ll not have no +shilly-shally. I’ve a-told ye hundreds of times as I wouldn’t +wait a day longer nor I could help—an’ I won’t wait. +You’d best make up your mind to it.”</p> + +<p>“Why, whatever’s come to ye?” cried Martha, really +angry. “’Tis downright indecent to go upsettin’ me like +this in the midst o’ my trouble. ’Tisn’t for you to be +namin’ the day either. Jist you keep a civil tongue in your +head, William, an’ have a bit o’ patience—maybe about +Michaelmas——”</p> + +<p>“Michaelmas!” ejaculated the carpenter, catching up +his hat and fixing it firmly on his head. “I’ll tell you +summat, Martha—I’m goin’ to get married o’ Monday +three-week, whatever you mid be. If ye can’t make up +your mind to it there’s them as will. I’ll go warrant my +cousin Sabina, over to Sturminster, ’ud have me if I was +to ax her. Her an’ me was always very thick. Gully, +that’s her husband, left her very comfortable, an’ she has +but the one little maid.”</p> + +<p>Martha thereupon came round in a twinkling, and flinging +herself into his arms, promised to agree to everything +he wished. A tender scene ensued, at the end of which +William suggested that he had better go upstairs to +measure the poor old man for his coffin.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span>When he came down again he found Martha in the +midst of her cronies, to whom she had imparted, with a +kind of regretful elation, the extreme pressure which +William had brought to bear upon her with regard to +their approaching nuptials, all her hearers being much impressed +and edified by the recital.</p> + +<p>She turned to her lover as he was about to leave the +house:—</p> + +<p>“Ye’ll not be chargin’ me nothin’, I shouldn’t think,” she +remarked with mournful archness.</p> + +<p>William, who had not hitherto considered the matter, +hesitated for a moment, and then observed handsomely:—</p> + +<p>“Nothin’ but the price of the wood, my dear. You +shall have the labour free.”</p> + +<p>“Lard bless the man!” cried she, with some irritation. +“I believe he’s goin’ to make out a bill for it. Why, don’t +ye see, William, if we’re to be man an’ wife in three-week, +’twill be but takin’ the money out o’ one pocket to put it in +the other?”</p> + +<p>“And that’s true,” agreed the friends in chorus.</p> + +<p>After a pause, during which the carpenter had thoroughly +mastered the situation, he turned to his intended, and, +with a sudden burst of generosity, informed her that he +would make her a present of the whole thing.</p> + +<p>“I haven’t gied you so very much afore now,” said he, +“but I’ll make you a present of this, my dear, an’ welcome.”</p> + +<p>And he walked away, while Martha, looking after him +through her tears, observed that there wasn’t a better-natured +man in the whole of England.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span>William, indeed, was in such good humour at the approaching +fruition of his hopes that Martha found him +more amenable than ever to her views.</p> + +<p>Therefore, when, a day or two after the funeral, she +encountered him on his way to the tailor’s, where he intended, +as he informed her, to order his wedding-suit, she +was emboldened to lay her hand on his arm and beseech +him tearfully to be married, like her, in “deep”.</p> + +<p>“’Twill show proper feelin’,” said she. “All the neighbours +’ull know that you are showin’ respect to poor father; +an’ since ye’ll be jist comin’ into the family, ’twill be but +decent as you should wear black for him what’s gone.”</p> + +<p>William, who had been dreaming of a certain imposing +stripe which had dazzled him, days before, in the tailor’s +window, among the pile labelled “Elegant Trouserings,” +now dismissed with a sigh the alluring vision, and promised +to appear in mourning as requested.</p> + +<p>But when later on Martha unfolded to him another +plan, he gave in his adherence to it with some reluctance. +It was no less a proposition than that they should take +their honeymoon by turns.</p> + +<p>“You see,” she explained, “it just falls out that the +weddin’s the very week o’ the Branston show—the house +’ull be full from morn till night for three days or more; an’ +we turn over enough that week to pay the year’s rent, +very near. ’Twouldn’t do for us both to be away.”</p> + +<p>William gazed at her with a more rueful face than she +had ever yet beheld in him.</p> + +<p>“Dear now! don’t you take on,” urged Martha. “I +thought, d’ye see, I’d just pop up to London for a few<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span> +days by myself, an’ you can stop an’ mind the house, an’ +maybe some time in the winter we mid both on us take a +few days together somewhere.”</p> + +<p>William gazed at her reproachfully.</p> + +<p>“Ye didn’t ought to want to go a-pleasurin’ wi’out I,” +said he.</p> + +<p>“No more I would, my dear,” returned his future better-half, +“if it could be helped. But ’twas yourself as named +the day, an’ if ye won’t have it put off——”</p> + +<p>The carpenter, with a vigorous shake of the head, intimated +that he certainly would not have it put off.</p> + +<p>“Well, then,” summed up Martha triumphantly, “ye +must agree to let me have a bit o’ honeymoon. ’Tis what +every bride expects, an’ ’tis the one thought what have +kept my heart up all these years. I’ve always promised +myself this holiday afore I settled down to wedded life.”</p> + +<p>William stared at her gloomily, but made no further +opposition; and she informed him in a cheerful tone that +he need not fear her staying away too long.</p> + +<p>“We’ll have the weddin’ o’ Monday mornin’,” said she, +“quite private-like. The neighbours all know we can’t +have a great set-out here, on account o’ poor father. An’ +you can carry my bag to the station directly we leave +church, an’ I’ll be back again Saturday night, so as we can +go to church together Sunday mornin’. Will that do ye?”</p> + +<p>“’Twill have to do me, I s’pose,” returned William, +still with profound melancholy.</p> + +<p>“’Tis by your own wish, ye know,” said the bride; “if +you hadn’t held out for us to be married all in such a +hurry, I’m sure I should have been glad for us to take our<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span> +honeymoon together, my dear. But ye can’t have everythin’ +in this world.”</p> + +<p>“No,” agreed Faithfull, with a groan; “no, that ye +can’t. ’Twould ha’ been more nat’ral-like to go on our +honeymoon together; but what must be, must be.”</p> + +<p>On the Monday morning the much-discussed wedding +took place; bride and bridegroom were alike clad in new +and glossy black, Martha’s blushing countenance being +scarcely visible beneath her crape “fall”.</p> + +<p>The villagers were all much impressed; there is nothing +indeed that the rustic mind so thoroughly appreciates as +the panoply of woe, and to find this mourning ceremonial +united with marriage pomp was felt to be a rare privilege, +and, as such, productive of sincere admiration.</p> + +<p>When the wedded pair left church, their friends and +neighbours hastened to offer congratulations, attuned to +a becoming note of dismalness, which intimated that condolence +lay behind; and it was a rude shock for all when +William was suddenly hailed in a tone of most discordant +cheerfulness. A tall, black-eyed woman had suddenly +rushed forward and seized him by the hand.</p> + +<p>“There, now! So I wasn’t in time after all! I made +sure I’d get here soon enough to see the weddin’. I did +always say I’d come to your weddin’, didn’t I, William? +I thought it very unkind of ye not to ax me.”</p> + +<p>“’Twas very private-like, d’ye see, Sabina,” said William, +who had been energetically pumping her hand up and +down. “Martha, here—I mean Miss Jesty, no, I mean +Mrs. Faithfull—she did want it private, along of her father +being dead.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span>“Have ye been a-buryin’ of en to-day?” interrupted +the newcomer with an awe-struck glance at his sable garb. +“No, no—of course not. But why did ye go for to get +married in deep?”</p> + +<p>“My ’usband,” said Martha repressively, “thought it +but right to show respect to them that’s gone, Mrs. Gully—I +think ye said your cousin’s name was Gully, William; +I s’pose this is your cousin?”</p> + +<p>“’E-es, to be sure,” agreed the owner of that name, +cheerfully. “Half-cousin, if ye like it better—our mothers +was two brothers’ daughters.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed,” said Martha stiffly. “I must wish ’ee good-day +now, for William an’ me be in a hurry to catch +train.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Gully’s jaw dropped, but the carpenter, after +hastily explaining that they weren’t having any party +along of the mourning, invited her to come home and +take a bite o’ summat with him and his wife before they +went to the station.</p> + +<p>A frown from Martha intimated that she considered +this hospitality ill-timed, but William stuck to his point, +and they all three turned their steps together towards the +Pure Drop.</p> + +<p>“I think I’ll hurry on an’ change my dress,” remarked +Martha, after stalking on for some moments in silence.</p> + +<p>She was not going to travel in her best black and get +the crape all messed about with dust.</p> + +<p>“Don’t mind me, William, my dear,” said Sabina, when +the bride had left them. “If you’re wanting to change +your deep, ye’d best hurry on, too, maybe.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span>“I’ve no need to change my suit,” returned William +sorrowfully. “I bain’t a-goin’ on the honeymoon.”</p> + +<p>“What!” cried the widow, in astonishment. “She’s +never goin’ to leave ye on your weddin’ day?”</p> + +<p>“She be,” said Mr. Faithfull slowly. “It do seem a +bit hard, but we couldn’t both on us leave the house, an’ +she haven’t a-had a holiday for twenty year. Ye see, it +fell out this way—”</p> + +<p>And he proceeded to explain the circumstances, already +related, on which Mrs. Gully animadverted with +much warmth.</p> + +<p>They were still discussing the matter when Martha +rejoined them in the private room of the Pure Drop, +where a slight refection had been set forth.</p> + +<p>This was partaken of hastily, and for the most part in +silence, and at its conclusion Mrs. Faithfull jumped up +and took a ceremonious farewell of her new cousin. William +shouldered his wife’s bag and set forth beside her. Martha +beguiled the walk to the station by a variety of injunctions, +all of which the new landlord of the Pure Drop promised +to heed and obey. It was not until she had actually +taken her seat in the railway carriage that she found time +for sentiment, and then, embracing her husband, she expressed +the affectionate hope that he would not be lonely +during her absence.</p> + +<p>William clambered out of the compartment and carefully +closed the door before he answered:—</p> + +<p>“Well, I shan’t be altogether that lonely. Sabina—she +be a-comin’ to keep I company till ye come back.”</p> + +<p>“Never!” cried Mrs. Faithfull, thrusting a scared face<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span> +out of the window. “You don’t mean to say ye took on +yerself to ax her to stop in my house?”</p> + +<p>The whistle sounded at this juncture, but William +walked beside the train as it slowly moved off.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t ax her. ’Twas she herself as did say, when +she heerd you were a-goin’ for to leave I all by mysel’, +says she, ‘I’ll tell ’ee what, Will’um; I’ll take a holiday, +too, an’——’” A loud and prolonged shriek from the +engine drowned the remainder of the sentence, and the +train steamed away, the last sign of the new-made bride +being the agitating waving of a protesting hand from the +carriage window.</p> + +<p>The carpenter was smoking a ruminative pipe, about four +o’clock on that same afternoon, in the doorway of the snug +little hostelry of which he now found himself master, when +he was suddenly hailed by a distracted voice from the road.</p> + +<p>“William! for the Lard’s sake, William, do ’ee come and +ketch hold of this here bag!”</p> + +<p>William removed his pipe, stared, and then wedging the +stem firmly in the corner of his mouth, rushed down the +path and up the roadway.</p> + +<p>“Bless me, Martha, be ye comed back again? Tired o’ +London a’ready?”</p> + +<p>“No, my dear, I didn’t ever get so far as London,” cried +Martha, thrusting the bag into his hand, and throwing herself +in a heated and exhausted condition upon his neck. +“I didn’t go no further than Templecombe. There, I’d +no sooner started nor I did feel all to once that I couldn’t +a-bear to leave ’ee. I fair busted out a-cryin’ in the train.”</p> + +<p>“Did ye?” said Faithfull, much gratified.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span>“I did indeed,” resumed his wife. “‘Oh,’ says I, ‘how +could I ever treat en so unfair,’ says I, ‘arter all them years +as him an’ me was a-walkin’? Oh,’ says I, ‘when I think +of his melancholy face, an’ this his weddin’ day an’ all.’ So +I nips out at Templecombe, an’ gets another ticket, an’ +pops into the train as were just startin’ Branston-way—an’ +here I be.”</p> + +<p>“Well, an’ I be pure glad to see ye,” cried William +heartily.</p> + +<p>They had by this time reached the house, and Mrs. +Faithfull, still breathless with fatigue and agitation, stared +anxiously about.</p> + +<p>“Where is she?” she inquired in a whisper.</p> + +<p>“Who?” said William, setting down the bag.</p> + +<p>“Why, your Cousin Sabina!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, her!” said William, with something like a twinkle +in his usually lack-lustre eye; “she be gone home-along to +fetch her things an’ lock up her house. She says she’ll +come back to-morrow mornin’ first thing.”</p> + +<p>“Well, but we don’t want her now, do we?” cried +Martha, trembling with eagerness. “I was thinkin’ maybe +after all, ye’d fancy a bit of a holiday, William. Ye might +drop her a bit of a line an’ say ye was goin’ to take the +first honeymoon yerself. I fancy ye’d like London very +well, William. You <i>should</i> have the first turn, by right, +the man bein’ master; an’ I mid be able to run up for a +couple o’ days at the end o’ the week. Here’s my ticket, +d’ye see; you could catch the last train, you know, an’ +then, as I tell ’ee, I’d come an’ j’ine ye.”</p> + +<p>“That won’t do,” said William firmly; “nay, ’twon’t do.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span>“Why not?” gasped Martha.</p> + +<p>“Ye may pop that ticket in the fire,” said William, +speaking slowly, and suffering his countenance to relax +gradually. “’Tain’t no manner of use to I. I—be—a-goin’—for +to stop—an’ keep—my—honeymoon—here—along +of ’ee.”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">OLF AND THE LITTLE MAID.</h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Olf</span> drove the cows up from their pasture by the river, +whistling all the way as was his wont. It was not a +particularly tuneful whistle, for he had no ear for music; +nevertheless, blending as it did with the morning ecstasies +of a particularly early lark, with the chirp of the newly +awakened nestlings in the rambling hedges, with the drone +of the first bee, with the thousand and one other sounds +of the summer dawn, these vacillating notes added something +to the general harmony. As his troop of cows +plodded tranquilly in front of him, they made green tracks +in the dewy sheen of the fields, the silvery uniformity of +which had hitherto been unbroken save for the print of Olf’s +own footsteps, large and far apart, where he had stridden +forth half an hour before to gather together his charges.</p> + +<p>Arrived at the open gate, the cows passed solemnly +through, crossed the road and turned up the narrow lane +which led to Farmer Inkpen’s premises, made their way to +the shed at the farther end and took possession each of +her own stall.</p> + +<p>The farmer had just emerged from the house, and was +in the act of tying the strings of his white “pinner”; his +wife and daughter, each carrying the necessary three-legged +stool, were walking slowly towards the scene of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span> +their morning labours. Another female form was already +ensconced on a similar stool at the very farthest end of the +shed, and edged itself a little sideways as the leading cow +stepped past it to her accustomed place. In a few minutes +the whole herd had ranged itself, and the rhythmical splash +of milk falling into the pails was soon heard.</p> + +<p>According to custom, Olf’s next proceeding should have +been to “sarve” the pigs, but instead of directing his steps +towards the adjacent styes, he stood embracing one of the +posts which supported the shed, and gazing at his master +with a vague smile on his habitually foolish face.</p> + +<p>“Well, Olf?” inquired the farmer, dropping his horny +fingers from the bow which he had just succeeded in tying +in the middle of his portly waist.</p> + +<p>“Well, maister!”</p> + +<p>The farmer glanced at him in amazement.</p> + +<p>“Anything wrong?”</p> + +<p>The smile on Olf’s face expanded into a grin. Clasping +the post still more firmly with one hand, he swung himself +round it to the full length of his arm, then swung himself +back again and became suddenly serious.</p> + +<p>“Nay, sir, nay, there’s nothin’ wrong. I thought I mid +just so well show you this ’ere.”</p> + +<p>Down went his hand into the depths of his pocket, +from which, after producing sundry articles of no particular +interest to any one but their owner, he drew forth a piece +of paper, folded small, and soiled with much fingering. +This he handed to his master, his face now preternaturally +solemn, his eyes round with an expression which might +almost be taken for one of awe.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span>Farmer Inkpen smoothed out this document and read +it, his jaw dropping with amazement when he had mastered +its contents. He stared at Olf, who stared back at him +with palpably increasing nervousness.</p> + +<p>“Whatever is it?” cried Mrs. Inkpen, thrusting her +head round from behind the dappled flank of her particular +cow. “No bad noos, I hope.”</p> + +<p>“Bad noos!” ejaculated her husband, recovering his +wits and his voice together, “what d’ye think? Olf there +has come into a fortun’!”</p> + +<p>“Never!” exclaimed Mrs. Inkpen, craning her neck as +far as she could round her charge, but not ceasing for a +moment in her occupation. “You don’t say so!”</p> + +<p>“However did ye manage that, Olf?” cried Annie Inkpen. +And the “spurt spurt” of the milk into <i>her</i> pail +ceased for a moment.</p> + +<p>“’Tis a prize drawin’,” explained her father, speaking +for Olf, who was notoriously slow with his tongue. +“He’ve a-been an’ took a ticket in one o’ them Dutch +lotteries.”</p> + +<p>“Four on ’em,” interrupted Olf, with unexpected promptitude.</p> + +<p>“Eh?” inquired his master, turning round to look at +him.</p> + +<p>“I say I did take four on ’em!” repeated Olf. “They +was a-talkin’ about it in the town, an’ they said two tickets +gave ye a better chance nor one, an’ four was the best of +all. So I did settle to take four.”</p> + +<p>“Well, what have ye got? How much is the prize?” +cried the “missus,” now mightily excited, and feeling more<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span> +at leisure to gratify her curiosity, as the time had come for +“stripping” her cow.</p> + +<p>“A thousand pound, no less,” shouted her lord before +Olf could open his mouth. “Why, Olf’s as good as a +gentleman now. Lard, I never had the layin’ out of a +thousand pound in my life. Why, ye can take a bigger +farm nor this if ye do like, an’ ye can stock it straight off +wi’out being beholden to anybody.”</p> + +<p>Olf, who had again been swinging himself round the post, +now paused to digest this astonishing piece of information.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Inkpen cackled as she picked up her stool and +proceeded to operate on the next of the long row.</p> + +<p>“Why, he’ll be settin’ up so grand as you please,” she +cried. “He’ll be gettin’ married first off, I should think. +Tain’t no use tryin’ to work a farm wi’out a missus.”</p> + +<p>At this juncture light steps were heard pattering over +the cobble-stones, and Maggie Fry, from the village in +the “dip,” came up, jug in hand, to fetch the milk for her +father’s breakfast.</p> + +<p>“What do you think?” shouted Annie, raising herself +a little from her seat in order to judge of the effect which +her announcement would produce upon Maggie, who was +a crony of hers. “What do you think, Maggie? Here’s +Olfred Boyt come into a fortun’. He’ve a-been an’ won +the thousand pound prize in one of them Dutch bank +drawin’s—he is a rich man this mornin’!”</p> + +<p>“He is,” chimed in her mother, with a crow of laughter. +“I am just tellin’ him he’ll have to look out for a wife first +thing. Mr. Farmer Boyt must have a missus to look after +the grand noo property he be a-goin’ to buy.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span>“Ah, sure he will,” cried the farmer.</p> + +<p>Olf swung himself round the post once more, and then +slowly regaining his former place, gazed thoughtfully at +Annie, whose fair, curly head was delicately outlined +against the golden-red flank of her cow.</p> + +<p>“I’d as soon have you as any one, Annie,” he remarked +hesitatingly.</p> + +<p>“Me!” cried Annie, jumping up and knocking over her +stool. “Of all the impudence! Me, Olf? Your master’s +daughter?”</p> + +<p>Her pretty face was flushed to the temples, her eyes +were flashing fire. Her mother and father burst into loud +laughter, in which Maggie joined.</p> + +<p>“I d’ ’low he isn’t very slack once he do make up his +mind,” cried the farmer, wiping his eyes. “’Tis a bit +strong, I will say, ’tis a bit strong, Olf.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll be a master myself now,” explained Olf, looking +from one to the other, “an’ I’d as soon have Annie as +any one,” he added with conviction.</p> + +<p>“Well, I’d a deal sooner not have you,” ejaculated +Annie, picking up her stool, and sitting down again with +a suddenness that betokened great perturbation of mind. +“I think ’tis most awful cheeky of you, Olf, to ask me, +an’ I don’t see as it is any laughing matter.”</p> + +<p>Thereupon she fell to work again, the milk falling into +her pail in a jerky manner, which, while relieving her own +feeling, was not altogether satisfactory to her meek charge, +whose horned head came peering round as though to +ascertain the cause of this unusual disturbance.</p> + +<p>Olf, after contemplating for a moment the resolute<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span> +outline of the back presented to him so decidedly, slowly +turned his gaze upon Maggie, who still stood by, laughing +and dangling her jug.</p> + +<p>“Will you have me, Maggie?” he inquired pleasantly.</p> + +<p>“Dear heart alive!” ejaculated the farmer, while his +wife once more gave utterance to a shout of laughter.</p> + +<p>It was now Maggie’s turn to flush and look disconcerted. +“I’m not goin’ to put up wi’ Annie’s leavings,” she cried +indignantly. “The idea! I s’pose you reckon any maid +is to be picked up for the axin’, Olfred Boyt. You think +you have nothin’ more to do nor just p’int your finger at +the first one you fancy an’ she’ll have you straight off. +A pretty notion!”</p> + +<p>“A pretty notion indeed,” cried Annie, “and a pretty +figure he’d be to go out a-coortin’!”</p> + +<p>“’E-es,” resumed Maggie, with ever-increasing indignation, +“a pretty figure, I d’ ’low. Tell ye what, Olf, next +time you go a-coortin’ ye’d best wash your face first.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! ’tis true. ’Twould be a good notion,” laughed the +farmer. “Ye bain’t exactly the kind o’ figure a maid ’ud +jump at.”</p> + +<p>Olf raised a grimy hand to his sunburnt face as though +to ascertain what manner of appearance it presented. It +was true he had not washed it that morning, but there was +nothing surprising in that. It would indeed have been a +manifestly sinful waste of soap and water to perform one’s +ablutions before “sarving” the pigs. In fact, according to +established custom, Olf’s toilet was accomplished at a late +hour in the afternoon when his labours were concluded. +The condition of his chin would have at once announced<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span> +to any experienced observer that it was then the middle of +the week; from the appearance of his garments he might +have recently effected a change with a tolerably respectable +scarecrow. Altogether, after a moment’s reflection, Olf +felt that Maggie’s point of view was justified, and that he +was not precisely the kind of figure to go courting at such +short notice. Presently he remarked reflectively, “Ah! +’tis true, I mid ’ave washed myself a bit afore axin’ the +question. I will next time.”</p> + +<p>Then he held out his hand to the farmer for the paper, +pocketed it, and went shambling across the yard towards +the corner where the pig-bucket stood.</p> + +<p>Except for the clatter of the cans, and the sound of the +spurting milk, silence reigned in the shed for a moment +after his departure. The farmer stood scratching his chin +meditatively, while the women-folk appeared also lost in +thought.</p> + +<p>By-and-by Mrs. Inkpen’s voice sounded muffled from +behind her cow. “A thousand pound, mind ye, isn’t to +be picked up every day.”</p> + +<p>“It bain’t,” cried her husband.</p> + +<p>Annie tossed her head. “He be a regular sammy,” she +remarked.</p> + +<p>“And ’tisn’t as if a maid hadn’t plenty of other chaps to +walk with,” chimed in Maggie.</p> + +<p>From the farthest corner a little voice suddenly sounded, +“He be a very kind man, Olf be. He be a very kind man.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think so, Kitty?” called out the farmer good-naturedly. +“Hark to the little maid! You think Olf be +a kind man, do ye, Kitty?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span>“Don’t talk so much and mind your work, Kitty,” said +Mrs. Inkpen severely. “Nobody axed your opinion. +The idea,” she continued, in an angry undertone to her +husband, “of a little chit, the same as that, puttin’ in her +word. What does she know about Olf, or what kind of a +man he is? You will have to be lookin’ out for somebody +else to take Olf’s place, that’s what I’m thinkin’,” she +remarked presently to her husband. “’Tis a pity. Olf be +a bit of a sammy, as Annie do say, but he is a good worker +and never gives no trouble. I could wish somebody else +had won the fortun’.”</p> + +<p>The two girls were now gossiping together and interchanging +various opinions derogatory to Olf, and eulogistic +of sundry other youths with whom it would appear +they “walked” by preference. By-and-by the milking was +concluded, and the farmer and his women-folk went in to +breakfast, Maggie having taken her departure some minutes +before.</p> + +<p>As the cows began to troop pasturewards again, Olf, +standing by the yard-gate, noticed a girl’s figure come +darting forth from the obscurity of the shed. It was +Kitty, a workhouse-bred orphan, whom Mrs. Inkpen had +engaged as general help in house and dairy. She was a +little creature, small and slight, with a round freckled face +and flaming red hair. I say “flaming” advisedly, for it +seemed to give forth as well as to receive light. Her face, +habitually pink and white, was now extremely pink all over +as she paused opposite Olf; a dimple peeped in and out +near the corner of her mouth, and her teeth flashed in a +smile that was half-shy and half-mischievous.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span>“Please, Olf,” said she, “if you are lookin’ for a wife, I’m +willin’ to have ye.”</p> + +<p>Olf, who had been about to pass through the gate in the +rear of his charges, wheeled about and faced her, scratching +his jaw meditatively.</p> + +<p>“Oh, an’ are you, Kitty?” said he.</p> + +<p>“E-es,” said Kitty, nodding emphatically.</p> + +<p>Olf eyed her thoughtfully, and then his eyes reverted to +the cows, which, after the perverse manner of their kind, +were nibbling at the quickset hedge over the way.</p> + +<p>“Who-ope, who-ope,” he called warningly, and then +once more glanced at Kitty. “We’ll talk about that ’ere +when I come back,” he remarked, and sauntered forth +pulling the rickety gate to after him.</p> + +<p>Kitty paused a moment with a puzzled look, and then, +being a philosophical young person, picked up her pail +and betook herself indoors.</p> + +<p>She had finished a somewhat perfunctory breakfast, and +was on her knees scrubbing the doorstep when Olf returned. +She heard his footfall crossing the yard, but did +not look round, neither did she glance up when his shadow +fell upon the sunlit flags. After the necessary pause for +adjustment of his ideas, Olf broke the silence.</p> + +<p>“You’d be willin’ to take me?” said he.</p> + +<p>“E-es,” returned Kitty, without raising her head.</p> + +<p>Olf paused a moment, then—“You’d like to marry me, +would ye, Kitty?”</p> + +<p>“E-es,” said Kitty again.</p> + +<p>“They two other maids wouldn’t so much as look at +me,” pursued Olf, in a ruminative tone. “I wonder what +makes ye think you’d like to marry me, maidie?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span>Kitty sat back upon her heels and contemplated him +gravely, mechanically soaping her scrubbing-brush the +while.</p> + +<p>“You did carry my pail for I t’other day when ’twas too +heavy,” she replied presently, “and you did black my +shoes on Sunday when I was afraid I would be late for +church. And besides,” she added, “I think ’twould be +nice to get married, and there—I be so sick of scrubbin’ +doorsteps and cleanin’ pots and pans!”</p> + +<p>“That’s it, be it?” said Olf. “But you mid still have +to clean pots and pans after we was married, Kitty,” he +added with a provident eye to the future. “The missus, +she do often do a bit of cleanin’ up, if she be the +missus.”</p> + +<p>“That would be different,” returned Kitty. “I shouldn’t +have no objections to scourin’ my own pots and pans.”</p> + +<p>“True, true,” agreed Olf.</p> + +<p>Kitty dropped on all-fours again. “Well, I have told +ye I’d be willin’,” she observed in somewhat ruffled tones, +“but of course ye needn’t if ye don’t like.”</p> + +<p>“Who says I don’t like?” returned Olf, with unexpected +warmth. “I d’ ’low I do like. I do think it a very good +notion, my maid.”</p> + +<p>Kitty gave a little unexpected giggle, and continued to +polish her doorstep with an immense deal of energy. Olf +stood by for a moment in silence. Then to her surprise, +and it must be owned, dismay, he turned about and walked +slowly away.</p> + +<p>If Kitty had been unwilling to turn her head a few +moments before, no earthly power would have induced her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span> +to glance round at him now; she began to sing blithely and +carelessly to herself, and made a great clatter with her pail +and scrubbing-brush. Not such a clatter, however, but +that after a moment or two she detected the sound of +vigorous pumping on the opposite side of the yard, and +guessed, from certain subsequent sounds, that Olf was +washing his face.</p> + +<p>Louder than ever sang Kitty when he presently crossed +the yard again and bent over her. But a wave of colour +rushed over her downcast face, and even dyed her little +white neck. She could hear Olf chuckling, and presently a +large finger, moist from recent ablutions, touched her chin.</p> + +<p>“Look up a minute, my maid,” said Olf.</p> + +<p>Kitty looked up. Olf’s sunburnt face was scarlet from +the result of his late exertions, and was imperfectly dried, +but it wore so frank and kindly a smile that the little maid +smiled back with absolute confidence.</p> + +<p>“So we be to start a-coortin’, be we?” inquired Olf +pleasantly.</p> + +<p>“I d’ ’low we be,” responded Kitty.</p> + +<p>“How’s that for a beginnin’, then?” inquired Olf. And +thereupon he kissed her.</p> + +<p>At this moment Mrs. Inkpen appeared on the threshold, +and soon her penetrating tones announced to the household +that Olf was at last suited with a bride. A good +deal of jesting and laughing ensued—not perhaps altogether +good-natured, for in some unaccountable way both +Mrs. Inkpen and Annie felt themselves slighted by this +sudden transfer of Olf’s affection—but the newly-engaged +couple submitted to their raillery with entire good humour,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span> +and presently resumed their interrupted vocations as +though nothing particular had taken place.</p> + +<p>Towards evening, however, Olf found a moment for a +word with his little sweetheart.</p> + +<p>“I be a-goin’ over to take this ’ere bit of writin’ to +the bank to-morrow,” said he. “Maister says ’tis the best +thing to do. He says they’ll keep it and give I money +when I do want it. I were a-thinkin’, Kitty, I mid make +ye a bit of a present—’tis all in the way o’ coortin’, bain’t +it? I wonder now what you’d like?”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” cried Kitty, her eyes dancing with excitement, +“that’s real good o’ ye, Olf. I can’t call to mind as anybody +ever gave me a present. I do want a new hat +terrible bad.”</p> + +<p>“A new hat,” repeated Olf, “that’s easy got. Wouldn’t +ye like summat a bit grander—a real handsome present? +What would you like best in the world, Kitty?”</p> + +<p>“O-o-o-h!” cried Kitty again, and this time her eyes +became round with something that was almost awe. +“What I’d like best in the whole world, Olf, would be +to have a gold watch. I did dream once that I did have +a real gold watch o’ my own, and I never, never, never +thought that it mid come true. O-o-o-h! if I was to have +a gold watch!”</p> + +<p>“Say no more, maidie,” exclaimed Olf, with doughty +resolution, “you shall have that there gold watch so sure +as my name be Olfred Boyt. There now! And you can +show it to Annie and Maggie Fry, and they can see for +theirselves what they mid ha’ had if they had been willin’ +to take me.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span>Kitty pouted. “You don’t want to marry them now +you be a-goin’ to marry I, do ye?” she inquired pettishly.</p> + +<p>“No more I do,” cried Olf, “but they mid ha’ been a +bit more civil.”</p> + +<p>Kitty agreeing to this statement, harmony was at once +restored, and the pair parted with complete satisfaction.</p> + +<p>Next day Olf duly conferred with his banker, and in +an extremely bad hand, and with difficulty, accomplished +the writing of his first cheque. It was for £5—a sum of +money which he had never in all his life hoped to possess +at one time. In fact, he was more elated at the sight of +the five golden sovereigns than he had been in contemplating +his thousand pound bond. He expended a certain +portion of this new wealth on his own personal adornment—having +his hair cut at a barber’s for the first time in his +existence, and investing in a new suit of clothes, the +pattern being a check of a somewhat startling description. +He also purchased a hat for Kitty with a wreath of blue +flowers, supplemented, at his particular request, by a white +feather.</p> + +<p>“We do not generally use feathers with flowers,” expostulated +the shopwoman.</p> + +<p>Olf considered. “I think I will have the feather all +the same,” said he; “feathers is more richer-like.”</p> + +<p>“I did not want for to grudge ye nothin’, ye see,” he +subsequently explained to Kitty, “and this ’ere is the gold +watch.”</p> + +<p>Kitty positively gasped with rapture. It was a very +fine watch certainly, extremely yellow, and with a little +diapered pattern on the case.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span>“It cost thirty-five shillin’,” explained Olf, with modest +triumph. “’Tis rolled gold, so you may think how good +that must be.”</p> + +<p>Kitty gasped again. Farmer Inkpen possessed a gold +watch of turnip shape and immense weight, but she felt +quite sure it was not rolled gold, and in consequence a +highly inferior article. She turned towards Olf with a +sudden movement and clasped both her little hands about +his arm—“I do like ye, Olf,” she said, “I do. I do think +ye be the kindest man that ever was made. I’ll work for +ye so hard as I can when I be your missus.”</p> + +<p>There being no reason to delay the wedding, preparations +were made at once for that auspicious event. On +the following Sunday the banns were put up; Kitty and +Olf paid several visits to the upholsterer’s in the neighbouring +town and selected sundry articles of furniture, Olf +giving orders right and left in a lordly fashion which quite +dazzled his future bride. Farmer Inkpen made inquiries +with regard to a certain farm which he thought might +possibly suit his former assistant, and was moreover good +enough to promise help and advice in the selection of +stock. All, in fact, was proceeding merrily as that marriage +bell which they both so soon expected to hear, when there +came of a sudden a bolt from the blue. The manager +of the local bank sent a peremptory message one evening +to Olf requesting, or rather ordering, him to call without +delay.</p> + +<p>The poor fellow obeyed the summons without alarm, +without even the faintest suspicion that anything was +wrong, and it was indeed with great difficulty that the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span> +manager conveyed to him the astounding fact that the +precious bond, which was to have been the foundation of +his fortune, was so much waste paper; the prize-drawing +had been a swindling concern, and the thousand pound +prize did not exist.</p> + +<p>“But I thought you told I that ’ere bit o’ paper <i>was</i> +a thousand pound,” expostulated Olf, when for the fortieth +time the manager had explained the state of the +case.</p> + +<p>“That bit of paper represented a thousand pounds,” +returned that gentleman, with diminishing patience, “but +when we came to collect it, the money wasn’t there.”</p> + +<p>Olf scratched his head and looked at him. “And what +be I to do now?” he inquired.</p> + +<p>“Why, nothing, I am afraid. I don’t suppose you would +be able to prosecute, and even if you had the money to +carry on your case, it would not do you much good to +get those swindlers punished. You will just have to grin +and bear it, my poor fellow. We will give you time you +know—we won’t be hard with you.”</p> + +<p>“Time?” ejaculated Olf, staring at him blankly.</p> + +<p>“Yes. We have let you have £5 on account you know. +That will have to be paid back, of course, but we won’t +press you. You can let us have it little by little.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” said Olf, “thank ye,” and he went out, absently +stroking the check sleeve of the beautiful new suit which +had cost him so dear.</p> + +<p>He shambled back to the farm and paused by the gate, +across which Mr. Inkpen was leaning.</p> + +<p>“Hullo, Olf, back again?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span>“’E-es,” said Olf, “I be back again, maister. Ye bain’t +suited yet, be ye?”</p> + +<p>“Not yet,” said the farmer, “but ye can’t be married +afore another fortnight, can ye? I s’pose you’ll lend me a +hand until you shift?”</p> + +<p>“I bain’t a-goin’ to shift. I bain’t a-goin’ to get wed, +I bain’t—” He paused, his lip trembling for a moment +piteously like a child’s. “It is all a mistake, maister—there +bain’t no money there.”</p> + +<p>“Dear to be sure,” cried Farmer Inkpen.</p> + +<p>Olf stood gazing at him. There was a dimness about +his eyes, and he bit his lips to stop their quivering.</p> + +<p>Mr. Inkpen’s loud exclamation caused the women-folk +to appear on the scene, and in a moment the entire household +was assembled and plying Olf with questions.</p> + +<p>“There is nothin’ more to tell ye,” he said at last. “’Tis +a mistake. There bain’t no money there—I can’t take no +farm. I must ax the folk o’ the shop to keep that ’ere +furniture and things—I haven’t made no fortun’, I be just +the same as I was ’afore, ’cept as I have a-got to pay back +a matter of £5 to the bank.”</p> + +<p>Little Kitty stood by, growing red and pale in turn, and +fingering the watch in her waistband. All at once she +gave a loud sob and rushed away.</p> + +<p>“Ah! she be like to feel it,” said the farmer, whose +heart was perhaps more tender than that of his wife or +daughter. “She’ll feel it, poor little maid. Sich a chance +for her—and now to go back to her scrubbin’ and cleanin’ +just the same as ’afore.”</p> + +<p>Olf heaved a deep sigh. “Well,” he said, “I’ll go home<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span> +and take off these ’ere clothes, and I’ll come back and +finish my work, maister.”</p> + +<p>He then turned away, a very low-spirited and drooping +figure, his shoulders round under that astonishing plaid, +his head sunk almost on to his chest. After a little more +talk the family separated, Mrs. Inkpen feeling some irritation +on discovering that Kitty was nowhere to be found.</p> + +<p>“She’s run off to cry,” said Annie. “However, don’t +ye take no notice of her for this once, mother; ’tis but +natural she should be a bit down, poor little maid.”</p> + +<p>Olf had finished his work and was going dejectedly +homewards that night when, in the narrow lane which led +from the farm towards the village, he was waylaid by a +well-known figure. It was Kitty. Her eyes were filled +with tears, her face very pale, yet nevertheless there was a +note of triumph in her voice.</p> + +<p>“I’ve been to the town, Olf,” she cried. “I didn’t want +ye to be at a loss through me, and the folks was kind. +They took back the watch all right and gave me the thirty-five +shillin’ for it. They wouldn’t take back the hat at the +shop where you got it, along ’o my wearin’ it you know. +They did tell me of a place where they buy second-hand +things, and they gave me seven shillin’ for it there. So +that won’t be so bad will it? You can pay that much to +the bank straight off.”</p> + +<p>Olf looked at her dejectedly. “There, my maid,” cried +he. “I wish ye hadn’t done that. I could wish ye had +kept them two things what I did give ye—’twas all I could +do for ye. We can never do all we’d like to do now.”</p> + +<p>Kitty sobbed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span>“I take it very kind o’ ye to be so feelin’,” said Olf. +“I could wish we could have got wed, my maid. I’d ha’ +been a lovin’ husband, and I d’ ’low you’d ha’ been a +lovin’ wife.”</p> + +<p>“I would,” sobbed Kitty.</p> + +<p>“But there, ’tis all over, bain’t it? I be nothin’ but a +poor chap earnin’ of a poor wage. You be a vitty maid +too good for the likes o’ me. I’ll never have a wife now.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t see that,” said Kitty, in a low voice. She was +hanging her head and drawing patterns with the point of +her shoe in the sandy soil.</p> + +<p>Olf stared at her, and then repeated his statement. “A +poor man earnin’ of a poor wage, Kitty. I’ll never have a +wife.”</p> + +<p>“Why not?” said Kitty, almost inarticulately. “Many +poor men get wed, Olf.”</p> + +<p>Olf caught his breath with a gasp. “Kitty,” he cried, +“Kitty, do ye mean you’d take me now wi’out no fortun’, +and just as I be? You’d never take me now, Kitty?”</p> + +<p>“I would,” said Kitty, and she hid her face on his +patched shoulder and burst into tears.</p> + +<p>“Then I don’t care about nothin’,” cried Olf valiantly. +“If you would really like it, Kitty, say no more.”</p> + +<p>“I would,” said Kitty again. And then raising her +head, she smiled at him through her tears. “But don’t +tell nobody I axed ye,” said she.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">IN THE HEART OF THE GREEN.</h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">When</span> the new keeper and his wife took possession of +their cottage, deep in the heart of Westbury Chase, summer +was still at its height. Jim Whittle’s real responsibilities +had not yet begun—a little breathing space was, as it were, +allotted to the young couple before settling thoroughly into +harness. So Betty thought at least, though Jim frequently +reminded her that summer was as anxious a time as any +other for a man in his position.</p> + +<p>“What with folks expectin’ the young birds to be nigh +full-growed afore they was much more than hatched out; +and what wi’ the fear of there being too much wet, or too +much sun, and varmint an’ sich-like, I can tell ye, Betty,” +said he, “I’m as anxious in summer as in winter, very +near.”</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, he found time to do many little odd jobs +for her which he could not have accomplished in the +shooting season: knocking together shelves, digging in +the garden, chopping up the store of wood which she +herself collected as she strolled out in her spare hours. +Betty was as happy as a bird in those days. Their new +home had been put in order before their advent, and was +spick and span from roof to threshold; the fresh thatch +glinted bravely through the heavy summer foliage; the +flowers in the little garden made patches of bright colour<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span> +amid the surrounding green. Betty herself in her print +dress and with her hair shining like polished gold, Betty +carrying her six-months-old child poised on her round arm, +was an almost startling figure to those who came upon her +suddenly in the leafy aisles about her home. Brown and +grey and fawn and russet are the tones chiefly affected by +forest people; yet here were the mother and child, wood +creatures both of them, flaunting it in their pinks and +yellows before autumn had so much as crimsoned a leaf.</p> + +<p>What wonder that the shy folk in fur or feather peered +at them with round astonished eyes, ere scuttling to cover +or taking to flight.</p> + +<p>Dick Tuffin, the woodman, looked up in surprise from +the faggot he had just bound together, when Betty and +her baby-boy came towards him one sunny morning from +one of the many shadowy avenues which abutted on a +glade cleared by his own hands. As she advanced, he sat +back upon his heels amid the slender sappy victims of his +axe, and frankly stared at her.</p> + +<p>He was a young man, dark as a gipsy, muscular and +lithe, with quick-glancing eyes and a flashing smile.</p> + +<p>“Good-day,” said Betty, pausing civilly.</p> + +<p>“Good-day to you, Mum. I d’ ’low you be new keeper’s +wife?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I am Mrs. Whittle,” said Betty. “Are you cutting +down my husband’s woods?” she added, smiling.</p> + +<p>“Ah! your husband’s woods ’ud not be in sich good +order as they do be if it wasn’t for I an’ sich as I,” returned +the man. “I do cut down a piece reg’lar every +year, an’ then the young growth comes, d’ye see, twice so<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span> +thick as before, so that the game can find so much shelter +as they do like.”</p> + +<p>“And what are you going to do with all these poor little +trees?” inquired Betty. “They are too green for firewood, +aren’t they?”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Dick, with his infectious smile, “I make +hurdles wi’ ’em for one thing, an’ some of ’em goes for +pea-sticks, an’ others is made into besoms. They mid be +green,” he added reflectively, “but folks do come here +often enough a-pickin’ up scroff for burnin’.”</p> + +<p>Here the child on Betty’s arm began to whimper, and +she nodded to it and dandled it, her own person keeping +up a swaying, dancing movement the while.</p> + +<p>Dick Tuffin watched her, at first with a smile; but presently +his face clouded.</p> + +<p>“You have a better time of it, Mrs. Whittle,” said he, +“nor my poor little ’ooman at home. You do see your +husband so often as you like; but there, I must bide away +from home for weeks and months at a time. I mid almost +say I haven’t got a home; and Mary, she mid say she +haven’t got a husband.”</p> + +<p>“How’s that?” inquired Betty, pausing, with the now +laughing child suspended in mid-air, to turn her astonished +face upon him.</p> + +<p>“My place is nigh upon fifteen mile away from here. I +go travellin’ the country round, cuttin’ the woods and +makin’ hurdles; an’ ’tis too far to get back except for a +little spell now and then. I didn’t think o’ wedlock when +I took up the work, an’ now I d’ ’low I wouldn’t care to +turn to any other. But ’tis hard on the ’ooman.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span>“She oughtn’t to let you do it!” cried the keeper’s wife +firmly. “Ha’ done, Jim; ha’ done, thou naughty boy! +I’ll throw thee over the trees in a minute!”</p> + +<p>The child had clutched at her golden locks, pulling one +strand loose; she caught at the chubby hand, made believe to +slap it, and then kissed the little pink palm half a dozen times.</p> + +<p>“Your wife ought to make you get your livin’ some +other way,” she added seriously.</p> + +<p>“It couldn’t be done now,” said the woodman. “I have +done nothin’ but fell trees an’ plesh hurdles since I was +quite a little ’un. I couldn’t do naught else,” he added somewhat +dreamily; “I fancy I couldn’t bide anywhere except +in a wood.”</p> + +<p>“Well, ’tis a fine life,” said she, willing to say something +civil.</p> + +<p>“Yes, pleasant enough,” he agreed. “If I could tole my +missus about I’d never complain; but, there! it can’t be +done.”</p> + +<p>He tossed the faggot on one side, and began to collect +materials for another. Betty noticed a great rent in his +fustian waistcoat, and, commenting upon the fact, volunteered +to mend it.</p> + +<p>“’Tis awkward for ye having no one to sew for ye,” she +added, as Dick gratefully divested himself of the garment +in question.</p> + +<p>“’Tis that,” agreed Tuffin. “I do move about so often +the folks where I lodge do never seem to take a bit of +interest in I. My wife, she do fair cry at times when she +do see the state my things be in. Come, I’ll hold the +youngster for ye, Mum.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span>“Oh, he’ll be all right on the soft grass here!”</p> + +<p>“Nay, I’d like to hold ’en if ye’ll let me. I want to get +my hand in, d’ye see. There’ll be a little un at our place +very soon.”</p> + +<p>“I do call it unfeelin’ of ye to leave your wife alone +at such a time,” remarked Betty reprovingly.</p> + +<p>“Her mother’s wi’ her,” returned Dick. “I’ll go home +for a bit in a fortnight or so, but I must be back in +October.”</p> + +<p>He chirruped to the child, swinging him high in the air, +till Baby Jim crowed and laughed again. Soon Mrs. +Whittle’s task was accomplished, and she handed back the +waistcoat to its owner, receiving his profuse thanks in +return. As she walked away through the chequered light +and shade Dick looked after her.</p> + +<p>“Some folks is luckier nor others,” he said. “Keeper +can live in the woods and have wife and child anigh him, +too; but I, if I be to live at all, must live alone.”</p> + +<p>Then he thought of the little brown wife in that far-away +village, and wondered with a sudden tightening of +the heart-strings how she was getting on; but presently +he whistled again, in time to the rhythmic strokes of his +axe, as he pointed the sowels for his next lot of hurdles.</p> + +<p>On the following morning when Betty was sweeping out +her house a shadow fell across the threshold, and, looking +up, she descried the woodman.</p> + +<p>“I’ve brought ye a new besom,” said he, with a somewhat +shamefaced smile. “One good turn do deserve +another, Mrs. Whittle.”</p> + +<p>“Thank ye kindly, I’m sure,” returned Betty, with a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span> +bright smile. “I never thought of your making any +return for the few stitches I set for ye. The besom is a +beauty, Mr. Tuffin.”</p> + +<p>“Glad ye like it,” said Dick, turning to take his leave.</p> + +<p>“If ye’ve any other bits o’ mending, Mr. Tuffin,” Betty +called after him, “I’d be pleased to do ’em for ye.”</p> + +<p>“Nay, now, I don’t like puttin’ too much on your good +nature, Mrs. Whittle,” said Dick, glancing over his shoulder +with a sheepish smile.</p> + +<p>But the keeper’s wife insisted; and presently Dick confessed +that there were a good few socks lying by at his +lodgings in sore need of repair.</p> + +<p>On the morrow he brought them, with the addition of a +large basket of “scroff,” or chips, for firing.</p> + +<p>Keeper Jim was much amused at this exchange of +civilities; but was so far moved with compassion for +Tuffin’s lonely wife that he contributed a couple of nice +young rabbits to the little packet of comforts which Betty +sent her when Dick went home for his brief holiday; and +he was both touched and gratified when little Mrs. Tuffin +sent a return tribute of new-laid eggs and fresh vegetables +to the woman who had befriended her Dick.</p> + +<p>Autumn came, scarcely perceptible at first in this sheltered +spot; little drifts of yellow leaves strewed Betty’s threshold +of a morning; there was a brave show of berries amid the +undergrowth; maple bushes lit cool fires here and there; +and travellers’ joy and bryony flung silver-spangled tendrils +or jewelled chains across a tangle of orange and crimson +and brown. The delicate tracery of twigs, the gnarled +strength of boughs, became ever more perceptible as the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span> +leafage thinned; Jim could see more of the thatch of his +house as he tramped homewards, and could mark through +the jagged outline of the naked boughs how the blue +smoke-wreaths blew hither and thither as they issued from +his chimney.</p> + +<p>There was a growing sense of excitement in the woods; +their silence was often broken by startled cries and the +whirring of great wings. Soon the glades would echo to +the sound of the beaters’ sticks; dry twigs would crack +beneath the sportsmen’s feet; shots would wake the slumbering +echoes; and then a cart would come and bear away +the rigid bodies erstwhile so blithe. Betty almost cried as +she thought of the fate that awaited the pretty birds +which she had so often fed with her own hand and which +the baby had loved to watch; but Jim chid her when she +said she hoped many of them would escape.</p> + +<p>“Tell ’ee what,” he remarked sternly, “if the gentry +don’t find more pheasants nor in the wold chap’s time +they’ll say I bain’t worth my salt. There, what be making +such a fuss about? ’Tis what they be brought up for. D’ye +think folks ’ud want to be watchin’ ’em an’ feedin’ ’em an’ +lookin’ arter ’em always if ’twasn’t that they mid get shot +in the end? They must die some way, d’ye see; and I d’ +’low if ye was to ax ’em, they pheasants ’ud liefer come +rocketin’ down wi’ a dose o’ lead in their innards nor die +natural-like by freezin’ or starvin’ or weasels or sich.”</p> + +<p>Jim grew more and more enthusiastic as the time drew +nearer for the big shoot, which was, as he expected, to +establish his reputation. This was not to take place till +late in November, so as to allow time for the trees to be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span> +fully denuded of their leaves. The keeper often talked +darkly of the iniquities of certain village ne’er-do-weels, +who, according to him, thought no more of snaring a +rabbit than of lying down in their beds.</p> + +<p>“If they only kept to rabbits,” he added once, “it +wouldn’t be so bad; but when those chaps gets a footin’ in +these woods there’s no knowin’ where they’ll stop. But +they’ll find I ready for them. They’ll find I bain’t so easy +to deal wi’ as wold Jenkins.”</p> + +<p>“Dear, to be sure, Jim, I wish you wouldn’t talk so!” +said Betty. “You make me go all of a tremble! I shall +be afeard to stop here by myself when you’re away on your +beat if you ’fray me wi’ such tales. I don’t like to think +there’s poachin’ folk about.”</p> + +<p>“There, they’d never want to do nothin’ to a woman,” +said Jim consolingly; “’tis the game they’re arter. They’ll +not come anigh the house, bless ye!”</p> + +<p>“Well, but I don’t like to think they mid go fightin’ +you,” she whimpered.</p> + +<p>Jim bestowed a sounding kiss on her smooth cheek.</p> + +<p>“Don’t ye fret yoursel’,” he cried; “they’ll run away +fast enough when they do see I comin’. Why, what a +little foolish ’ooman thou be’est! There, give over cryin’. +I didn’t ought to ha’ talked about such things.”</p> + +<p>Betty’s pretty eyes were still somewhat pink, however, +as she came strolling into Dick’s quarters that afternoon; +and her lip drooped when in answer to his questions she +divulged the cause.</p> + +<p>“Afeard o’ poachers!” exclaimed the woodman, with a +laugh. “Bless ye, Mrs. Whittle, poachers bain’t no worse<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span> +nor other folks! Dalled if I can see much harm in a man +catchin’ a rabbit or two when there’s such a-many of ’em +about! The place be fair swarmin’ wi’ ’em o’ nights.”</p> + +<p>Betty was much shocked; and returned reprovingly that +it couldn’t ever be right to steal. “And poachin’ is but +stealin’,” she summed up severely.</p> + +<p>“Stealin’!” echoed Dick; “nay, ye’ll never make me +believe that. I d’ ’low the Lard did make they little wild +things for the poor so well as for the rich. Pheasants, now,” +he continued, ruminating, “I won’t say as any one has a right +to take pheasants except the man what owns the woods. +I’d as soon rob a hen-roost, for my part, as go arter one o’ +they fat tame things as mid be chicken for all the spirit +what’s in ’em. I’d never ax to interfere wi’ a pheasant,” +he continued reflectively, “wi’out it was jist for the fun o’ +the thing. But settin’ a gin or two—wi’ all these hundreds +and thousands o’ rabbits runnin’ under a body’s feet—ye’ll +never make me think there’s a bit o’ harm in it.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t let my husband hear such talk!” said Betty +loftily.</p> + +<p>The woodman laughed again. “I wouldn’t mind +speakin’ out plain to his face,” said he. “Him and me +is the best o’ friends—I do like en very well,” continued +Dick handsomely; “better nor I ever thought to like a +gamekeeper. As a rule, I don’t hold with folks what goes +spyin’ about, a-tryin’ to catch other folks in the wrong. +I never could a-bear a policeman, now—’tis my belief they +do more harm than good.”</p> + +<p>“Gracious!” ejaculated the scandalised Betty. “I don’t +know how you can go for to say such things.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span>“Well, d’ye see, ’tis this way,” explained Dick. “If a +man do want for to get drunk, drunk he’ll get if there +be farty policemen arter him. If he’s willin’ to make a +beast of hisself, and to ruin his wife and family, and to +get out o’ work an’ everything, for the sake of a drap o’ +drink, ’tisn’t a policeman that ’ull stop him. And if a chap +do want to fight another chap—his blood being up, d’ye +see—he’ll fight en—ah, that he will! and give no thought +at all to the chance o’ bein’ run in for it. And jist same +way—if a body has a notion to trap a rabbit, trap it he +will, keeper or no keeper.”</p> + +<p>Here Dick selected a sapling and began to trim it +leisurely, pursing up his lips the while in a silent whistle.</p> + +<p>“I’ll not tell Whittle all you’ve said,” remarked Betty +with dignity, as she shifted her baby from one arm to the +other, and prepared to walk on. “He mid think you was +a poacher yourself.”</p> + +<p>“You may tell him if you like,” retorted Dick, and then +he whistled out loud and clapped his hands at the baby, +which thereupon laughed ecstatically, and almost sprang +from its mother’s arms. The keeper’s wife relaxed, and +mentally resolved to make no allusion to Dick’s unorthodox +sentiments in conversing with her husband. Jim himself +had said that it wouldn’t be so bad if folks only kept to +rabbits, and Dick had intimated that he would never care +to touch anything else. A body should not be too hard, +she reflected, on a poor fellow who had no home, so to +speak; why, he was almost like a wild creature of the +woods himself, living out in all weathers, sleeping often +under the stars, picking up a chance meal as he best could—there<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span> +was no great wonder if he had become as lawless +as the four-footed “varmint” against whom the keepers +waged such fierce war.</p> + +<p>One evening, shortly before the great shoot was to take +place, Jim came home to tea in a state of contained excitement. +When the meal was over he went to the door, and +began, to his wife’s surprise, to examine the fastenings +carefully.</p> + +<p>“’Tis a good stout bolt,” he remarked, “and the lock +be a new ’un. I d’ ’low if house was shut up you wouldn’t +be afeard to bide alone in it?”</p> + +<p>Betty immediately demonstrated the presence of mind +which she would be likely to display under such circumstances +by uttering a loud scream.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Jim, Jim!” she cried, “why be goin’ to stop out +all night? I do know so well as if you did tell me that +you be goin’ into danger.”</p> + +<p>“Danger!” cried the keeper, thumping his great chest, +“not much fear o’ that! There, don’t ye be so foolish. +Me and Stubbs be a-goin’ over t’other side o’ the park +down to the river to see to that ’ere decoy for duck, as +squire be so set on puttin’ to rights. ’Tis five mile away; +we be like to be kep’ late, very late—till daybreak, most +like; but do you make the house fast, old ’ooman, and no +harm ’ull come to either of us.”</p> + +<p>Had Betty not been so much absorbed in the main issue, +she might have detected something improbable about the +keeper’s story; but, as it was, her fears for him were almost +lost in the horror of being left all night alone in that desolate +spot.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span>Jim, however, jested at her terrors, and himself made the +round of the cottage, fastening the casements and securing +the seldom-used front door. He stood outside the threshold +while she drew the bolts and locked the back one.</p> + +<p>“Get to thy bed early,” he called to her. “Go to sleep +so fast as thou can; and first thing thou knows thou’lt hear +me knockin’ to be let in.”</p> + +<p>But somebody else knocked before Betty had any +thought of going to bed; before, indeed, she had finished +washing up the tea-things.</p> + +<p>“Who’s that?” cried she, thrusting a scared face out of +the window.</p> + +<p>“It’s me, Mrs. Whittle—Dick Tuffin. I’ve a-brought ye +back your hamper what I promised to mend for ye. Why, +ye be shut up very early, bain’t ye?”</p> + +<p>“Whittle’s gone travellin’ off a long way,” she answered +with a scarcely perceptible sob. “There, he be gone +to the river—’tis a good five mile off, he do say. I’m +frightened to death here by myself.”</p> + +<p>She heard him laugh in the darkness.</p> + +<p>“How ’ud ye like to be my little wife,” he asked, “as +bides alone night after night, wi’ nobody but the little ’un, +now her mother have a-left her? I wouldn’t be afeard, +Mrs. Whittle. Your house be so safe as a church; and +there’s Duke—he’s big enough and strong enough to guard +ye. Hark to en barkin’ now, the minute he do hear my +voice!”</p> + +<p>“Well, and that’s true,” agreed Betty in a more cheerful +tone. “Thank ye for mendin’ the hamper, Mr. Tuffin. +I’ll open the door in a minute.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span>“No, don’t ye bother to do that,” said Dick. “The +hamper’ll take no harm out here till morning. Good-night +to ye.”</p> + +<p>“Good-night,” said Betty, closing the window.</p> + +<p>She heard the sound of his footsteps die away, and then +the loneliness of the forest night seemed to close in upon +her. Jim had often been out as late as this, and later, +but the mere knowledge that he did not intend to return +till daybreak made her more nervous than she had ever +been. When the logs crackled or fell together she started +violently; the moaning of the wind in the branches without +filled her with dread, though often, when she and her +husband sat by the hearth, they had declared the sound +made them feel more snug. More than once she opened +the window and listened; a fine, close rain was falling, +making a dull patter upon the thatched roof, dripping from +the eves; but besides these sounds there were many others, +strange, unaccountable, terrifying—creakings and crackings +of boughs; now what seemed to be a stealthy tread, now +whispering voices. She chid herself for these fancies, +knowing well that they must be without foundation, since +Duke remained silent; nevertheless her flesh crept and +the dew of terror started to her brow.</p> + +<p>At length, making a strong resolution, she went up to +her attic bedchamber, undressed, and, taking the child +into her arms, crept into bed. But she lay there for a +long time, quaking, and staring with wide-open eyes into +the darkness; until, overcome by sheer fatigue after a long +and busy day, she fell asleep.</p> + +<p>She woke up suddenly, and sat for a moment vainly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span> +endeavouring to disentangle the confusion of sound which +filled her ears. Her heart was beating like a drum, the +blood surged in her brain—a dream-panic was still upon +her, and yet there were certain other unmistakable noises +to be heard without. Duke was barking in frenzied fashion +and straining at his chain; men were shouting at no very +great distance, and now—what was that? A single shot!</p> + +<p>“It’s the poachers!” exclaimed Betty, with chattering +teeth. “Pray God they don’t come here!”</p> + +<p>In the midst of her anguish of fear she felt a sudden +rush of gratitude. Jim was safe out of the way, thanks +be! Jim would not be back till the folks had got off with +their spoil. But now Duke was whimpering and crying in +a most eerie and heartrending manner, and presently uplifted +his voice in long-drawn howls which jarred upon +Betty’s overwrought nerves beyond endurance. She +jumped out of bed and ran to the casement. It had +ceased raining, and though the moon rode between piles +of angry clouds, she sent forth at that moment an extraordinarily +clear light. Betty could see the skeleton branches +of the trees all wet and shining as they tossed against the +sky; the little paved path glimmered white; yonder stood +a dark patch—Dick’s hamper. She could see Duke pacing +round and round his kennel, at the utmost length of his +chain; now sniffing the ground, now lifting up his head +for another howl.</p> + +<p>She rapped at the pane and called to him sharply; and +the dog looked up at her window, and suddenly wheeled +in the opposite direction, pricking his ears.</p> + +<p>Steps were heard approaching—slow, lagging steps—and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span> +presently two figures came staggering together out of +the wood. Betty screamed as they emerged from the +shadow, and then leaned forth, paralysed with dread; for +as the two slowly advanced into the moonlit path she +recognised Stubbs, the under-keeper, and saw that he was +supporting, almost carrying, his companion.</p> + +<p>“Be that you, Mrs. Whittle?” cried Stubbs. “Come +down, Mum, come down this minute! This be a bad +night’s work!”</p> + +<p>The man leaning upon him raised his head with an +inarticulate attempt to speak, and Betty saw that it was +Jim—her own Jim—her husband! But, oh! what tale +was that told by the drawn features and glassy eyes?</p> + +<p>She had screamed at the unknown terror, but she uttered +no sound now. Before they reached the door she had +mechanically thrown on her dress over her nightgown, and +had come downstairs, pattering with her bare feet. She +flung open the door, and put her arms round her husband, +almost as if she grudged him any support but hers.</p> + +<p>“My poor little ’ooman!” said Jim brokenly; “I d’ +’low I’m done for.”</p> + +<p>With Stubbs’ aid she stretched him on the sofa, and +unfastened coat and waistcoat. She drew out her hand +from his bosom suddenly, and looked at it with a shudder: +it was red!</p> + +<p>“Ah, he’s got the whole charge in en somewhere,” +groaned Stubbs. “There was a lot of ’em out to-night, +and we catched one of ’em; he fought like a devil, he did—’twas +in wrestling wi’ him poor Whittle’s gun went off. +Dear to be sure, ’tis awful to think on. His own gun!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span>“Where’s the man?” asked Betty sharply; her face was +as white as a sheet—her lips drawn back from her gleaming +teeth.</p> + +<p>“Oh, he made off, ye mid be sure,” returned the other. +“I don’t know who he was. ’Twas in the thick o’ the +trees yonder we come on ’em. Moon had gone in and +’twas as dark as pitch.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think my husband will die!” gasped Betty.</p> + +<p>“Ah! ’tis a bad job—’tis surely,” responded the other, +almost whimpering; “and the worst on’t is we be nigh six +mile from a doctor.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mr. Stubbs,” cried the keeper’s wife earnestly, +“let’s do everything we can, any way! Will ye go for +the doctor for me? Do! I’ll—I’ll give ye every penny +in the house if ye will!”</p> + +<p>“Lard! my dear ’ooman, I don’t want no pay for doin’ +what I can at sich a time. I’ll go, to be sure, an’ make so +much haste as I can; but—won’t ye be afeard to bide +here all alone—and him so bad?”</p> + +<p>Betty saw that he expected her husband would die +before his return, but she did not flinch.</p> + +<p>“I will do anything in the world so long as there’s a +chance of saving him!” she cried. “Run, Mr. Stubbs, +run! Make haste—oh, do make haste!”</p> + +<p>Stubbs drew his arm from beneath the wounded man’s +shoulder, and hastened away without another word. Betty +went to her linen-drawer, and found an old sheet, which +she tied round Jim’s body to staunch the bleeding; he +seemed to have received the charge chiefly in his right<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span> +side. He opened his eyes and smiled at her faintly, and +then she dropped on her knees beside him.</p> + +<p>“Jim,” she whispered, “you never went away arter all?”</p> + +<p>He shook his head feebly. “I meant it for the best,” +he said; “I heard these chaps would be up to their tricks +to-night, and I thought me and Stubbs ’ud catch them.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Jim,” said Betty, “ye told me a lie!”</p> + +<p>“I meant it for the best, my dear,” he returned faintly. +“I didn’t want ye to be frayed—poor little ’ooman! Ye +mustn’t be vexed.”</p> + +<p>Betty stooped and kissed him, and he closed his eyes.</p> + +<p>“I reckon I’m goin’,” he said. “Well, I done my dooty. +But what ’ull ye do, my dear?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll manage,” said Betty.</p> + +<p>Her voice had a harsh note quite unlike its own; she +sank down in a heap on the floor, staring before her. She +knew what she would do if Jim died. She would first of +all find the man who had killed him, and then—oh, he +should pay for it!</p> + +<p>Jim had fallen into a kind of drowsy state, and presently +his hand slipped down and unconsciously touched hers: it +was very cold. Betty, rousing herself, went towards the +hearth, drawing the embers together. There was not +enough fuel, however, to make much of a fire; and, softly +opening the door, she went out to the woodshed, her bare +feet making no sound on the damp stones. As she was +returning with her burden the wicket-gate swung open, +and Dick Tuffin come up the path.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Whittle! Mrs. Whittle!” he called pantingly.</p> + +<p>She turned and confronted him. The moon had dipped<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span> +behind the trees and she could not distinguish his face, but +something in the aspect of the man struck her with a +lightning-like intuition.</p> + +<p>“Come in,” she said hoarsely.</p> + +<p>Dick followed her into the house, starting back at sight +of the prostrate figure on the couch. Betty dropped her +wood on the hearth and came swiftly across to him with +her panther-like tread. There was an expression on her +face which might have recalled the beast in question. She +placed both her hands upon his breast, and he, giving way +before them, stepped backwards a few paces.</p> + +<p>“Look at him,” said Betty; “he is dying! Dick +Tuffin, it is you who have killed my husband!”</p> + +<p>“I swear I didn’t know it was him,” faltered Dick. +“I’d no thought of harm. I went out with the others for +a frolic. You yourself did tell I your husband was miles +away.”</p> + +<p>She had told him! He would make out that she had +delivered him into their hands! A red mist came before +her eyes.</p> + +<p>“Even when he did catch I,” went on Dick, “I didn’t +know who ’twas. But somebody told me jist now that +Stubbs was runnin’ for the doctor for en, so I come—I +couldn’t rest, ye see. I had to come. Mrs. Whittle, I +don’t know what you’ll say to me.”</p> + +<p>Betty said nothing at all, but the steady pressure of her +hands upon his breast increased, and, as before, Dick recoiled +beneath it. Her eyes were blazing in her white +face; her dishevelled fair hair fell about her shoulders. +Dick gazed at her remorsefully, suffering her unresistingly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span> +to push him the length of the little room and through an +open doorway. He imagined her to be ejecting him from +the house, but all in a moment she threw her whole weight +upon him with such violence that he stumbled and fell. +Before he could recover he found the door closed upon +him and bolted. He heard hasty steps in the inner room +and the dragging across the floor of some heavy piece of +furniture, which was presently pushed against the door.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Whittle!” he called out, “what are you doing? +Are you mad?”</p> + +<p>Then came Betty’s voice, harsh and broken: “I’ve got +ye, Dick Tuffin! Ye can’t get out; there’s no window +and no other door. I’ve got ye and I mean to keep ye! +Ye’ve killed my husband—ye’ve made me a widow and +my child an orphan—an’ I’ll not rest till I do the same by +your wife and your child.”</p> + +<p>And then something else came battering up against the +door. Dick had no doubt but that the barricade was now +complete. He felt about him in the darkness, identifying +shelves, one or two small barrels, a crock: he was in the +buttery most likely. He might possibly force his way out; +the bolt was in all probability not very strong, and once +the door was opened he could soon do away with all other +obstacles; but then he would have that fierce woman to +encounter. He could not escape without doing her some +hurt, and the awful face of the wounded man would again +meet his gaze. Besides, of what use would it be to attempt +to escape? He was well known in the place, and the +police would soon track him.</p> + +<p>He sat down, therefore, with the resignation of despair,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span> +shivering from time to time, and straining his ears for +every sound in the next room. He heard poor Jim groan +now and then, and Betty speak to him in a voice of such +yearning tenderness that it was scarcely recognisable as the +same which had threatened himself a little while before. +He thought of Betty as she had first come upon him, so +young and gay in her pink dress, and with her yellow hair +glancing in the sun, and of the child which he had so often +dandled in his arms. Widow and orphan! Widow and +orphan! And all because Dick Tuffin had gone out with +a few idle chaps for a night’s frolic. And then he thought +of his own little woman at home: he seemed to see her in +her “deep”. And the little one, who would never be able +to hold up his head because they hanged his father.</p> + +<p>Thus did he muse very sorrowfully until slumber overtook +him in that inexplicable fashion with which it will +sometimes come upon the weary and anxious of heart. +And he slept until the grey light of morning began to +creep through the chinks of the barricaded door.</p> + +<p>He heard voices in the adjoining room—men’s voices, +and Betty’s; then the tread of feet walking in unison. +The little stairs creaked; the heavy footfalls now tramped +in the room overhead, then descended again, and crossed +the kitchen. Now the folks were leaving the house; he +could hear them clattering down the path, and caught the +swing of the gate.</p> + +<p>“It’s all over,” he said to himself, “they’ve carried the +poor chap upstairs.”</p> + +<p>A sudden numbness came upon him: it was true, then, +and not a bad dream. Poor Jim Whittle was dead, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span> +he, Dick, had killed him; and now Betty would give him +up to the police, and he would be tried and convicted and +hanged.</p> + +<p>Dick was not very learned in the statutes of his country, +and had no manner of doubt that since the keeper had +been killed in struggling with him—by his hand, it might +be said, for the gun had gone off owing to Dick’s endeavour +to wrench it away—he would have to pay the full +penalty of the law. To be hanged by the neck until he +was dead. He put his hand to his throat, and drew a long +sobbing breath.</p> + +<p>After what seemed an interminable time, he heard once +more the sound of voices in the kitchen—a man’s voice +and Betty’s—then a quick firm step crossing the room to +the house-door, and finally the retreating sounds of a +horse’s feet. Then there was a scraping and bumping of +furniture; the rim of light which had been perceptible but +half-way down the door suddenly lengthened, the bolt +grated in its hasps, and in another moment Betty stood +before him.</p> + +<p>Dick had been so long imprisoned in the darkness that +at first he could hardly bear the flood of wintry light +which burst upon him. And there, in the midst of it, was +the woman, with so bright a face that he could scarce +credit his eyes. She stretched out both hands to him and +cried:—</p> + +<p>“He be to live! Doctor says he be to live!” Her +voice faltered and broke, the tears leaped from her eyes. +“Thank God!” she cried. “Oh, thank God! He’ll live! +My Jim’s to live!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span>Dick came staggering forth from his cell. His brown +face was blanched to a sickly pallor; he trembled in every +limb. Choking back her sobs, Betty again extended her +hand to him, and he wrung it; but, turning from her, he +leaned against the wall, hiding his face. His shoulders +were heaving.</p> + +<p>“Doctor says he’ll not die,” pursued Betty betwixt +laughing and crying. “He’s young and strong, he says, +and he’ll get over it. ‘We’ll get as much lead as we can +out of him,’ says doctor, ‘and he’ll carry the rest quite +comfortable, as many another has done before him.’”</p> + +<p>She laughed a feeble, wavering laugh that ended in a +sob. “He said we’d best get him upstairs and put him to +bed,” continued Betty. “Stubbs and another man come +up from the village, so they carried him up; and doctor’s +been with him a long time, and he’s sleepin’ now.”</p> + +<p>She told her tale brokenly, with a little gasp between +each word; but Dick made no comment. Presently he +turned round again, his face still working.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Whittle,” he said unsteadily, “I’d like ye to hear +me say so solemn as I can, as I’ll never lay another finger +on any creature in the woods. I’ll never touch another +feather——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, it’s all right, it’s all right!” interrupted she quickly. +“I’d like ye to hear <i>me</i> say summat too. I was mad last +night, but I bain’t so hard-hearted as I made out. Even +if my Jim had died I wouldn’t never ha’—I wouldn’t ha’ +made a widow of your poor wife, nor yet an orphan o’ the +baby.”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">THE WOLD STOCKIN’.</h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Farmer Hunt</span> stood leaning over his farmyard gate with +the reflective, and at the same time pleasantly expectant, +expression of the man who awaits at any moment a +summons to dinner. To him, picking her steps cautiously +down the muddy lane which led to his premises, came old +Becky Melmouth, her skirts tilted high and an empty +basket on her arm. Farmer Hunt nodded at her good-humouredly, +and hailed her as soon as she was within +hearing.</p> + +<p>“What!” cried he. “Have ye brought me another of +’em?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve a-brought ye two,” returned Becky triumphantly. +“But maybe you’re too busy to attend to me just now,” +she added, with a glance that was half apologetic and half +appealing.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I can spare a minute for that,” said the farmer +good-naturedly. “Brewery hooter’s not gone yet, and we +don’t have dinner till one. Step in, Mrs. Melmouth.”</p> + +<p>He preceded her into the house, and led the way to a +small parlour, empty save for a large yellow cat which lay +curled up on the hearthrug. With a mysterious air which +assorted with the cautious glance thrown round by Becky +as she closed the door, he proceeded to unlock a large oak<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span> +chest, and thrusting in his hand, drew forth a faded +worsted stocking. As he handed this to the old woman +the contents chinked with a portentous sound. Mrs. +Melmouth’s eyes glistened, and her rosy wrinkled face +wreathed itself with smiles, as she slowly undid the knot +at the upper end, and thrust in her hand. A further +chinking sound ensued, and she looked jubilantly up at +the farmer.</p> + +<p>“There be a lot on ’em now,” she remarked.</p> + +<p>“Ah, sure!” he agreed. “An’ you be bringin’ two +shillin’ more, you do say?”</p> + +<p>“Two shillin’ an’ a thruppenny bit,” corrected Becky +gleefully. “I be doin’ uncommon well wi’ my eggs an’ +chicken jist now.”</p> + +<p>“Dear heart alive! Keep the thruppence, ’ooman!” +cried Mr. Hunt, with a certain amount of impatience. “It +’ull maybe buy you a relish of some sort as ’ull make ye +fancy your victuals more. I reckon you do scrimp too +much.”</p> + +<p>Becky pursed up her lips and shook her head.</p> + +<p>“I’d sooner save it,” said she. “Can I have the book, +sir.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, sure ye can,” returned the farmer, and, after +rummaging a moment in the chest, he produced a small +account-book with a pencil attached to it by means of a +much-worn bit of string.</p> + +<p>Becky meanwhile had been fumbling for her spectacles, +and having now assumed them, she proceeded to enter +the sum she had so proudly mentioned, to her banking +account.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span>“How much does that make?” she added, peering up +at Mr. Hunt through her glasses; her toothless gums +parted in a smile which was already rapturous.</p> + +<p>“Let me see,” returned he, taking the book from her +hand; “last time I reckoned it up there was forty pound +in it, an’ you’ve a-been here twice since—and again to-day. +You’ve got in that there wold stockin’, Mrs. Melmouth, +forty pound four shillin’ an’ ninepence. It do do ye credit,” +he added handsomely; “ah! that it do. ’Tisn’t many a +hard-workin’ body same as yourself would put by half so +much. Ye’ve put in over nine pound since I took charge +of it for ye.”</p> + +<p>“An’ that’s ten year ago come Michaelmas,” said Becky, +with modest pride. “But Melmouth an’ me had been +savin’ for thirty year afore that.”</p> + +<p>“An’ you yourself ’ull go on savin’ for another thirty +year, I shouldn’t wonder,” said Mr. Hunt, with a jovial +laugh. “There ye be so strong upon your legs as ever +you was, an’ never sick nor sorry, be ye?”</p> + +<p>“Well, not to speak on, thanks be,” responded Becky. +“But I could feel a deal easier-like in my mind if I could +settle who it’s all to go to when I be gone. I be puzzled +what to do—ah! that I be. Thicky wold stockin’ do lay +upon my heart jist same as a lump o’ lead.”</p> + +<p>“It didn’t ought to be such a trouble to ye,” said Mr. +Hunt. “Divide it, Mrs. Melmouth. Divide it fair and +square among your nevvies and nieces.”</p> + +<p>“No,” cried Mrs. Melmouth, shaking her head vehemently +and sucking in her breath at the same time. +“No-o-o, sir, ’twouldn’t never do, that wouldn’t. It must<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span> +go all in a lump. Melmouth and me settled it that way +years an’ years ago. He’d save a shillin’, d’ye see, an’ I’d +scrape together another to put to it, an’ so we’d go on—for +a rainy day, he’d say—but no rainy day ever did +come——”</p> + +<p>“And what a good thing that was,” chimed in the +farmer; “there isn’t many folks can say the same.”</p> + +<p>“Very like there bain’t. Thanks be, as I do say, Mester +Hunt; thanks be for all mercies! But there ’tis, d’ye see.” +Here her face assumed an anxious expression and she +dropped her voice cautiously. “Who’s it to go to? Rector +do tell I, I ought to be makin’ my will.”</p> + +<p>“True enough,” said Mr. Hunt judiciously; “so you +ought, Becky, so you ought.”</p> + +<p>“Well, but,” resumed Mrs. Melmouth, “who’s to have +it? Melmouth, he wer’ set on its going in a lump. Says +he often an’ often, ‘Let it go in a lump, Becky, whatever +you do do. Settle it as you do like’—he did say—‘for +the dibs belongs to both on us equal. Let Simon (that’s +my nevvy) have ’em, or let ’em go to Rosy’—Rosy be his +sister’s oldest maid—‘but don’t divide ’em,’ says he; ‘let +’em go in a lump.’”</p> + +<p>Here Becky paused, and the farmer looked at her in +silence, scratching his jaw in a non-committal manner.</p> + +<p>“Sometimes,” resumed Becky, “it do seem as if ’twould +be right to leave it to Simon, him bein’ a man an’ my own +flesh an’ blood. That there bit o’ money—’twas me first +had the notion o’ puttin’ it by, and, as Melmouth did often +use to say, there couldn’t be no savin’ done in the house +wi’out I put my shoulder to the wheel. But, there! Rosy—Melmouth<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span> +was oncommon fond o’ Rosy’s mother, and o’ +Rosy herself when she was a little maid.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! you haven’t seen Mrs. Tuffin an’ her family since +they shifted to Sturminster?” put in the farmer as she +paused.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Melmouth shook her head.</p> + +<p>“I often wish I could,” she said; “but ’tis so far.”</p> + +<p>“An’ have ye seen Simon?” inquired the farmer. “He +be a dairy chap, bain’t he?—’tis some time since he went +to service.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! he’ve a-got a very good place t’other side o’ Darchester. +He do write beautiful letters to my sister at +Christmas. There, they be jist same’s as if they come out +of a book.”</p> + +<p>“P’r’aps they are out of a book,” suggested Mr. Hunt. +“There did use to be a book about letter-writin’ when I +was a young chap; but what it wanted to say was never +same as what I wanted to say, and my mother—poor soul! +couldn’t spell the long words, so I did give up using it. +But since ye haven’t seen either of these two young folks +for so long, Mrs. Melmouth, why not ax ’em both to come +and stop wi’ ye, an’ see which ye do like the best? You’d +soon find out then what they was both made on, an’ I’d pick +out the one as did please ye most to leave the stockin’ to.”</p> + +<p>“Well, there, that’s a notion,” said Becky reflectively. +“I mid do that, I mid very well do that. Easter week, +Simon mid very well get a holiday—an’ Rosy—I mid ask +her mother to spare her to me at the same time.”</p> + +<p>“Do!” said Farmer Hunt encouragingly. “I’ll reckon +ye’ll find ’tis a very good notion.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span>“I reckon I will—and thank you, Farmer, for puttin’ it +into my mind. There, I should never ha’ thought on’t.”</p> + +<p>“Two heads is better than one, ye see,” said Mr. Hunt.</p> + +<p>And then he locked up the stocking again, handed Mrs. +Melmouth her basket, and betook himself to his midday +meal with the comfortable sensation which follows on a +good-natured act that has cost nothing.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Melmouth left the house and trudged homewards, +revolving the new idea in her mind. Simon could have +the back bedroom, and Rosy could sleep with her; ’twas a +very good notion to have ’em both together; a man always +gave a deal o’ trouble in a house, and Rosy could help a +bit. Not but what Simon must make himself useful too. +His aunt privately resolved to hold over the setting of the +potatoes until he came; the bit o’ work he might do then +would go a good way towards his keep, reflected the thrifty +soul.</p> + +<p>With much thought and care she penned her invitations +that afternoon; they were brief and to the point, intimating +in each case the writer’s wish to become better +acquainted with the young relative in question.</p> + +<p>Rosy’s answer came by return of post, written in a +beautiful, round, clear hand which did credit to her schooling, +and accepting with rapture. Simon’s reply did not +come to hand for two or three days. It was ill-spelt and +ill-written on a somewhat dirty piece of ruled paper, which +looked as if it had been torn off the bottom of a bill:—</p> + +<p>“Dear Ant,” it said, “i don’t know if i can be spaired, +but if the bos is willin i will cum. Yours truly nevew, <span class="smcap">S. +Fry</span>.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span>His aunt pursed up her lips as she perused this document.</p> + +<p>“He mid ha’ taken a bit more pains,” she said to herself; +“he ha’n’t got this out of a book, anyhow.”</p> + +<p>It was possible, indeed, that even <i>The Complete Letter-Writer</i> +did not contain a missive from a young man who +had been asked to spend his holidays with an aunt in the +country, and that Simon, in consequence, was thrown on +his own resources.</p> + +<p>“But he don’t seem so very anxious to come,” she +thought. “He mid ha’ said ‘Thank ye,’ too—Rosy did +seem to be far more thankful. But Simon—p’r’aps he +means better nor what he says.”</p> + +<p>With this charitable reflection Becky laid aside the letters +and went to feed her chickens.</p> + +<p>Rosy, who was living at home, and in consequence not +tied down to any particular date, arrived a day before the +other guest. She was a pretty girl of the dark-haired, +clear-skinned type so often to be seen in Dorset; her eyes +were brown like her hair, and her complexion matched her +name to a nicety. The carrier dropped her and her tin +box at the corner of the lane which led to Mrs. Melmouth’s +cottage, and she came staggering down to her aunt’s door +bent in two beneath the weight of her belongings. Mrs. +Melmouth stood on the threshold and watched her.</p> + +<p>“That’s right,” she remarked, as the girl set down her +trunk and straightened herself, breathless and laughing, +“I be main glad to see ye. Ye be sich a handy maid, my +dear. There, I declare ye’ve just come in nice time to get +the tea.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span>Now Rosy, who was tired and thirsty after her long +jolting in the carrier’s van, had half-expected to find tea +ready. She felt a little bewildered and slightly annoyed +on being sent first to the well and then to the woodshed, +and then having to reach down the best china from the +top shelf, and, moreover, to dust it, conscious all the time +of wearing her best frock with sleeves too tight at the wrist +to turn up comfortably. It was a very crestfallen Rosy +indeed who finally sat down to partake of that particularly +well-earned cup of tea.</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Melmouth was radiant.</p> + +<p>“To-morrow,” said she, “I’ll get ye to make that there +back room ready for my nevvy.”</p> + +<p>“Your nephew?” echoed Rosy, somewhat taken aback.</p> + +<p>It had been well enough surmised by the Tuffin family +that Aunt Becky had a tidy sum put by, though they were +as ignorant of the precise amount as of the receptacle in +which she had stored it. The invitation to Rosy had +awakened certain half-formed hopes in the girl’s own +breast, as well as in those of her parents, and she looked +very blank at the announcement that a rival aspirant was +so soon to come upon the scene.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said Mrs. Melmouth, stirring her tea vigorously, +“my nevvy, Simon Fry. He be comin’ to spend his +hollerday here. That room ’ull want a good doin’ out,” +she continued placidly, “an’ there’s a lot o’ wold things +there as ’ull have to be shifted afore you can get to work. +But ye can get up pretty early—it’ll be ready time enough, +I dare say. He’ll not be here much afore tea-time.”</p> + +<p>Rosy had formed certain private plans as to the disposal<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span> +of her Good Friday; there were friends of her mother’s to +visit, old playmates of her own to look up—these, being of +the same age as herself, would doubtless have some little +jaunt in view. And now the whole day was to be spent in +cleaning up for Simon Fry. Simon, who was nephew by +blood to Aunt Becky, while she was only niece by marriage—there +could not be much doubt as to who would prove +the favourite. Rosy felt she had been inveigled from her +home on false pretences; it was not out of affection that +Mrs. Melmouth had sent for her, but simply to secure her +help with the housework and to make her wait upon Mr. +Simon Fry.</p> + +<p>Her aunt glanced at her sharply as she flushed and bit +her lip, but made no remark; and presently Rosy regained +her good humour.</p> + +<p>For was it not the sweetest of spring evenings, and were +not the thrushes singing in the wood just behind the cottage, +and were there not primroses in bloom on either side +of the path that led to the gate? Rosy could see them +through the open door and fancied she could smell them, +and the breeze that lifted her curly hair from her brow was +refreshing after her stuffy drive and recent labours. She had +come from a back street in Sturminster, where the air was +not of the same quality, and the surroundings far less inviting.</p> + +<p>“’Tis nice to live in the country, aunt,” said she with a +bright smile.</p> + +<p>Next morning she rose with the lark, and being strong +and capable had got Mr. Simon’s room into excellent order +before breakfast. As she made the bed she could not +resist giving a vicious thump or two to the pillow.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span>“Set ye up, indeed,” she murmured. “Ye may make +your own bed arter this, Mr. Dairy Chap!”</p> + +<p>If she had hoped that her matutinal labours would leave +her free for the remainder of the day she was disappointed. +Mrs. Melmouth gave her a pressing invitation to assist her +at the wash-tub, having, as she informed her with an engaging +smile, expressly saved up the dirty linen for her +that week.</p> + +<p>“To wash on Good Friday!” exclaimed Rosy, aghast. +“Dear, to be sure, aunt, ’tis the unluckiest thing you can +do.”</p> + +<p>“Unlucky? Fiddlesticks!” retorted Mrs. Melmouth. +“A good day for a good deed—so say I.”</p> + +<p>Rosy therefore remained immersed in suds during the +greater part of that day; and though at first she could +have cried with vexation, she soon found herself amused +by the old woman’s talk; and with every fresh excursion +to the hedge her spirits went up. The air was so fresh, the +sunshine so bright, the clean, wet linen smelt quite nice, she +thought, here in the country. Then the hedge itself, with its +little red leaf-buds gaping here and there so as to show the +crumpled-up baby leaves within—it had an attraction of +its own; and she could never be tired of looking at the +primroses that studded the bank beneath.</p> + +<p>As she stood by the hedge on one occasion after having +tastefully disposed the contents of a basket on its prickly +surface, she was hailed by a voice from the road.</p> + +<p>“Be this Widow Melmouth’s?”</p> + +<p>The girl peered over the hedge at the speaker, her curly +hair flapping in the breeze, her cheeks pinker than ever,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span> +partly from her recent exertions, partly from excitement. +There stood a stalwart young countryman in corduroys +and leggings, a bundle in one hand, a stout stick in the +other. He had a brown, good-humoured face, with twinkling +blue eyes, and a smile that displayed the most faultless +teeth in the world.</p> + +<p>“This be Widow Melmouth’s, bain’t it?” he repeated, +altering the form of his question.</p> + +<p>“It be,” returned Rosy; then she nodded towards the +house. “My aunt’s inside,” said she.</p> + +<p>Both, from opposite sides of the hedge, directed their +steps towards the gate.</p> + +<p>“Your aunt?” said the young man. “Then we be +cousins, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>And thereupon as each paused beside the gate, and +before Rosy had time to realise his intentions, he leaned +across and kissed her.</p> + +<p>“How dare you!” cried Rosy, springing back and +rubbing her cheek vigorously, while tears of anger started +to her eyes. “How dare you, Mr. Fry? Cousins, indeed! +We be no such thing, and I’ll trouble you not to take +liberties. You’ll find your aunt indoor.”</p> + +<p>With that she stalked back to her wash-tub.</p> + +<p>“He’s come,” she announced as she passed Mrs. Melmouth, +who was engaged in rinsing out a few fine things +in a crock.</p> + +<p>“Who? Simon! I’m glad to hear it. Ye’d best come +out a minute and make acquaintance.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve made quite acquaintance enough,” retorted Rosy, +plunging her arms into the suds. “He’s an impudent chap!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span>“I’ll go warrant you are a bit jealous,” said Mrs. Melmouth, +and with a chuckle she went forth to greet her +guest.</p> + +<p>Indeed, from the very first it seemed evident that Rosy +had good cause for jealousy. Mrs. Melmouth seemed never +tired of commenting on Simon’s likeness to her family, +prefacing her remarks with the assertion that she had +always been dearly fond of Sister Mary. She further +observed two or three times during the course of the evening +that blood was certainly thicker than water, and that +a body should think o’ their own afore lookin’ round for +other folks. Poor Rosy, hot and tired after her exertions +at the wash-tub, took these hints in rather evil part; not, +indeed, that she was of a grasping nature, but that she +had an indefinable feeling of having been unfairly dealt with.</p> + +<p>Simon, however, saw nothing amiss; it was apparent +that he looked upon his visit solely and wholly as an +“outing,” and had no ulterior views as to his aunt’s testamentary +dispositions. If he had ever heard of her savings +he had evidently forgotten about them; he had left home +young, and, except for the wonderful epistolary effort which +he sent to his mother each Christmas, corresponded little +with his family. He admired Rosy very much, and could +not understand why she was so short in her speech and +stand-off in her manner. It was perhaps her repellent +tone and evident moodiness which caused Mrs. Melmouth +to lay so much stress on Simon’s various good qualities.</p> + +<p>During the course of the evening young Fry remarked +with a yawn and a stretch that he intended to have a good +sleep on the morrow.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span>“Jist about,” he added emphatically. “Ah! ’twill be +summat to hear clock strikin’ and to turn over warm an’ +snug thinkin’ I needn’t get up to drive up the cows. To-morrow’s +Saturday, too—if I were yonder I’d ha’ had to +clean out fifteen pigstyes afore breakfast.”</p> + +<p>“Think of that!” said Mrs. Melmouth. “’Tater-settin’s +different, bain’t it? Ye wouldn’t mind so much gettin’ up +a bit early to set ’taters—would ye, Simon?”</p> + +<p>Simon’s jaw dropped, and he looked ruefully at his +relative.</p> + +<p>“I thought I wer’ goin’ to have a real hollerday for +once,” he said hesitatingly. “There, if you do want me +to do any little job for ye in a small way I don’t mind +doin’ of it. But settin’ ’taters! You’ve a goodish bit o’ +ground, an’ there is but the two days—I did look to have +my sleep out to-morrow,” he concluded desperately.</p> + +<p>“I did count on ye,” persisted Mrs. Melmouth mildly. +“Ah! so did I. Said I to myself, ‘I’ll save up them ’taters +’gainst the time my nevvy do come’—I says. ‘He be a +good-natured young man,’ I says, ‘and I know he will do +what I do ax him.’ ’Tis beautiful weather for early risin’, +Simon, my dear, and you’ll feel the air so nice and fresh +while you’re workin’. I’ll have a dew-bit ready for ye. +Ye won’t disapp’int me, I’m sure.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! I’ll not disapp’int ye,” returned Simon dolefully. +“I can’t work on Sunday, of course,” he added, brightening +up a little. “That’s summat, an’ if I work real hard to-morrow +I mid have a chance o’ gettin’ off a bit on Monday. +Where be the ’taters, aunt? If we was to cut up some o’ +the sets to-night, we’d get on faster to-morrow.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span>“Ah, to be sure,” agreed his aunt with alacrity. “I’ll +fetch a basket of ’em in a minute, an’ Rosy there can help +ye. She’ll be busy to-morrow cleanin’ up indoor; but +she’ll give you a hand to-night.”</p> + +<p>But Rosy now felt the time had come for her to assert +herself. She glanced at the drawerful of stockings which +lay on the chair beside her, and then raised her eyes to her +aunt’s face.</p> + +<p>“I know nothin’ about cuttin’ up sets,” said she, “an’ I +don’t fancy sich work. I’ve got all this darnin’ to do. +That’s enough for anybody, I think.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, very well,” responded Mrs. Melmouth with some +dudgeon. “I’ll help you then, Simon. I’ll fetch ’taters, +an’ then I’ll help you.”</p> + +<p>When she returned she found Simon and Rosy sitting +as she had left them, in absolute silence, Simon drumming +on the table and looking dubiously at Rosy, who darned +away without raising her eyes.</p> + +<p>“There’s an odd stocking here,” she remarked snappishly, +as her aunt sat down. “What am I to do with that?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Melmouth, gazing at her sternly, determined +to profit by the opportunity her niece had unconsciously +presented to her, and to give her the lesson she deserved.</p> + +<p>“That there stockin’,” she said impressively, as she took +it from the heap and held it up for their inspection, “that +there stockin’ is more vallyable nor it do look. It is feller +to one what’s worth farty pound.”</p> + +<p>Both exclaimed and stared.</p> + +<p>“I’ve always kep’ it for that,” resumed Mrs. Melmouth.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[163]</span> +“’Tis nigh upon farty year old—an’ the feller to it is worth +farty pound. Your uncle and me did begin savin’ the very +year we was first married, an’ I’ve a-gone on ever since. +When Melmouth died there was over thirty pound in it. +I didn’t like to have so much money about, livin’ here all +alone, so I axed Farmer Hunt to take charge on’t for me. +That’s ten year ago. Well, since then I’ve a-gone on +pinchin’ an’ scrapin’, a shillin’ here, a sixpence there, till +I’ve got together nigh upon ten pound more.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I never heerd o’ such a thing!” exclaimed Simon +heartily. “Ye must have been wonderful clever an’ contrivin’, +Aunt Becky!”</p> + +<p>“Ah, I’ll take that much credit to myself,” replied his +aunt. “I do truly think I was. But there it be now, an’ +it be all to go in a lump to one o’ you two. I mid as well +tell you straight-out. ’Tis to go in a lump—Melmouth an’ +me settled it that way. ‘We saved it between us, an’ you +can leave it,’ he says, ‘either to my niece or to your nevvy—but +it must go in a lump.’”</p> + +<p>“Well, I’m sure!” said Simon; and then he looked +dubiously at Rosy, who was holding her curly head very +high. “’Twas very well said o’ the wold gentleman,” he +continued lamely.</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t make up my mind no ways,” resumed Mrs. +Melmouth, “till at last I wer’ advised to have you both +here together and see for myself which I do like the best. +So if you do have to make yourselves a bit obligin’, it’ll +p’r’aps be worth your while. Ye mid be sure my choice +will fall on the most obligin’.”</p> + +<p>Rosy smiled disdainfully and returned to her darning.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span> +It was easy to see, she thought, on whom the choice would +fall.</p> + +<p>Simon eyed her askance, realising now the reason of the +girl’s evident aversion to himself, but he made no comment +beyond an occasional ejaculation under his breath. “Farty +pound! Well now! I’m sure ’twas very well thought on,” +and the like.</p> + +<p>Next morning, just when Simon’s slumbers were at their +deepest and sweetest, he was awakened by an imperative +hammering and scratching at the partition which separated +his room from that of Mrs. Melmouth; and thereupon +dutifully, if somewhat reluctantly, he arose, and soon afterwards +found his way to the garden.</p> + +<p>Early as it was, Rosy was already at work shaking +sundry bits of carpet, worn almost threadbare and terribly +dusty.</p> + +<p>“Let me give you a hand,” exclaimed Simon gallantly. +“Sich work’s too hard for a maid.”</p> + +<p>“No, thank ye,” returned Rosy sharply. “I shan’t get +much credit anyway; but what I said I’d do, I’ll do,” and +she gave another vicious shake to the ragged carpet.</p> + +<p>“I be pure sorry you should think I want to rob ye of +any credit,” observed Simon mournfully. “There, you do +seem to ha’ turned again’ me terrible; and ’tis quite other-way +wi’ me—I did like ’ee from the first.”</p> + +<p>“No thanks to ye, then!” retorted Rosy; and, snatching +up a stick, she began to belabour the mat with so meaning +an air that Simon felt as if the onslaught were committed +on his own shoulders.</p> + +<p>“I wish you’d get on with your work,” she exclaimed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span> +presently. “You’re the favourite, and you’ll get the reward, +but you mid jist so well do summat to earn it.”</p> + +<p>“Now look ’ee here,” said Simon, and his usually merry +eyes flashed angrily; “this here bit o’ business bain’t to +my likin’ no ways. What do I care for the wold stockin’? +I can earn enough to keep myself—ah, that I can—an’ I +could keep a wife, too, if I wanted one; an’ what’s farty +pound? The wold ’ooman had best keep it to be buried +with.”</p> + +<p>“For shame!” cried Rosy. “’Tis pure ongrateful of ye +to speak so, and Aunt Becky so took up wi’ ye.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I can’t help it,” returned the young man bluntly. +“The job bain’t to my likin’. I did come out for a hollerday, +and here I be ordered to set ’taters—an’ what’s more, +I get nothin’ but cross looks and sharp words what I don’t +deserve.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sure your aunt speaks civil enough,” said Rosy in +a somewhat mollified tone.</p> + +<p>“An’ so she mid,” responded he promptly. “She mid +very well be civil when she do expect so much. But there’s +others what’s uncivil, and ’tis that what I can’t abide. I’ve +a good mind,” he added gloomily, “to cut an’ run—yes, +I have,” he cried resolutely. “I’d sooner be cleanin’ out +pigstyes nor be treated so unkind as you do treat I. But +for that matter, my mother ’ull be glad enough to see I. +I’ll step home-along—that’s the very thing I’ll do; I’ll step +home-along.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, but what will Aunt Becky say?” cried Rosy in +alarm.</p> + +<p>“Aunt Becky be blowed!” exclaimed Simon with decision.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span> +“Let her say what she pleases. I’ll leave her an’ +you to make it up together. ’Tis more nor flesh an’ blood +can stand to be treated as you’ve a-treated I since I did +come to this house.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, please—please don’t go!” gasped the girl. “There, +I really didn’t mean—I—I—I only thought my aunt a bit +unjust.”</p> + +<p>“Well, and very like she was,” said Simon magnanimously. +“I think the money what was saved out o’ the +man’s wage did ought to go to the man’s folk. You’ve +the best right to that there stockin’, Miss Rosy, and I’ll +not bide here to stand in your light.”</p> + +<p>This was heaping coals of fire on Rosy’s pretty head +with a vengeance. She looked up in Simon’s face with +a smile, though there were tears in her eyes, and she +impulsively dropped the carpet and held out two little +sunburnt hands.</p> + +<p>“Oh, please, Mr. Fry,” she said pleadingly, “please, +Simon, do stay—do ’ee now. I’ll—I’ll—I’ll never be unkind +again!”</p> + +<p>“Is that a true promise, my maid?” asked Simon very +tenderly.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Melmouth, chancing at that moment to emerge from +her house with the view of ascertaining how the young +folks’ labours were progressing, discovered them standing +in this most compromising attitude; Simon clasping both +Rosy’s hands, Rosy looking earnestly into his face; and +thereupon, true to her instincts, rated the couple soundly +for their idleness. In two minutes Rosy had returned to +her carpet with a flaming face, and Simon was walking<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span> +slowly towards the potato-plot. As their aunt, still full +of virtuous indignation, was returning to the house, her +nephew’s tones fell distinctly on her ear:—</p> + +<p>“How would it be if I was to give you a hand wi’ they +things first, my maid, and then you could be helping me +wi’ the sets?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I declare,” commented Mrs. Melmouth, stopping +short, “I believe they’ve started coortin’. It do really +seem like it. Well, I never!”</p> + +<p>She was turning about in preparation for a fresh outpouring +of wrath, when she was struck by a sudden idea, and +paused just as Rosy, with a nervous glance towards herself, +walked sheepishly up to Simon, trailing the carpet behind +her.</p> + +<p>“We’d certainly get on much faster,” she said, speaking +ostensibly to Simon, but really for her aunt’s benefit.</p> + +<p>“I d’ ’low ye would,” said Mrs. Melmouth; and suddenly +her brow cleared, and she turned once more to go indoors +with a good-humoured smile. “I d’ ’low you’ll get on fast +enough—wi’ the coortin’. But that ’ud be the best way o’ +settlin’ it,” she added to herself—“I’ll leave the wold +stockin’ in a lump to ’em both.”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">A WOODLAND IDYLL.</h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was the first Monday of August; the shops were shut +in the little town of Branston, but life in the neighbouring +villages was more astir than usual, for the men were for the +most part working in their gardens and the women stood +at their doorways or by their gates to view the passing +vehicles. These were not so numerous after all—one +might never have known it was a Bank Holiday—yet +every now and then a brake or a wagonette laden with +noisy folk rattled by, leaving a trail of dust to mark its +progress that lingered in a kind of cloud about the hedgerows +long after it had passed.</p> + +<p>Two miles away on the downs, another kind of haze +caught the eye of Robert Formby as he strode across +them, the golden glimmering haze which indicates intense +heat; the sun had not yet set, but its rays struck the short +herbage as though they must scorch it, and made the white +streak of road which threaded the undulating tract positively +glitter. But yonder was Oakleigh Wood, heavily +green in its luxuriance of summer foliage. As Robert +swung along, with the fierce sunshine beating on his brown +neck and hands, he pictured it to himself: first, the grove +of firs with all its spicy scents streaming forth at this hour, +then the open space where the rabbits would presently<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span> +frolic, then, stretching away, the wide dense coppice of hazel +and oak and ash. He thought of the broad drives where +the feet sank deep in cool lush grass, and of the narrow +and more secret paths between serried green walls, where +scarce a single burning ray might penetrate, though far, +far away at the very end of a long vista, a peep of luminous +sky was to be had.</p> + +<p>Robert dwelt on it all, not as a poet or an artist would +have dwelt on it, revelling in its beauty, but as a man +thinks of familiar and undeniably pleasant things.</p> + +<p>The young gamekeeper shifted his gun to the other +shoulder to ease himself, and swung his now disengaged +arm, whistling as he walked. Oakleigh Wood was situated +on a Dorset down, but Robert Formby was a North-countryman. +He had probably Danish blood in his +veins, for his big, loose-limbed figure, his blue eyes and +yellow hair and beard, would seem to belong to the race; +his complexion, too, had been fair but was now bronzed, +though when, impatient of the heat, he threw open the +collar of his flannel shirt, the lower part of his throat +showed white as milk.</p> + +<p>A very energetic, sensible, clear-headed fellow was +Robert, full of zeal, and most laudably anxious to do his +duty. It was this zealous anxiety which brought him to +Oakleigh Wood on this particular occasion. It was just +possible that evil-disposed persons might take advantage +of the universal relaxation to trespass in these coverts; it +behoved Robert to see to that, he conceived.</p> + +<p>Here were the woods at length, the undulating outlines +of which had wooed him from afar with such enticing promise;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span> +Robert’s feet fell almost noiselessly on a crumbling +carpet of pine-needles, and he paused a moment to sniff +the aromatic scent approvingly; then he went on. Now +the green depths engulfed him on every side; all was +gentle gloom, exquisite undefinable fragrance; silence the +more palpable because of the never-ceasing stir which +seemed to pervade it. What a variety, what a multiplicity +of scarcely perceptible noises go to make up the breathing +of the wood! The flapping of leaf against leaf, the swaying +of twigs, the rattle of falling nuts or sticks, the falling +apart of fronds of moss, the dripping of tiny drops of +dew or rain, the roamings of minute insects—each sound +infinitesimal in itself, yet repeated at thousands and millions +of points—in this harmony of life and motion, combining +with but never subduing the stillness of the forest, +lies its magnetism.</p> + +<p>Sharper sounds break the all-pervading hush from time +to time without disturbing it; the cooing of a dove, the +flight of blackbird or thrush, the tapping of a woodpecker, +the croaking of a frog, the hasty passage of a +mouse through dry leaves; while the barking of a dog +in some distant village, and the clanging of sheep-bells +far away seem nevertheless to form part of the mysterious +whole.</p> + +<p>Robert pushed his hat to the back of his head, rested his +gun against a forked sapling of birch, and, taking out his pipe, +was proceeding to fill it, when he suddenly started and threw +back his head, inhaling the air with a frown. A certain +acrid penetrating odour was making its way towards him, +drowning the more delicate essences of the forest growths.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span>“’Tis wood smoke!” said Robert, and then his brow +cleared. “Mayhap somebody is burnin’ weeds nigh to +this place,” he said, and went on filling his pipe.</p> + +<p>But before lighting it he once more raised his head and +shot a suspicious glance down the long green vista which +faced him: a faint bluish haze seemed to cling to the +over-arching boughs of the hazels. It was not the mist of +evening, for it proceeded from a certain point about half-way +up the narrow stretch, and, moreover, as Robert gazed, +little fresh wreaths came eddying forth to join the ethereal +cloud afore-mentioned. Restoring his pipe to his pocket, +and catching up his gun, Robert strode off in this direction +as rapidly as the narrowness of the path and the breadth +of his shoulders would admit of. He had indeed to proceed +in a curious sidelong fashion, turning now the right +shoulder forward, now the left, so that he looked almost as +if he were dancing. The cloud of smoke increased in +volume as he advanced, and presently he could actually +hear the hissing of flames and the crackling and snapping +of twigs; and now bending low, and peering beneath +the interlaced branches, he could see the fire itself. A +rather large beech-tree stood in the middle of the massed +saplings, with a small open space around it. In the centre +of this space a fire was burning briskly, and by the side of +the fire a girl sat with her elbows resting on her knees and +her chin sunk in her hands. Her hat was hung on one of +the beech-boughs, and a small open basket lay beside her, +from beneath the raised lid of which protruded the brown +spout of a teapot.</p> + +<p>“My word!” said Robert to himself.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span>Lowering his head he made a dive beneath the branches, +pushing some aside and breaking down others in his +impetuous advance, and in another moment, straightening +himself, he stood beside the girl, frowning at her +sternly. She raised her head and looked at him with +the action and something of the expression of a startled +deer; indeed her full dark eyes seemed to carry out the +comparison. She was a very pretty girl—so much Robert +saw at a first glance, yet the sight of her left him entirely +unmollified.</p> + +<p>“What are you doing here?” he inquired roughly. +“You’re trespassin’—d’ye know that? I’ve a good mind +to summons ye!”</p> + +<p>The girl scrambled to her feet; she was slender and tall, +her clinging pink cotton gown defining the shapeliness of +her form.</p> + +<p>“I wasn’t doin’ any harm,” she returned with a pout.</p> + +<p>Robert strode across the intervening space, and kicked +wrathfully at the fire which was cunningly composed of +sticks and fir-cones.</p> + +<p>“Oh, don’t!” cried the girl eagerly, “don’t! You’ll +spoil my ’taters!”</p> + +<p>“’Taters indeed!” retorted Robert, but he drew back +the great boot which he had uplifted for the second time.</p> + +<p>“Who gave you leave to come picnicking up here? I +s’pose you’re expectin’ a lot more trespassin’ folks same as +yourself?”</p> + +<p>“No,” she said, shaking her head sorrowfully. “I was +just a-havin’ a little party for myself—I didn’t think no +harm.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span>“A tea-party all to yourself,” said Formby, and in spite +of him, face and voice relaxed, “why, that’s dull work!”</p> + +<p>“Everybody do seem to be merry-makin’ to-day,” she +went on, with a little toss of the head that contradicted a +certain quiver in her voice. “I thought I’d come out too, +and take my tea here. I don’t hurt nothin’. I d’ ’low the +wild things do know me quite well. I often walk here of +an evenin’ and the rabbits scarce run out of my road. I +do whoot like the owls and they do answer me back, and +bats come flyin’ round my head—I often fancy I could +catch ’em if I had a mind to.”</p> + +<p>“Do ye?” said Robert.</p> + +<p>He was bending down, resting a hand on either knee, +and peering up at her with a twinkle in his eye. She +nodded, and dropping on her knees beside the fire began +to draw together the embers with a crooked stick, and to +turn over the potatoes.</p> + +<p>“They be very near done now,” she said; “this one be +quite done—will ye try it?”</p> + +<p>Sitting back upon her heels she held it out to him with +a timid smile. Robert, shaking his head half-waggishly, +half-dubiously, took it from her.</p> + +<p>“’Tisn’t right, ye know,” he protested, “nay, ’tisn’t right. +I didn’t ought to be encouragin’ of ye in such ways.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve got some salt here,” cried she, rummaging in her +basket and bringing forth a twisted paper which she unfolded +and held out, poised on her little pink palm.</p> + +<p>Robert deliberately sat down, broke the potato in two, +and dipped one of the smoking halves in the salt.</p> + +<p>“Ye mustn’t do this no more,” he remarked severely;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span> +“nay, I’m not encouragin’ of ye, ye understand; ’tisn’t +allowed—this here’s a warnin’.” Here he took a bite out +of the potato—“Ye can be summonsed next time.”</p> + +<p>The girl deposited the paper of salt upon the ground, +and, extracting another potato from the ashes, proceeded +to peel it deftly with a pocket-knife.</p> + +<p>“Have ye got tea in that there basket?” inquired +Robert, still sternly.</p> + +<p>“’Tisn’t made yet,” she replied, “but kettle ’ull boil in a +minute.” She pulled the basket towards her and unpacked +it with great rapidity.</p> + +<p>“So that’s the kettle, is it?” commented Robert, as a +sooty object came to light, partially enveloped in a newspaper. +He weighed it in his hand. “There’s nought in it—eh, +I see you’ve got water in yon bottle. Shall I fill it?”</p> + +<p>She nodded, and then making a pounce on a small +bottle of milk, endeavoured to uncork it. As the cork did +not yield, she was preparing to loosen it with her teeth +when Robert interposed.</p> + +<p>“Here, hand o’er! What mun ye go breakin’ your +teeth for,” he inquired gruffly; “ye’ll noan find it so easy +to get more when they’re gone—more o’ the same mak’ as +how ’tis. They’re as white as chalk—and chalk’s easy +broke.”</p> + +<p>He produced a large clasp-knife, and selecting a corkscrew +from the multiplicity of small implements which +were attached to it, drew out the cork with a flourish. +But the sight of the knife, which had been a present from +his former master, recalled graver thoughts, and it was in +a harsh admonitory tone that he next spoke:—</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span>“’Tis all very well for once,” he said; “this ’ere tay-party +mun be overlooked for this time, I reckon; but there +mun be no more on ’em. Do ye hear, lass? These ’ere +woods is private, and Squire doesn’t intend no young +wenches to go trapesin’ about in ’em o’ neets, talkin’ to +the owls and that. I doubt ye don’t go lookin’ for bats +and owls alone,” went on the keeper in a tone of ferocious +banter. “I doubt some young chap——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, don’t!” interrupted she, flushing fiery red, “I can’t +bear it!”</p> + +<p>And to his surprise and distress she burst into +tears.</p> + +<p>“Eh, don’t ye cry, my lass!” he exclaimed with deep +concern. “Whatever have I said to hurt ye? I ax your +pardon. I meant no harm—no harm at all. Give over, +there’s a good lass.”</p> + +<p>The girl sobbed on, with averted face. Robert looked +distractedly round, and his glance fell upon the kettle +which was boiling cheerfully.</p> + +<p>“She’d like her tea,” he said, confidentially addressing +this kettle—“a sup o’ tea ’ull put her to rights. Come +we’ll make it in a minute.”</p> + +<p>He reached for the teapot, rinsed it, dropped the contents +of another little twisted paper into it, and poured in the +boiling water.</p> + +<p>“Don’t fill it quite full,” said the girl, turning sharply +round, and displaying a tear-stained face which was +nevertheless alight with interest.</p> + +<p>“Oh, mustn’t I fill it? I always fill mine right up to +the brim.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span>“Have you got nobody to do for you then?”</p> + +<p>“Nay, I’m a single man. I have lodgin’s over yonder, +but I do for myself mostly.”</p> + +<p>He paused looking at the girl curiously. “You never +told me your name,” he said.</p> + +<p>“You did never ax me,” she said with a dawning smile. +“My name’s Rebecca Masters. I live down there, just at +the foot of the hill, wi’ my grandmother.”</p> + +<p>“Father and mother livin’?” inquired Formby.</p> + +<p>“No, they died when I was quite a little thing.”</p> + +<p>“My father’s livin’ right enough,” he volunteered. “He’s +a fine old chap, my father is.”</p> + +<p>“You’re Keeper Formby, bain’t ye?” inquired Rebecca +with interest.</p> + +<p>“Eh! ye know me, do ye? A good few folks do, I +doubt.” Here Robert drew himself up; he felt what was +due to himself as a public character and once more his +voice took a graver inflection. “Now, see you, my lass, +you mustn’t coom here again.”</p> + +<p>“I’m to have nothin’, an’ to do nothin’,” broke out +Rebecca passionately. “’Tis the only thing I care for, +comin’ here where I did use to walk when—when I was +happy.”</p> + +<p>Robert paused with a potato midway to his mouth.</p> + +<p>“Is he dead?” he inquired in a tone of respectful +sympathy.</p> + +<p>“Who?”</p> + +<p>“Your young man.”</p> + +<p>“No,” she returned sharply, adding unwillingly, as if in +response to his expectant gaze, “he’s gone away.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span>Robert pulled thoughtfully at his yellow beard, his blue +eyes looking very kind and sympathetic the while.</p> + +<p>“P’r’aps he’ll coom back,” he hazarded after a moment.</p> + +<p>“No, no, never!” she cried brokenly; then in a curiously +hard voice and with a sudden flash in her eyes—“What +do I care if he does? He’s nothin’ to me now—nothin’. +He’s gone an’ left me wi’out so much as a word—just took +an’ walked off. And he’ve never wrote either—not so +much as a word. He mid be dead only I do know he +bain’t.”</p> + +<p>Formby continued to contemplate her, still stroking that +fine yellow beard of his.</p> + +<p>“Poor lass! poor lass!” he said at last. “And ’tis a +comfort to you, is it, to coom walkin’ here? Well, see +you, my dear, you can coom here as often as ye like about +this time. I’m pretty often here mysel’ then, and ’twouldn’t +be same thing as if you was trespassin’. Ye mustn’t bring +no young chaps here, though,” he added after a pause. “I +doubt they’ll want to come, however little you might want +them. You’re a bonny lass—as bonny a lass as ever I see +in all my days!”</p> + +<p>She heaved an impatient sigh.</p> + +<p>“I did tell ’ee plain as I don’t want nobody,” she cried. +“Much good it do do me to be nice when——”</p> + +<p>“Is there no other man at all i’ th’ world?” inquired +Robert.</p> + +<p>“Not for me,” returned Rebecca.</p> + +<p>Kneeling up, she began hastily to collect the tea-things, +and Robert, leaning forward, pushed them towards her +with willing clumsy hands. Then he rose to his feet.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span>“I’m fain to hear ye say there’s no other man, my +wench,” he said, “but p’r’aps somebody ’ull coom.”</p> + +<p>“What d’ye mean?”</p> + +<p>“Somebody ’ull begin coortin’ ye afore long,” he +returned with conviction; “it might just as well be me as +another. If there’s nobody else, why not me?”</p> + +<p>Rebecca now rose to her feet.</p> + +<p>“I don’t want anybody,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Somebody ’ull coom,” reiterated Robert, “an’ why not +me? Coom, my lass, I ax ye straight. Will ye give me +the first chance? Honest now! I like ye very well, an’ I +doubt I’ll soon like ye better. ’Tisn’t in nature as a lass +same as you can be for ever thinkin’ of a chap as has +showed no more feelin’ nor your chap has. Ye must tak’ +another soon or late. Tak’ me—ye’ll not rue it.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t settle to do such a thing all in a hurry,” cried +Rebecca petulantly. “I’ve never set eyes on you before.”</p> + +<p>“Nor me on you,” returned Robert, “but I feel as if I +could like ye very well. Give me first chance—I don’t ax +for nought else. Let’s walk a bit an’ see how we get on; +but you must give me your word not to take up wi’ nobody +else while I’m on trial.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I can do that,” said she, and suddenly began to +laugh. The little white teeth which had already called +forth Robert’s admiration, showed bewitchingly; a dimple +peeped out near the lip, another in the chin.</p> + +<p>Robert gazed at her rapturously. “I like ye very well. +Eh, my word, that I do! ’Tis a bargain—a proper +bargain!”</p> + +<p>He had possessed himself of one of her little sunburnt<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span> +hands, and was shaking it up and down; as she laughed +on, he drew her to him suddenly; but at that she started +back, striking out at him like a little wild cat.</p> + +<p>“None of that,” she cried, “I’ll never ha’ nothin’ to say +to ye, if you do try to do things like that.”</p> + +<p>“Eh, I ax your pardon,” faltered Robert, much abashed. +“I didn’t mean no harm, my dear—’tisn’t reckoned no +harm at all up i’ th’ North when folks begins coortin’. +You did look so bonny—an’ I just reckoned ’twould give +us a good start like.”</p> + +<p>“I won’t have it then!” she broke out violently.</p> + +<p>She stooped over her basket, packing away the remainder +of the tea-things with a certain amount of unnecessary +clatter. Robert, whose proffered help was curtly declined, +stood by dejectedly till she had concluded, when, snatching +up the basket, she darted suddenly from his side, and +bending her head rushed into the track. He immediately +followed her, carrying her hat which she had left suspended +on the branch.</p> + +<p>“You’re forgettin’ this,” he began diffidently. “Now +then, lass, coom! This didn’t ought to make no difference. +Will ye gie me a straight answer?”</p> + +<p>Rebecca had deposited her basket on the ground and +was putting on her hat with trembling fingers.</p> + +<p>“I’ll think of it,” she stammered. “You must be +respectful though.”</p> + +<p>A dark flush overspread Robert’s face.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t mean nought but what was respectful,” he +said, “and ye’ve no need to think so much as that cooms +to. It must be Yes or No. I could never bear shilly-shally<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span> +work. Yes or No—take me or leave me—on trial +of course. I only ax to be took on trial.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, I will,” she said in a low voice. “I d’ ’low +you are a good man, and as you do say I—I can’t always +be so lonesome.”</p> + +<p>She paused a moment with downcast eyes; then, taking +up her basket again, turned away.</p> + +<p>Robert stood stock still, watching her receding figure as +it flitted away down the long alley. The sun had now +set, and the woods were enveloped in even deeper mystery +than that which had possessed them a little while ago; +leafage and branch were inextricably mingled; yonder tiny +object in the path might either be a rabbit or a stump; +but Rebecca’s light dress defined her flying figure amid +the gloom which otherwise would have engulfed her. +Her shape showed white at first, then grey, as it receded +farther, until at last it stood out for a moment almost +black against the still glowing peep of sky which showed +between the over-arching boughs at the farther end; then +it vanished altogether. Even then Robert remained +gazing after her, and at length he heaved a deep sigh.</p> + +<p>“Yon chap,” he said, “him as was her sweetheart—I +wonder if she was so stand-off wi’ him.”</p> + +<p>The query seemed to open up an unpleasant train of +thought; he struck at the sod with the heel of his heavy +boot and frowned. “I’d ha’ summat to say to him if ever +I comed across him,” he muttered; and then turned to +continue on his beat.</p> + +<p>“I never see a bonnier lass,” he said presently in a softer +tone; “poor lass—how pitiful she looked at me; I could<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[181]</span> +do wi’ her very well—’tis to be hoped as she’ll mak’ up her +mind to do wi’ me.”</p> + +<p>A bat twinkled round his head as he emerged into the +open, a host of rabbits scurried away at his heavy footfall.</p> + +<p>“And all they dumb things love her,” meditated Robert. +“’Tis along of her bein’ so innocent-like! Eh, she’s a +flower.”</p> + +<p>Soon he, too, had left the woods behind, and was marching +across the solitary down, grey at this hour save on the +upper slopes, where the short grass still caught some faint +remnant of the rosy after-glow. Night creatures were +stirring in every thicket that he passed, and as the dull +thud of his step fell upon the resonant ground it caused a +flutter and commotion amid the drowsy children of the +day, which had taken shelter there, deeming themselves +secure from disturbance. A rustle of wings, a patter of +tiny feet, a sleepy twitter, the shriek of a blackbird, the +heavy beat of a startled pigeon’s wings as it darted blindly +from its ambush—Robert held on his way without noticing +any of these things, and presently darkness and liberty +reigned undisturbed in the many-peopled waste.</p> + +<p>For many subsequent evenings he visited Oakleigh +Wood at the specified time, but, though he patrolled it +from end to end, and strained his eyes in vain for a glimpse +of Rebecca Masters, not so much as a flutter of her skirts +rewarded his patient gaze.</p> + +<p>Then, one day he suddenly heard an unwonted noise +proceed from a corner of the copse. An owl was hooting +intermittently; every now and then there came a pause, +and then the cry would be sent forth again. Now, though<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span> +the bats had been circling about for some time, it was as +yet a little early for an owl to be abroad; and, struck by a +sudden thought, Robert set off running in the direction +whence the sound proceeded, imitating the call to the best +of his ability. As he expected, he found Rebecca standing +with her hands curved round her mouth, sending forth the +eerie cry. Her back was towards him, and it was not +until the ground vibrated beneath his rapid advance, that +she perceived his advent.</p> + +<p>“Dear, to be sure, how you did frighten me!” she cried, +turning round with a little spring of terror.</p> + +<p>“Did I?” said he. “You know you told me you often +hooted to the owls and they answered ye back. I thought +<i>I’d</i> answer ye—I thought I’d coom.”</p> + +<p>She did not speak, though he stood towering over her +expectantly.</p> + +<p>“Now I’m here must I bide?” he inquired.</p> + +<p>“E-es, if you’ve a mind to.”</p> + +<p>He thrust his hands into his pocket and drew out a +cluster of half-ripened nuts.</p> + +<p>“Ye can bite into ’em,” he said; “they’ll not hurt your +teeth.”</p> + +<p>Then he dived into his other pocket and held something +towards her cautiously; curled up in his brown palm was +a very small dormouse, sound asleep.</p> + +<p>“’Tis for you,” he remarked briefly, “I’ve been carrying +it about three days and more, knowin’ as you’d a likin’ for +such things. ’Tis a mercy I’ve lit on ye at last, else it ’ud +maybe be dead.”</p> + +<p>This was Robert Formby’s mode of courting. It appeared<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span> +to be successful, for Rebecca looked up at him with +a bright smile.</p> + +<p>“’Tis real good o’ ye,” she said. “There, I think it +awful kind.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve got some shells at home,” he went on, brightening +up amazingly. “Do ye like shells?”</p> + +<p>“Sea-shells?” she inquired.</p> + +<p>“Ah! little shells as lays upo’ the beach when tide goes +down. I picked up a two-three handfuls when I wer’ last +at home.”</p> + +<p>Rebecca looked up from the dormouse, which she had +been breathing upon to warm it, as it lay curled in her +hand. “Is your home near the sea then?”</p> + +<p>“Aye—right among the sand-hills. I used to hear tide +come roarin’ in last thing o’ nights and first thing o’ morns +when I were a lad. My mother used to send me out to +fetch in drift for our fire—there’s always a lot o’ wood an’ +chips an’ straw an’ stuff washed up upon the shore, an’ I +used to fill a basket in no time. Eh, in winter it used to +be nippin’ cold! Many a time I’d find my sticks all +froze together. ’Tis pretty nigh always sharp up yonder; +always a wind blowin’ fresh and free and salty on your +mouth.”</p> + +<p>“Be it a nice place?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I think it bonny—not same as this is bonny, +though. There’s sand-hills runnin’ all along the shore, +some big and some little, wi’ star-grass growin’ over ’em. +An’ t’other side o’ the hills there’s the plain country—fields +an’ that. Soil’s light, but crops does wonderful well, an’ +there’s woods, and little dykes an’ pits nigh to the woods—eh,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span> +many’s the big snig I’ve catched!”—he paused, rubbing +his hands with retrospective relish—“but ’tisn’t not to say +bonny same as ’tis about here,” he concluded.</p> + +<p>“There, it do seem strange as I’ve never so much as had +a sight o’ the sea,” said Rebecca. “They d’ say there’s a +good view o’ Poole Harbour from Bulbarrow, but I’ve +never been there.”</p> + +<p>“Happen I might take ye there some day,” suggested +Robert. “Bulbarrow! that’s not so far.”</p> + +<p>A certain startled look in the girl’s eyes warned him +that he was going too fast and he hastily changed the +subject, embarking on a somewhat incoherent account of +his childish adventures among the sand-hills. He went on +to describe the dunes themselves more minutely, and then +the river which ran along the shore so sluggishly that, +however blue and clear the distant sea might be, the waves +that broke upon the beach were always brown and muddy.</p> + +<p>“That’s not nice,” said Rebecca.</p> + +<p>“Nay,” acquiesced Robert unwillingly; “nay, I suppose +not, but I liked it well enough.”</p> + +<p>“Better than this?” asked the girl quickly.</p> + +<p>The man’s sea-blue eyes looked straight into her face.</p> + +<p>“Not now,” he said.</p> + +<p>Next day when he came to Oakleigh Wood at the +usual hour he made straight for the spot where he had +heard the fictitious owl-hooting on the previous evening; +and his heart leaped high when a repetition of the sound +fell upon his ear. A few of his rapid strides brought him +to the spot: Rebecca was standing beneath the beech-tree, +as before, but so as to face the path, and as he approached<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span> +she dropped her hand by her side with a little +laugh.</p> + +<p>“I knowed it was you,” said Robert breathlessly.</p> + +<p>“I did it a-purpose,” said she.</p> + +<p>His face lit up with tender triumph. It was as though +some timid creature of the woods had been coaxed within +reach of a friendly hand; its shyness was vanishing, but +dared he as yet take hold?</p> + +<p>He asked himself this question many times during their +subsequent meetings; the girl would prattle to him confidently +enough, and seemed interested in all his doings, past +and present, but an impenetrable reserve took possession +of her whenever he tried to speak about herself, and once +when he offered to accompany her home, she curtly refused.</p> + +<p>“Folks ’ud get talkin’,” she said.</p> + +<p>Midway in September, Robert thought it time to put +matters on a more business-like footing. With every day +that passed he had fallen more deeply in love, and it +seemed to him only right that their intercourse should be +recognised as courtship proper—the necessary preliminary +to matrimony.</p> + +<p>He approached the trysting-place with a serious face +therefore, and, as was his way, came to the point at +once.</p> + +<p>“We’ve been walkin’ nigh upon seven week now,” he +remarked. “Do ye think ye can do wi’ me, lass?”</p> + +<p>Rebecca turned sharply towards him with that frightened +look in her eyes which he had learned to accept as a warning. +This time, however, he was not to be deterred from +his purpose, and went on, very gently but steadily:—</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span>“Ye took me on trial, ye know. Will I do, think you?”</p> + +<p>“Do for what?” she faltered.</p> + +<p>“For a husband, my dear. Ye’ve no need to be scared. +I don’t want to hurry ye, but I think ’tis time to put +the question straight. I’ve been coortin’ you reg’lar. +Coom, will ye wed me?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no,” cried Rebecca, darting suddenly away from +him, “no, no, never! I don’t want to get married—I don’t—I +never said I would.”</p> + +<p>Robert followed her and took her gently by the shoulders.</p> + +<p>“There! No need to be so scared, my wench. Nobody +’ull force ye—don’t think it. I did but ax—but we’ll say +no more about it—not for a bit, till ye get more used to +the notion. I’m content to bide as we are. There now! +Give over tremblin’. I’ll not hurt ye. See, you’re as free +as the birds.”</p> + +<p>He removed his hands from her shoulders and smiled: +this woodland thing was only half-tamed after all; he +must be patient with it still, but he dreamed of the time +when it would come at his call and nestle in his breast.</p> + +<p>Autumn advanced rapidly that year—a golden luxuriant +autumn, ablaze with colour and lavish with fruit. The +thorn-trees upon the downs were laden with berries, the +bryony flung long graceful tendrils from side to side of the +thickets, chains of transparent gold, bearing here a beryl, +and there a topaz, and there a coral bead. The blackberry +brambles displayed their wealth in more wholesale fashion, +for their clusters were now entirely black and now red. +The days were still hot enough to cause Robert to throw +open coat and shirt-collar when he crossed the down, but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span> +the nights were cold; a thick dew coated the grass, almost +a white frost. In the secret recesses of the copse, where +the sun scarcely penetrated, lay silvery patches by day as +well as by night.</p> + +<p>One afternoon Robert came gaily to the accustomed +meeting-place, but found no one there.</p> + +<p>“I’m a bit early,” he said to himself; “I’ll have a look +round and then come back. I think she’ll wait—ah, I +reckon she’d wait a bit for me now. She’s gettin’ used to +me. I reckon she’s gettin’ to take to me.”</p> + +<p>Smiling to himself he left the wider track and turned +aside into one of the narrower alleys before described. +The leaves were yellowing here on either side; and the grass +beneath his feet was covered with thick rime. As he edged +himself along it, lost in meditation, he suddenly stopped +short, gazing fixedly at the ground. Its hoary surface +bore traces of recent footsteps: a man’s footsteps—and a +woman’s. They stared up at Robert as it seemed to him, +and all at once, though he had been glowing with health +and happiness a moment before, he fell a-shivering.</p> + +<p>He knew the little foot that made those tracks—only +the week before he had laughed admiringly as he had +marked its impression in the dew. A little foot—and a +great one side by side with it. A man’s foot! How +close they must have walked there in the narrow path!</p> + +<p>Robert’s shivering fit ended as suddenly as it had begun, +and the blood coursed madly through his veins—hot enough +now—boiling hot. His fingers closed tightly round his +gun and he rushed forward, brushing aside the close-growing +branches, on, on, never stopping, yet keeping his eyes<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span> +fixed all the time upon those tell-tale tracks. Now they +were lost in one another, now they were interlaced, now +quite distinct and separate, side by side. He stopped +short when he came to the junction of the path with the +wider one in which it merged, a path which traversed the +wood from end to end. Robert cast a hasty glance to +left and to right and stood transfixed. Yonder where the +green roadway abutted on the down he saw two figures +standing out dark against the lambent evening sky—a tall +and slender woman, a taller man. As he gazed transfixed +he saw the man stoop and gather the woman in his arms; +and then the two parted, the man walking away across +the grass, the woman turning to the right and disappearing +into the wood.</p> + +<p>“She’s comin’ to our beech-tree,” said Robert to himself; +“she’s comin’ to meet me.”</p> + +<p>And for the moment he saw the world red.</p> + +<p>He too turned and began to stride fiercely towards the +trysting-place. As he entered the wider track he stopped +and looked to his gun. But one barrel was loaded. He +twisted round his cartridge bag, and with impatient, trembling +fingers found the cartridge for the other barrel.</p> + +<p>He reached the beech-tree first and stood gripping his gun +tight and glaring up the path, still through that red haze.</p> + +<p>All at once he saw her coming, very slowly, with her +head bent.</p> + +<p>Half-hidden by the tree-trunk he waited, motionless as +a statue, for her to give the accustomed signal; at the first +sound of it he would shoot her through the heart.</p> + +<p>She came quite near, raised her head, and sighed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span>Then the keeper made a step towards her; his grip on +the gun relaxed.</p> + +<p>“You here already?” she asked, and turning towards +him laid her little hands upon his breast. It was the +first time she had ever voluntarily touched him, and the +man started and flushed.</p> + +<p>“Robert,” she said falteringly. “I—I—want to tell ’ee +summat.”</p> + +<p>Then his great chest heaved and the gun dropped from +his hand.</p> + +<p>“Eh, bless you for that word, my lass!” he cried +brokenly. “I reckoned you meant to cheat me.”</p> + +<p>“Then you do guess?” stammered Rebecca. “Oh, +Robert—’tis Jim. He be come back—he only went away +to get work after all.”</p> + +<p>Robert’s heart leaped up with an odd mixture of anguish +and joy. It was her sweetheart—“the only man in the +world”. Who could blame the lass?</p> + +<p>“Ah,” he said unsteadily, “coom back, is he? It’s right +then. You be in the right to stick to him if he’ll stick to +you.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, e-es,” returned the girl quickly, “he’ve a-come back +for that—he do want us to get married at once.”</p> + +<p>A spasm crossed Robert’s face. “You’re not afeard +now, I see,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I can’t help it, I can’t help it,” she cried. “I love +him best—I did al’ays love him best, but I—I—oh, Robert, +I be so sorry!”</p> + +<p>He drew down her hands and gently shook them; then +he let them drop.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span>“It’s right,” he said, “ye’ve no need to fret yoursel’, my +lass—you’re a good lass—I give ye j’y.”</p> + +<p>He stooped and picked up his gun, half-absently unloading +it, and dropping the cartridges into his pocket. +Then he turned towards Rebecca again.</p> + +<p>“I’ll say good afternoon,” he said.</p> + +<p>Rebecca extended her hand with a sob, and he shook it +once more.</p> + +<p>“Good afternoon,” he repeated, and left her.</p> + +<p>The sun had not yet quite set as he crossed the open +space that lay between the woods proper and the outlying +grove of fir-trees; its level shafts struck the ruddy trunks +of these and ran along the lower branches, turning the +very needles into fire; the aromatic scent gushed forth, +strong and sweet. Yonder the downs were all ablaze in +the same transitory glow; the distant hills were sapphire +and amethyst, the nearer woods a very glory of autumn +tints and sunset fires. Robert stood still as he emerged +into the open; his heart was swelling to suffocation, his +eyes smarting with unshed tears. They are children of +nature, these burly Northmen, and he would have been +fain to weep now, though he had not wept since that far-away +day when, as a little lad, he had seen them lay his +mother in the grave. A great loathing of the beauty and +the radiance and the sweetness which had encompassed +his dead dream, came upon him; in his actual physical +oppression he thought with a sick longing of the pure tart +air blowing over the dunes at home; the tall bleak +dunes, all sober grey and green; the brown waves leaping +in upon the tawny shore.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span>“I reckon I’ll shift,” said Robert.</p> + +<p>And early on the following morning, when the yellowing +leaves of Oakleigh Wood were catching the first rays of +the sun, Robert Formby took to the road, with his face +turned northwards.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">THE CARRIER’S TALE.</h2> +</div> + +<p>“<span class="smcap">E-es</span>, I d’ ’low I do see a-many queer things while I be +a-goin’ o’ my rounds, year in, year out, every Tuesday an’ +Friday so reg’lar as clockwork—only when Christmas Day +do fall on a Friday, or Boxin’ Day, an’ then I do have to +put it off. E-es, I do often say to Whitefoot when he an’ +me be joggin’ along; ‘Whitefoot,’ I d’ say, ‘if you an’ me +was to get a-talkin’ of all we’ve a-seen in our day, Lard! +we could tell some funny tales.’ Whitefoot do seem to +take jist so much notice as what I do do—he be the +knowin’est mare in the country. There! ye midn’t notice +as he be a-goin’ along a bit unwillin’ to-day, same as if he +hadn’t a-got much heart in him; ’tis because he knows so +well as me what day ’tis—Friday, d’ye see? He d’ know +he’ll have to bring back a heavy load. Fridays we calls +at Brewery for two or three cases o’ bottled beer—we +do bring ’em full o’ Fridays up to Old’s, at Graychurch—right +a-top o’ the hill—an’ we do fetch back empties o’ +Tuesdays, an’ then ye should jist see Whitefoot a-steppin’ +along.</p> + +<p>“E-es, we do see all sorts o’ things, an’ we do hear all +kind o’ talk. Miffs do go on many a time under that there +wold green shed. When I do hear folks a-havin’ words +one wi’ t’other, I do never take notice if I can help it.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span> +Sometimes they’ll be for drawin’ me in. ‘Don’t ye think +so, Jan?’ one ’ull say; and then another ’ull go, ‘I’m sure +Jan ’ull agree wi’ I’. An’ I do always make the same +answer, ‘Settle it among yourselves, good folks,’ says I; +‘I don’t take zides wi’ one nor yet wi’ t’other. ’Tis my +business for to drive, an’ I do do that,’ I do tell ’em, ‘and +don’t interfere wi’ nothin’ else.’</p> + +<p>“One day I d’ mind, Mrs. Collins, what fell out wi’ her +darter for marryin’ some chap down to Bere—dalled if +she didn’t meet the young woman plump in my cart! And +they hadn’t been speaking for above a year.</p> + +<p>“You see, ’twas this way. I took up Mary—that’s the +darter—an’ her little child—a hinfant it was, not above +four or five month old; I took ’em up first, an’ we was +goin’ along the road Branston-ways, an’ it was gettin’ +darkish when the wold lady met us.</p> + +<p>“‘Can you make room for me, Jan?’ she says. ‘I +bain’t so young as I was, an’ I’ve a-got a pair o’ new boots +what do fair lame me.’</p> + +<p>“‘To be sure, mum,’ says I. ‘Up wi’ ye; you can set +along of I,’ I says, ‘here in front. There bain’t much +room under the shed.’</p> + +<p>“Well, she sits her down, an’ all of a minute the little +baby under the shed begins a-cryin’, an’ poor Mary she +begins a-hushin’ of it an’ a-talkin’ to it; and soon as ever +the wold ’ooman hears her voice she gives a great start +what very nearly throws her off the seat.</p> + +<p>“‘Studdy, mum,’ says I; ‘if you do go a-jumpin’ up +an’ down like that we’ll be a-droppin’ of ye into the road,’ +I says.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span>“She made no answer and never turned her head.</p> + +<p>“Well, the baby kep’ on a-cryin’ and a-cryin’—it had +been vaccinated or some such thing—an’ the mother kep’ +hushin’ it, an’ at last the wold ’ooman couldn’t hold out no +longer.</p> + +<p>“‘Give I that child, Mary,’ says she, sharp-like. ‘I d’ +’low you don’t know how to hold it,’ she says. ‘’Tis a +shame to let a pore little hinfant scream like that. I d’ +’low ’twill do itself a mischief.’</p> + +<p>“‘Oh, mother,’ says poor Mary; an’ she begins to cry +herself as she hands over the child.</p> + +<p>“Well, soon as ever Mrs. Collins had a-got hold o’ the +little thing, an’ got the little face up again hers an’ began +singin’ to it, an pattin’ it, an’ rockin’ it, it <i>did</i> stop cryin’—’twas +a knowin’ little thing, that baby, I did al’ays say +afterwards, for ’twas that done the job. The wold body +was so pleased as could be.</p> + +<p>“‘Didn’t I say you didn’t know how to hold it?’ says +she. ‘’Tis a very fine child too,’ she says.</p> + +<p>“And then, ‘oh, mother,’ says Mary, ‘I did so want ye +to see it.’</p> + +<p>“And so they made friends straight off, and Mary went +home wi’ her mother to tea.</p> + +<p>“Coortin’? Well, we don’t see so much o’ that—not +these times. The young chaps be all for bicylin’ these +days; they wouldn’t be bothered wi’ travellin’ in my cart. +But I do mind one queer thing what happened many years +ago now—dally! ’twas the very queerest thing as ever I +knowed, or did happen in these parts.</p> + +<p>“’Twas one Tuesday. I wur jist puttin’ in Whitefoot,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span> +an’ a few o’ my fares was a-standin’ about waitin’ for I to +be ready to start, when I see a great big fellow marchin’ +down the hill from Old’s.</p> + +<p>“‘Goin’ Branston-way?’ says he with a nod to I.</p> + +<p>“‘E-es,’ I says, ‘I be goin’ Branston-way. Be you a +stranger?’ says I. ‘All the folks as lives about here +do know as Branston is my way.’</p> + +<p>“‘I’m a stranger and I’m not a stranger,’ says he. ‘My +folks used to live here. I used to live with my grandfather +up yonder at Whitethorns,’ he says. ‘He was called old +Jesse Taylor—d’ye mind him?’</p> + +<p>“‘I mind him very well,’ says I. ‘A fine wold fellow.’</p> + +<p>“‘Well, I come here to have a look at his grave,’ says +the young chap. ‘’Twas a notion I had.’</p> + +<p>“‘Let me see,’ says I, turnin’ round to look at ’en as I +were a-climbin’ into the cart, for Whitefoot was hitched by +this time, ‘let me see who mid you be then? Wold Taylor +had nigh upon farty grandchildren—I heard ’en say so +many a time.’</p> + +<p>“‘Oh, I’m one of Abel’s lot,’ says he; ‘Abel Taylor was +my father’s name. He emigrated wi’ half a dozen of us +when I was a little lad no higher than the shaft there; my +name is Jim Taylor. I have spent most of my life in the +States; I scarce call myself a Britisher now,’ says he.</p> + +<p>“‘Dear, to be sure,’ says Mrs. Mayne, what was a-standin’ +by, ‘’tis very sad for to hear ye say that, Mr. +Taylor. Ye must feel very mournful havin’ to live out +abroad.’</p> + +<p>“‘I don’t know that,’ says he. He was a honest, good-natured-lookin’ +chap, but when he says ‘I don’t know that’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span> +he looked real melancholy. There; ye’d think some awful +misfortune had happened. ‘I don’t know that,’ he says; +‘there’s good and bad all over the world, and there’s as +much bad as good in England, I guess.’</p> + +<p>“He had a funny way o’ talking: ‘I guess,’ he says, +meanin’ for to say ‘I d’ ’low’.</p> + +<p>“They was all in the cart by this time, an’ Whitefoot +was a-trottin’ out so brisk as could be. He was a young +mare then, and ’twas a Tuesday, as I say, an’ he knowed +he’d have only the empties to carry along.</p> + +<p>“Wold Maria Robbins was a-sittin’ jist behind Jim +Taylor—a great talker she was, al’ays ready to gossip +about her neighbours. She did sit a-starin’ an’ a-starin’ +at this here Jim Taylor till I reckon he felt her eyes fixed +on ’en, for he turns round smilin’ wi’ some talk about the +weather. But ’twasn’t the weather as Maria did want to +be talkin’ on.</p> + +<p>“‘I’m sorry, Mr. Taylor,’ says she, ‘as you’ve a-been +disappointed like in your country,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry +England didn’t come up to your expectations.’</p> + +<p>“He laughed and began pulling at his girt brown beard.</p> + +<p>“‘’Twill maybe l’arn me not to expect too much,’ he +says.</p> + +<p>“‘I’ll go warrant ’twas a maid what played some trick +on ye,’ says Maria, a-turnin’ her head on one side same as +an old Poll-parrot.</p> + +<p>“‘Maids be tricky things,’ says he; but he didn’t give +her no more satisfaction.</p> + +<p>“Well, Mrs. Mayne, what was a-sitting on the t’other +side o’ the cart, was jist as anxious to pick all she could<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span> +out of ’en, an’ says she, pokin’ out her head from under +the shed:—</p> + +<p>“‘I d’ ’low,’ she says, ‘there isn’t many English maids +as would fancy the notion of goin’ out abroad to get +married. Most English maids,’ says she, ‘likes to settle +down near their own folks, an’ not be tolled off amongst +strangers.’</p> + +<p>“The wold ’ooman had jist knocked the nail on the +head. The chap turns round about again wi’ his back to +’em both, an’ the dark look on his face.</p> + +<p>“‘Folks are free to please themselves,’ says he, arter a +bit, ‘but they should know their own minds. It shouldn’t +be “I will” one day and “I won’t” the next.’</p> + +<p>“Well, he didn’t seem in the humour to talk much after +this, and we did drive on half a mile or so wi’out openin’ +our lips, till all at once we came to a turn in the road, and +there was a lot o’ folks a-waitin’ for I.</p> + +<p>“’Twas Meadway what lives down there in the dip, an’ +his wife, an’ three or four of his sons an’ daughters, an’ a +couple o’ chaps what works for ’en; they was all gathered +round his niece, Tamsine, as was standin’ waiting for I, +dressed very nice for travellin’.</p> + +<p>“They was makin’ sich a din when I pulled up a body +could scarce hear hisself speak.</p> + +<p>“‘Up wi’ the box,’ says one, a-tossin’ it up a’most afore +I could get my feet out o’ the way. ‘Here be thy band-box, +maidie,’ says another. ‘Now, Jan, make room. Good +luck, my dear.’</p> + +<p>“’Twas old Tom Meadway as did say that, an’ he no +sooner let fall the word than the whole lot of ’em took it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span> +up. ’Twas ‘Good luck’ here, and ‘Good luck’ there, and +the poor maid pulled about from one side to the other, an’ +sich kissin’ I thought she’d be in pieces afore I did have +her in my cart.</p> + +<p>“At last she got in. Maria did have to go and sit next +Mrs. Mayne, and Tamsine Meadway took her place behind +Jim Taylor, what sat next I.</p> + +<p>“‘Drop us a line so soon as you get to the other side,’ +says Mrs. Meadway.</p> + +<p>“‘Mind ye tell us what he’s like,’ cries one o’ the maids.</p> + +<p>“‘Lard, Tamsine,’ says another, ‘I could wish I was +you.’</p> + +<p>“Then they did all start a-cheerin’, an’ two of ’em +popped their heads in under the shed, laughin’ fit to split, +and throwin’ somethin’ at the poor maid, an’ she jumps up +an’ throws it out again, an’ then another maid comes an’ +throws a handful o’ summat almost into her face.</p> + +<p>“‘Come,’ says I, ‘I’d best be gettin’ on, or they’ll make +an end on ye, maidie.’ So I touches up Whitefoot, an’ we +soon leaves ’em all behind, laughin’ an’ shoutin’.</p> + +<p>“‘Ye shouldn’t ha’ thrown back the shoe,’ says Mrs. +Mayne to Tamsine; ‘that was for luck, my dear.’</p> + +<p>“‘They mid ha’ shown a bit more feelin’,’ says Tamsine, +and a body could hear she weren’t far off cryin’.</p> + +<p>“‘If all the tale be true what I hear,’ says Maria Robbins, +‘you be a very brave young ’ooman. Be it really true as +you be goin’ to ’Merica to marry a man what you’ve never +seen?’</p> + +<p>“‘Why, of course ’tis true,’ puts in Mrs. Mayne, ‘and a +very good job, too. What could anybody do, you know,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span> +Miss Robbins?’ she says to Maria. ‘There’s poor Robert +Meadway left his family terrible bad off, and such a lot of +’em, too, and none of ’em fit to earn a penny wi’out it’s +Tamsine herself.’</p> + +<p>“‘Why didn’t she take a place, then?’ says Maria. ‘I’d +a deal sooner go to sarvice nor set out on this ’ere wild +goose chase. Ye’ll have to work jist so hard,’ she says, +turnin’ to Tamsine, ‘and the Lard knows what sort of a +place it is you be a-goin’ to, nor what kind of a chap your +husband ’ull turn out to be.’</p> + +<p>“‘I shouldn’t mind the work,’ says Tamsine; ‘of course +I’d be willin’ to work for my husband, whoever he mid +be.’</p> + +<p>“She had a kind of soft, pleasant voice, and Jim, when +he heard it, turned round to look at her. I did turn +round, too.</p> + +<p>“‘What’s this tale?’ says I. ‘I never heard nothin’ of +it,’ I says.</p> + +<p>“‘Ah,’ says Mrs. Mayne, ‘Meadways did keep it dark, +d’ye see, till all was settled; but ’tis quite true as Tamsine +here be a-goin’ out to America to get wed to a man what +lives out there. A very good match it do seem to be, too. +A large farm, I d’ ’low, and a comfortable house. And +Tamsine’s intended do write beautiful letters, Mrs. Meadway +telled I.’</p> + +<p>“Tamsine says nothin’, but keeps on pickin’ up the little +bits o’ rice what her cousins had throwed at her, an’ droppin’ +of ’em out o’ the cart. She was a very handsome +maid, wi’ black eyes an’ hair, an’ a pretty bit o’ colour as a +general thing, but her face was so white as chalk that day.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span>“‘Well,’ says Maria, speakin’ a bit sour, as wold maids +will when there’s talk of young ones gettin’ wed. ‘I don’t +think it’s at all proper nor becoming to go answer they +advertisements what comes in the papers, an’ for such a +thing as wedlock—Lard ha’ mercy me,’ she says, ‘however +had ye the face to do it, Tamsine?’</p> + +<p>“‘’Twas my cousin Martha what did it,’ says poor +Tamsine, hangin’ down her head. ‘’Twas in the <i>Western +Gazette</i>—a very respectable paper, my uncle says. We +was lookin’ out for a place for me, and Martha she saw the +advertisement. It said the gentleman wanted a wife from +Dorset. Martha said it did seem like a chance for I, an’ +she took and wrote straight off, more for a bit of fun than +anything else, but when the answer came it was wrote +quite in earnest. It said the gentleman had knowed some +girl what came from Dorset, an’ he ’lowed he’d like a +Dorset wife. He gave two references, one to a bank what +said, when my uncle wrote, he was very respectable and +well off, and one to a minister as said he was a very good +man and ’ud make any ’ooman happy. We be chapel-folk, +too, and Uncle Meadway said the offer did seem the very +thing for I.’</p> + +<p>“‘You were forced into it, then?’ says Jim Taylor, +speakin’ out straight and sharp.</p> + +<p>“‘Oh, forced,’ says she, makin’ shift to look up, ‘I +couldn’t say forced.’</p> + +<p>“But there were the big tears gatherin’ in her eyes—anybody +could see she hadn’t had much say in the +matter.</p> + +<p>“‘My uncle said,’ she goes on, ‘I could have some of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span> +the little ones sent out to me by-an’-by, an’ Mr. Johnson +wrote very nice about it, and said he wouldn’t have no +objections.’</p> + +<p>“‘What d’ye say the party’s name is?’ axes young +Taylor, very quick.</p> + +<p>“‘Johnson—Samuel Johnson,’ says the poor maid.</p> + +<p>“Well, if ye’ll believe me, the chap got so red in the +face as if somebody had hit ’en.</p> + +<p>“‘Samuel Johnson,’ says he. ‘For the Lard’s sake, +where does he live?’</p> + +<p>“‘’Tis in California,’ says Tamsine; ‘he’ve a-got a farm—a +ranch he calls it—at a place called Longwood.’</p> + +<p>“‘Sakes alive!’ cries Jim, an’ he sits there gawkin’ at +the maid.</p> + +<p>“‘Of all the durned cheek!’ says he at last, speaking in +his queer fayshion. ‘If the boys around was to know he +had the face to ax a young British girl to marry him, I tell +ye what,’ he says, ‘he’d be lynched afore he knew where +he was!’</p> + +<p>“‘Dear, to be sure,’ cries Mrs. Mayne, a-clappin’ of her +hands together, ‘what’s wrong wi’ the man?’</p> + +<p>“‘P’r’aps he’s got a wife already,’ says Maria.</p> + +<p>“‘Maybe ’tisn’t the same Samuel Johnson,’ says I. ‘I +d’ ’low I seem to ha’ heerd o’ the name afore.’</p> + +<p>“‘’Tis a play-actin’ kind o’ a name,’ says Maria.</p> + +<p>“Poor Tamsine, she was so white as any sheet, an’ she +did stretch out her hand an’ grab hold o’ Jim by the sleeve, +an’ shake ’en.</p> + +<p>“‘Tell I quick,’ she cried; an’ then she drops her hand, +an’ begins a-cryin’.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span>“‘No, don’t tell me,’ she says; ‘don’t ye tell me nothing. +I’m bound every way. I’ve a-passed my word,’ says she; +‘an’ he’s actually sent the money for my ticket. I can’t go +back now!’</p> + +<p>“‘Yes, but you shall go back,’ cries Jim, a-catchin’ of +her by the wrist. ‘I’ll not stand by—no honest man could, +an’ see a young girl—a good honest young girl, sold to +such a chap as Johnson. Why, he’s a nigger!’ he cries.</p> + +<p>“Poor Tamsine, I thought she’d ha’ fell off the seat.</p> + +<p>“‘A black man!’ screeches she.</p> + +<p>“‘As black as my shoes,’ says Jim. ‘A great big, oily, +dirty nigger,’ says he.</p> + +<p>“He didn’t pick his words, d’ye see.</p> + +<p>“‘Why, his head’s as woolly as a sheep’s back,’ he says.</p> + +<p>“‘No, my girl,’ he goes on, ‘it can’t be allowed.’</p> + +<p>“‘But I’m bound,’ says Tamsine, wi’ her face working +pitiful.</p> + +<p>“‘You are no more bound nor I am,’ says he. ‘The +rascal’s imposed on ye shameful. He knows right well +he’d no business to ax a white girl to marry him wi’out +tellin’ her all the truth. Why didn’t he ax you straight if +you’d be willin’ to take up wi’ a black man? But he +knowed a deal better nor that.’</p> + +<p>“‘But perhaps it isn’t the same Mr. Johnson,’ says Mrs. +Mayne. ‘It ’ud be a pity for the maid to give up her +husband if there was any mistake.’</p> + +<p>“‘I know Longwood in California,’ says Jim, ‘as well as +I know my own hand. I was there only last fall. ’Tisn’t +a very big place, an’ I knowed every one as lives there. I +knowed Samuel Johnson well—he come to chapel reg’lar.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span> +I reckon,’ says he, ‘the name o’ the minister as recommended +him was Ebenezer Strong.’</p> + +<p>“‘E-es,’ says Tamsine, ‘that’s the name. The Reverend +Ebenezer Strong.’</p> + +<p>“‘That’s it,’ shouts Jim. ‘Why, he’s a coloured man +hisself—he wouldn’t be likely to find fault wi’ the man for +bein’ a nigger. You mustn’t ha’ no more to do wi’ him, my +girl. ’Twas a mercy I met ye, and could warn ye in time.’</p> + +<p>“‘Oh! but what can I do?’ cries the poor maid, a-sobbin’ +fit to break her heart. ‘There’s not a bit o’ use in +my goin’ back. None of ’em would believe the tale. My +uncle would make me go all the same, I know.’</p> + +<p>“‘E-es, to be sure,’ says Maria Robbins, looking at Jim +very sour-like; ‘’tisn’t very likely as Mr. Meadway ’ud be +put off by a chance tale from a stranger. There he’ve +a-been at the expense o’ gettin’ everthin’ ready for the +maid, and this ’ere gentleman what writes so straightforward +an’ sends the money so handsome, may be some +quite other Mr. Johnson. I mind,’ says Maria, ‘the time +o’ the Crimee War, Miss Old went into deep black for +some chap called John Old, what got killed out abroad, +and what she reckoned was her brother, an’ ’twasn’t him +at all.’</p> + +<p>“‘Samuel Johnson, o’ Longwood, is a nigger,’ cries Jim, +smacking his hands together. ‘His grandfather was a +slave. He belonged to some queer old gentleman what +gave ’en the name to start wi’, ’cause ’twas the name of +some old ancient chap what wrote a book or some such +thing; an’ this chap was named for him Samuel Johnson +too. There ain’t no mistake, you bet,’ says he.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span>“Well, Tamsine was a-cryin’ and a-shakin’ all over like +a aspen leaf all this time; and when Maria was advisin’ +her to be sensible an’ not hearken to them sort of idle +tales, I thought she’d ha’ had a fit. I could ha’ laughed +any other time to hear wold Maria, as was so dead +again’ the girl marryin’ when she thought ’twas a nice +match, an’ now she was all for her doin’ it, though she +seed how skeart the poor maid was. Mrs. Mayne had a +softer heart.</p> + +<p>“‘If this be really true, Jan,’ she says, lookin’ at I, ‘it +do seem a pity for the maid to go any forrarder. Better +for her to stay at home and go to sarvice,’ says she. +‘There, Tamsine, give over cryin’. Nobody can force ye +to go to America or to take up wi’ this ’ere nigger against +your will. Go back an’ tell your uncle what you’ve +a-heard, an’ let him keep ye a bit longer till ye’ve a-got a +situation.’</p> + +<p>“‘Oh, I dursn’t go back,’ says poor Tamsine. An’ then +Jim reaches towards her and takes her by the hand again.</p> + +<p>“‘Look here, my dear,’ says he, ‘don’t go back. Ye +can go out to America,’ says he, ‘but it needn’t be to +marry that dirty nigger. I’m going back to the States +now,’ says he, ‘and I thought to take a wife wi’ me, but +the maid I was coortin’ drew back at the last. She didn’t +think so much of her word seemingly as you do. Come,’ +says he, ‘you’ve seen me an’ you haven’t seen Samuel +Johnson. Look me in the face and tell me if you think +you could put up wi’ me?’</p> + +<p>“The poor maid she was that upset, and that surprised, +she couldn’t for the life of her look at ’en, an’ he leaned<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[205]</span> +over an’ took her by the chin, very gentle-like, an’ turned +up her face.</p> + +<p>“‘Look at me, my dear,’ says he, ‘an’ see if ye can +trust me.’</p> + +<p>“So at that Tamsine did look at ’en, wi’ the big tears +standin’ on her eyelashes, an’ her mouth all a-quiverin’.</p> + +<p>“‘I d’ ’low I could,’ says she.</p> + +<p>“‘And, mind ye,’ goes on Jim, ‘I can make ye just so +comfortable as t’other chap ’ud ha’ done. I’ve got a big +place and a comfortable house, and I do want to settle +down reg’lar. So say the word, my dear,’ says he.</p> + +<p>“‘Lard, maid!’ cried Maria, so sudden-like that we all +fair jumped, ‘whatever be ye thinkin’ on?’ says she; ‘’tis +plain what he’ve made up this cock-an’-bull story for now,’ +she says. ‘He be a reg’lar deludin’ deceiver; don’t ye ha’ +nothin’ to say to ’en.’</p> + +<p>“‘It do seem very sudden,’ says Mrs. Mayne; ‘I +wouldn’t go out to America wi’ a stranger, Tamsine.’</p> + +<p>“‘Do you trust me, my dear?’ says he, looking at Tamsine, +and not takin’ no notice at all of nobody else.</p> + +<p>“The maid she looked back at ’en more pitiful than +ever, an’ then she did say:—</p> + +<p>“‘I d’ ’low I do.’</p> + +<p>“‘Well, then, so ye may,’ says he, a-shakin’ of her hand +very serious like; ‘but I’ll make all fair and square for ye +first. I’ll not ax too much of ye. We’ll be man and wife +before we go,’ says he.</p> + +<p>“So the whole thing was made up wi’out no more trouble +nor that. Jim axed Mrs. Mayne if the maid could lodge +wi’ her till they was married, an’ he settled straight off +what he’d pay for her board. He did pull out a pocket-book<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span> +stuffed wi’ money, so as even Maria Robbins could +see the maid was a-doin’ well for herself.</p> + +<p>“‘You hand me over that there money as Johnson sent +ye,’ says he to Tamsine; ‘he must have it back by the +next mail. I’ll look after ye now,’ says he. ‘My purse is +your purse.’</p> + +<p>“An’ though the man could scarce ha’ meant it, for I +d’ ’low he was too sensible a chap to hold wi’ settin’ +women-folk so much above theirselves as that ’ud shape to, +’twas a handsome thing for ’en to say. Well, Tamsine +went to lodge wi’ Mrs. Mayne, for she couldn’t no ways +make up her mind to go back to her uncle; an’ she did +beg us all not to say a word about the changin’ her +plan till the weddin’ was over, but Maria, she did go +straight off to Meadways’ wi’ the tale. They were all in +a terrible takin’ at first, an’ Mrs. Meadway she came to Mrs. +Mayne’s an’ gave her an’ Tamsine a bit of her mind—more, +I d’ ’low, on account of the maid not goin’ back to +their place than for her takin’ up wi’ another man. ’Twas +bringing disgrace on her family, says she.</p> + +<p>“Poor Tamsine was in a terrible way, when in walks +Jim Taylor, an’ what he said an’ what he did I couldn’t +tell ye, but he managed to pacify them all. Meadways all +come to the weddin’, an’ Jim was so taken up wi’ Tamsine’s +little brothers and sisters, that he took two of ’em +out wi’ ’en an’ sent for the others some time after. I d’ +’low he’d ha’ cut off his head for Tamsine.</p> + +<p>“Well, that’s the end o’ the tale. Ye’ll agree ’twas a +bit queer—the queerest thing as ever did happen to I, +though, as I do say, Whitefoot an’ me have a-seen many +queer things in our time.”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">MRS. SIBLEY AND THE SEXTON.</h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was Christmas Eve, and Mrs. Fry was returning home +from Branston with a bulging pocket and a piled-up +market-basket. Clinging to her skirts was the youngest +baby but one, while Selina, her eldest daughter, trundled +along the “pram,” the occupant of which was almost +smothered amid parcels of various shapes and sizes. The +intermediary members of Mrs. Fry’s family straggled +between the two, all very clean and tidy and all beaming +with good humour. Stanley, indeed, evinced a propensity +to tumble into the gutter every now and then, while +Wyndham and ’Erbert occasionally delayed the advance +of the procession by playfully sparring at each other almost +beneath the perambulator wheels. The little <i>cortège</i> made +slow progress, for, as Mrs. Fry laughingly observed, it was +the hardest job in the world to get a big little family +home-along; nevertheless, the general serenity remained +undisturbed. It was pleasant enough to loiter on this fine +dry afternoon, for the air was clear and crisp, and the +roads clean and hard as iron. Even the baby cooed and +chuckled as it squinted upwards at its sister from behind +the whitey-brown parcel which reposed on its small chest.</p> + +<p>The party at length turned off from the high road, and +was proceeding tranquilly down the “dip” which led to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span> +the small group of cottages of which the Frys’ home made +one, when from the farmyard gate on the right a tall +woman emerged carrying a jug of milk.</p> + +<p>“Be that you, Mrs. Fry? I stepped over to your place +an hour ago, but there was no one at home.”</p> + +<p>“We all comed out to do a bit o’ Christmas shoppin’, +Mrs. Sibley, d’ye see. But I’m sorry I missed ye. Will +ye step in and have a drop o’ tea wi’ us? Selina will hurry +on and get it ready.”</p> + +<p>“No, thank ye,” returned Mrs. Sibley gloomily; “I’ll not +go in now, Mrs. Fry—not when all your family’s about. +I was a-lookin’ for a word wi’ ’ee confidential-like. I was +a-wantin’ for to ax your advice, Mrs. Fry.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, and was ye?” said Mrs. Fry, much impressed. +“Tell ’ee what—I’ll send the childern home wi’ ’Lina an’ +I’ll step in to your place, Mrs. Sibley, my dear. But all +Foyle’s family ’ull be there, won’t they?—there’ll not be +much chance to talk private.”</p> + +<p>“There will, though,” returned Mrs. Sibley. “I sent the +childern out wi’ their father a-purpose. Things is gettin’ +serious, Mrs. Fry; but there! I can’t converse out here. +Best let the matter bide till we be safe in my house.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Fry hastily detached the small chubby hands of +Halfred—she had a pretty taste in nomenclature—who +was clinging to her skirts, and desiring the child to run +home-along wi’ ’Lina, gave her undivided attention to her +neighbour.</p> + +<p>“Not here,” said Mrs. Sibley impressively, as she began +to ply her with questions; “at my house.”</p> + +<p>They turned aside into the first cottage of the group, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span> +Mrs. Sibley, opening the gate, stalked in front of her crony +along the flagged path, and flung open the house-door. +Pausing in the middle of the kitchen, she added emphatically, +“In Foyle’s house I should say.”</p> + +<p>“It be the same thing, bain’t it?” returned Mrs. Fry +cheerfully, “or like to be soon.”</p> + +<p>“Be it?” said Mrs. Sibley witheringly. “Be it, +Martha?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Fry set down her market-basket, and dropped +into the nearest chair.</p> + +<p>“Lard, my dear, you do make I feel quite nervish. Be +things a-goin’ wrong?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sibley folded her arms, and surveyed her for a +moment in silence. She was an angular woman with a +frosty eye, which she now fixed grimly on Mrs. Fry.</p> + +<p>“I don’t say as they be a-goin’ wrong,” she remarked +after a pause, “but they don’t seem to be a-goin’ right. +Foyle, there, he haven’t got the spirit of a mouse.”</p> + +<p>“Hasn’t he said nothin’—nothin’ at all?” inquired +Mrs. Fry, resting a plump hand on either knee and leaning +forward.</p> + +<p>“Not a single word,” replied her friend; “that’s to say, +not a word wi’ any sense in it. An’ Sibley have been gone +six months now, mind ye.”</p> + +<p>“So he have!” replied Mrs. Fry. “An’ ye mid say as +you’ve been so good as a widder for nigh upon six year—ye +mid indeed. A husband what’s in the ’sylum is worse +nor no husband at all. An’ ye’ve a-been keepin’ house for +Foyle these four year, haven’t ye?”</p> + +<p>“Four year an’ two month,” responded Mrs. Sibley.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span> +“There, the very day after Mrs. Foyle were buried he did +come to me an’ he says so plain-spoke as anything, ‘Mrs. +Sibley,’ he says, ‘here be you a lone woman wi’out no +family, an’ here be I wi’ all they little childern. Will ’ee +come an’ keep house for I an’ look after ’em all? Ye’ll not +be the loser by it,’ he says. So I looks him straight in the +face: ‘I bain’t so sure o’ that, Mr. Foyle,’ I says. ‘I do +look at it in this way, d’ye see. A woman has her chances,’ +I says. ‘I don’t think Sibley ’ull last so very long—they +seldom does at the ’sylum—an’ then here be I, a lone +woman, as you do say. I mid very well like to settle +myself again; an’ if I go an’ bury myself so far away from +town in a place where there’s sich a few neighbours, I don’t +see what prospects I’ll have.’”</p> + +<p>“Well, that was straightforward enough,” commented +Mrs. Fry. “He couldn’t make no mistakes about your +meanin’.”</p> + +<p>“He could not,” agreed Mrs. Sibley triumphantly; “an’ +what’s more, he didn’t. He up an’ spoke as plain as a +man could speak. ‘Well, Mrs. Sibley,’ he says, ‘there’s a +Fate what rules us all.’ He be always a-sayin’ off bits o’ +po’try an’ sich-like as he gets from the gravestones, ye +know.”</p> + +<p>“Ah,” remarked Mrs. Fry nodding, “being the sexton, +of course, it do come nat’ral to ’en, don’t it?”</p> + +<p>“‘There’s a Fate what rules us all,’ he says,” resumed +Mrs. Sibley, “‘an’ we didn’t ought to m’urn as if we had +no hope. If you was a free ’ooman, Mrs. Sibley—well, I’m +a free man, and I’d make so good a husband as another. +Maria did always find I so,’ he says.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[211]</span>“Well, the man couldn’t have said more.”</p> + +<p>“So you’d think. But why don’t he say summat now? +There, I’ve a-kept his house an’ seen arter his childern for +more nor four year. Time’s gettin’ on, ye know; I bain’t +so young as I was.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Fry began a polite disclaimer, but was overruled +by the other.</p> + +<p>“I bain’t—’tisn’t in natur’ as I could be. I wer’ gettin’ +a bit anxious this year when poor Sibley did seem to be +hangin’ on so long, so I axed Rector to have ’en prayed +for——”</p> + +<p>“A-h-h-h?” ejaculated Martha, as she paused. “An’ +that did put the Lard in mind of ’en, I should think.”</p> + +<p>“It did put the Lard in mind of ’en,” agreed Mrs. Sibley +with gusto. “The Lard see’d he warn’t no good to nobody +in the ’sylum, an’ so he wer’ took.”</p> + +<p>“An’ Foyle have never come forward?” remarked Mrs. +Fry, after a significant pause.</p> + +<p>“He’ve never made no offer, an’ he’ve never said a single +word to show he were thinkin’ o’ sich a thing. Not <i>one +word</i>, Mrs. Fry. I’ve given ’en the chance many a time. +A month arter poor Sibley was buried I says to ’en, +‘Here be I now, Mr. Foyle,’ I says, ‘a widow ’ooman, the +same as you be a widow man’.”</p> + +<p>“An’ what did he say?” queried her neighbour eagerly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, summat about the ’opes of a glorious resurrection,” +returned Mrs. Sibley scornfully. “An’ another time I +says to ’en, ‘Mr. Foyle,’ I says, ‘d’ye mind the talk what +you an’ me did have when you first did ax I to keep +house for ye?’ ‘What talk,’ says he. ‘Why,’ I says,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span> +‘about me bein’ free an’ you makin’ a good husband.’ +‘Free,’ says he sighin’; ‘this life’s a bondage, Mrs. Sibley.’ +An’ off he went.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” commented Mrs. Fry, “he wer’ thinkin’ o’ +them verses what’s wrote on old Farmer Reed’s tombstone. +I mind they do begin this way:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="first">‘This life is but a bondage,</div> +<div class="verse">My soul at last is free.’”</div> +</div></div> + +<p>“That’s it,” agreed Mrs. Sibley nodding. “I says to +’en this marnin’, ‘Mr. Foyle,’ I says, ‘the New Year’s a-comin’, +an’ I think there ought to be some change in the +early part of it for you an’ me.’ ‘I don’t want no changes,’ +he says; ‘I’m very well satisfied as I be.’ I’m gettin’ +desperate, Mrs. Fry.”</p> + +<p>“Well, ’tis very onconsiderate,” returned Martha, “very. +I’m sure ye’ve said all ye could an’ done all ye could. ’Tis +hard, too, for a woman to have to go a-droppin’ hints an’ +a-takin’ the lead in such a delicate matter. I’m sure I +don’t know what to advise, my dear.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sibley rubbed her nose, and gazed at her friend +meditatively.</p> + +<p>“I’m about the only ’ooman in this ’ere place as Foyle +could get to keep house for him,” she remarked. “I’ll tell +’ee what I’ll do, Mrs. Fry—I’ll march! Leastways,” she +added, correcting herself, “I’ll tell ’en I be goin’. We’ll +see how he’ll like that.”</p> + +<p>“Ye mid try it,” said Martha reflectively; “it ’ud be a +bit ark’ard, though, if he was to take ’ee at your word.”</p> + +<p>“He’ll not do that,” returned Mrs. Sibley, continuing +emphatically: “Now, Mrs. Fry, my dear, I’ll expect ’ee to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span> +act the part of a friend by me. If he do ax ye to lend ’en +a hand or send over Selina to help ’en, don’t ye go for to +do no such thing.”</p> + +<p>“I won’t,” promised Mrs. Fry.</p> + +<p>“An’ if he do say anything to ’ee about my leavin’, do +ye jist let on as my mind be quite made up.”</p> + +<p>“I will,” said Mrs. Fry.</p> + +<p>“I’ll start packin’ at once then, to show ’en as I be in +earnest,” said Mrs. Sibley, with a dry chuckle as her friend +rose.</p> + +<p>No sooner had Mrs. Fry edged through the narrow door +with her market-basket than Mrs. Sibley set to work.</p> + +<p>When Mr. Foyle, who united the double functions of +carrier and sexton, unhitched the horse from his van, and, +having seen to the animal’s comfort, went indoors, he was +surprised to find his children, who had preceded him into +the house, standing with scared faces round the packing-case, +which occupied the centre of the kitchen, while Mrs. +Sibley, with an air of great determination, was stowing +away various articles therein.</p> + +<p>“Hullo!” cried he, pausing in the doorway. “What’s +the matter here? Isn’t tea ready?”</p> + +<p>“You’d best put on the kettle, Florence,” said Mrs. +Sibley, turning to the eldest child. “I haven’t had +time to ’tend to it. Oh, be that you, Mr. Foyle? Would +you kindly hand me down that there clock? I’m afeard +the childern mid break it. Henery, just roll up that +door-mat an’ fetch it here.”</p> + +<p>“Dear heart alive, what be about, Mrs. Sibley?” ejaculated +honest Foyle. “You haven’t had no bad noos, I +hope?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span>“Oh, no noos at all, Mr. Foyle. Nothin’ noo do never +come a-nigh this ’ere place. I be goin’ to have a bit of a +change—I did tell ’ee this marnin’ as I wanted a change, +didn’t I? I be a-goin’ to shift, Mr. Foyle.”</p> + +<p>“To shift!” ejaculated the sexton.</p> + +<p>He slowly unwound the lengths of black and white comforter +which were swathed about his neck, gaping at her +the while.</p> + +<p>“You’d best make tea, hadn’t you?” remarked Mrs. +Sibley, ostentatiously counting over the plated spoons +which were her property. “Florence ’ud very likely scald +herself.”</p> + +<p>The sexton dropped heavily into the nearest chair.</p> + +<p>“Ye bain’t goin’ away to-night!” he gasped.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sibley straightened herself and eyed him reflectively. +It might be a little awkward to say she <i>was</i> leaving +that night, for if by chance he <i>did</i> take her at her +word, she had not the remotest notion of where she could +go.</p> + +<p>“Not to-night,” she said at length, with the air of one +making a concession. “I reckon to-morrow ’ull be time +enough.”</p> + +<p>Florence laid down the teapot and approached, her eyes +round with consternation.</p> + +<p>“Ye’re never goin’ to leave us on Christmas Day!” she +ejaculated. “Oh, Auntie!”</p> + +<p>“Auntie” was the title unanimously bestowed on Mrs. +Sibley by the young Foyles, and accepted by that lady +pending its exchange for a more intimate one.</p> + +<p>In a moment Florence burst into tears, and the other<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[215]</span> +children immediately followed suit, little Rosanna being +indeed so overcome by her feelings that she was constrained +to lie on the floor and scream.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sibley stooped over her and set her on her feet. +Beneath her stiff and somewhat chilly demeanour she had +a warm enough heart, and was sincerely attached to her +charges, particularly the youngest, whom she had brought +up from infancy.</p> + +<p>“Ye’ll have to get another Auntie, my dear,” she remarked, +winking away a tear. “And ’tis to be hoped as +she’ll take as good care of you as I’ve a-done.”</p> + +<p>The sexton breathed hard, but did not venture to protest, +and Henery, after rubbing his eyes on his jacket sleeve, +inquired in a reproachful tone why Auntie was going away.</p> + +<p>“I wants a change, my dears,” reiterated Mrs. Sibley, +bestowing a gentle shake on Rosanna, as a means of +bringing her round, for the child, following her favourite +mode of procedure when her feelings were too many for +her, was rapidly growing black in the face. “I did tell +Father so this marnin’—Father knows. He bain’t surprised, +I’m sure. What must be, must be!” summed up Mrs. +Sibley oracularly. Thereupon casting an inquiring eye +round the room, she descried the warming-pan, which was +hanging behind the door, pounced upon it, and stowed it +away in the packing-case on top of the hearthrug.</p> + +<p>Silence reigned for some moments, broken only by the +sobs of the children and the rustling of Mrs. Sibley’s +packing-papers.</p> + +<p>“Ye’d best give the children their tea, Mr. Foyle,” she +remarked, looking up presently. “They be in need of it,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</span> +poor things. There, don’t ye cry so, Florence. Ye’ll be +gettin’ another Auntie soon—at least, I hope so. Though +reelly I don’t quite see who ye can call in, Mr. Foyle, I +don’t indeed. I passed the remark to Mrs. Fry to-day, an’ +she said she was sure she didn’t know who you could turn +to. Her own hands was full, she said. Poor ’Lina was +worked a deal too hard for a maid of her age, already. +Them was her words. But sit down to your tea, do, Mr. +Foyle. Get the bread, Florence; ’tis time for you +to be growin’ handy. ’Tis you as ’ull have to be keepin’ +the house most like.”</p> + +<p>It might have been the result of Florence’s emotion, or +it might have been owing to the fact that the shelf was a +high one and Florence’s arms were short, but in some way +or other in reaching down the loaf she managed to tumble +it into the coal-box.</p> + +<p>Foyle rose hastily, pushed the child on one side, picked +up the loaf, dusted it with his sleeve, set it on the table, +and went out, banging the door behind him.</p> + +<p>As the sound of his retreating footsteps echoed down +the path, Mrs. Sibley rose to her feet and smiled upon the +children, who were now sobbing afresh.</p> + +<p>“There, don’t ye make such a fuss,” she remarked +soothingly. “Father’s a bit upset; ye mustn’t mind that. +Get on with your teas, dears. There, ye may have a bit +of jam to it to-night, as it’s Christmas Eve; and afterwards +we’ll stick up some green, and you must all hang up your +stockin’s and see what you’ll find there in the marnin’.”</p> + +<p>Cheerfulness was immediately restored; little faces grimed +by tears smiled afresh; plates were extended for plentiful<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</span> +helpings of blackberry jam, and soon little tongues were +gleefully discussing the morrow’s prospects, and particularly +the treasures which might be looked for in the +stockings.</p> + +<p>“But I’ve only got such a ’ittle stockin’,” lisped Rosanna, +contemplating a chubby leg, which was, indeed, but imperfectly +protected by about three inches of sock. “My +stockin’ won’t hold half so much as the others.”</p> + +<p>“There, I’ll lend you one of mine, then,” said Auntie, +graciously; and, going to the chest of drawers in the +corner, she drew forth a pair of her own substantial stockings, +and presented one to the child.</p> + +<p>As the children retired for the night, Henery paused +beside her for a moment.</p> + +<p>“You won’t truly go to-morrow, Auntie?” he pleaded +coaxingly.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sibley paused a moment, and in the interval the +sound of the sexton’s slouching step was heard without, +and his hand fumbled at the latch.</p> + +<p>“It do all depend on Father, Henery,” said Mrs. Sibley, +raising her voice slightly. “He do know very well as I do +want a change.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Foyle entered, looking weary and depressed, and +sat down in his customary chair. Mrs. Sibley cast a +searching glance round the kitchen, and, possessing herself +of a pair of spotted china dogs which adorned the +mantel-piece, added them to her collection, and retired.</p> + +<p>The sexton lit his pipe, and had been smoking in gloomy +silence for some time, when Mrs. Sibley re-entered. Going +to the dresser, and opening a drawer, she abstracted a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span> +number of oranges, nuts, crackers, and other such wares, +and filled her apron with them.</p> + +<p>“What be them for?” inquired the sexton diffidently.</p> + +<p>“Why, they be surprises for the childern,” returned +she.</p> + +<p>“Ah,” rejoined John Foyle, “surprises, be they?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Mrs. Sibley, “they do look for ’em reg’lar, +they do. I do always fill their stockin’s wi’ ’em every +Christmas.”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” said the sexton, “put their surprises in their +stockin’s, do ’ee?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sibley nodded and withdrew, leaving John sunk in +profound thought.</p> + +<p>“This ’ere be a vale o’ tears,” he remarked presently, as +he knocked the ashes out of his pipe. He rose, went to +the table, turned up the lamp a little more, and fetching +pen, ink and paper from the window-sill on which they +usually reposed, sat down to indite a letter. It cost him +much labour and thought, but, after all, it was a brief +enough document. When completed it ran thus: “If Mrs. +Sibley will meet Mr. Foyle in the churchyard to-morrow +morning about nine o’clock when nobody’s about she will +hear of something to your advantage. Yours truly, John +Foyle.”</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t,” said the sexton to himself, “put the question +in any sort of public way. The childern is in and out, +and the neighbours mid pop in. The churchyard is best +and most nat’ral.”</p> + +<p>He folded the letter, put it in an envelope, and addressed +it; then, looking round, descried hanging over a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span> +chair-back one of Mrs. Sibley’s stockings—the fellow to +the one she had lent little Rosanna.</p> + +<p>“The very thing!” exclaimed John. “The Christmas +surprises do always go in stockin’s. It’ll be a surprise for +she, I d’ ’low—not but what she didn’t look for it,” he +added with a grim chuckle.</p> + +<p>He placed the letter in the stocking, fastened it securely +with a loop of string, and, going cautiously upstairs, slung +it over Mrs. Sibley’s door-handle. He paused a moment, +winking to himself, and then made his way on tiptoe to +his own room.</p> + +<p>The usual Christmas bustle and excitement prevailed in +the little household next morning. The children ecstatically +compared notes over their fruit and toys; the sexton +himself was quite unaccountably jovial, with a nervous +kind of joviality nevertheless, hardly venturing to glance +in Mrs. Sibley’s direction. She, on her side, wore a +sedate, not to say chastened, aspect, and was attired in +her deepest “weeds”.</p> + +<p>Foyle’s jocularity diminished after a time, and he set +off for the churchyard in a depressed and uncomfortable +frame of mind. What was the woman driving at—what +more in the name of goodness could she want?</p> + +<p>He paced up and down the path nearest the gate for +some time, and then, suddenly recalling the fact that he +had not yet attended to the stove connected with the +heating apparatus of the church, hurried off to accomplish +this duty.</p> + +<p>On his return he descried a tall figure in black making +its way, not towards him, but towards that portion of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</span> +churchyard wherein reposed the mortal remains of the +lamented Mr. Sibley.</p> + +<p>After some hesitation the sexton followed, and Mrs. +Sibley, having deposited a wreath of evergreens on the +grave, turned round with a mournful expression.</p> + +<p>“At such times as these, Mr. Foyle,” she remarked, “the +mind do nat’rally feel m’urnful.”</p> + +<p>“True, true!” agreed the sexton uncomfortably.</p> + +<p>“He was a good husband, Mr. Foyle,” said the widow +in a melancholy tone.</p> + +<p>“To be sure,” said John doubtfully.</p> + +<p>“I shall never look upon his like again,” resumed Mrs. +Sibley, shaking her head.</p> + +<p>The sexton glanced from her disconsolate face to the +wreath of evergreens, and then back again. Mrs. Sibley +was still shaking her head with an air of gentle resignation.</p> + +<p>“I think I’ll be goin’,” said Mr. Foyle with sudden desperation. +“I thought you did step out to this ’ere churchyard +with another intention.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sibley glanced at him in mild surprise.</p> + +<p>“Ye didn’t chance to get no letter this marnin’, I +s’pose?” continued the sexton with some heat.</p> + +<p>“A letter!” repeated Mrs. Sibley.</p> + +<p>“E-es, the letter what I did put in your stockin’ for a +surprise,” added John emphatically.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sibley’s melancholy vanished as by magic; she +smiled on the sexton, not only affably, but positively +coyly.</p> + +<p>“An’ it <i>was</i> a surprise!” she exclaimed, “it <i>was</i> indeed. +E-es, Mr. Foyle.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span>She paused again, and then, all scruples apparently +vanquished by the delicacy of John’s attitude, she extended +a bony hand from beneath the folds of her black +shawl.</p> + +<p>“That’s why I’m here,” she said.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">THE CALL OF THE WOODS.</h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Monday</span>.—Even to the most casual observer the day of +the week would have been announced by the appearance +of the rambling village; the new-budding hedges were +remorselessly weighted with household gear, fresh from the +tub; the very grassplots were whitened with the same; +but the gooseberry bushes were as yet unadorned with +extraneous trophies, for as every one knows, a thrifty rustic +housewife relegates the washing and “getting up” of fine +things to Tuesdays.</p> + +<p>The orchard of that popular house of entertainment, +known as “The Three Choughs,” the weather-beaten sign +of which bore the partly obliterated presentment of a +triplet of birds unknown to naturalists—the orchard of +“The Three Choughs,” I say, was no exception to the +general rule. From the gnarled branches of pear- and +plum-tree depended many wavering tokens of Mrs. +Cluett’s industry; the clothes lines were weighted with the +like; and Alice, her rosy-cheeked daughter, went periodically +to and fro from wash-house to hedge with a basket +poised on one sturdy hip, or, for the sake of variety, set +jauntily aloft on her curly head.</p> + +<p>The bar was left to take care of itself; at that hour +callers were unlikely. Noontide was past, evening had not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</span> +yet come; if any stray wagoner or chance bicyclist were +in need of refreshment he had but to uplift his voice, or to +knock on the worn panels of the door leading from the +taproom to Mrs. Cluett’s private premises. Many succeeding +generations of knuckles had, indeed, removed the last +vestige of paint from the panels in question, and indued +them with a fine mellow tint of their own.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless Mrs. Cluett was enjoying herself so much +in the midst of her suds, so thoroughly absorbed in soaping +and kneading and wringing, that such a summons was +thrice repeated without effect; and it was not until Alice, +returning from one of her expeditions to the hedge, chanced +to glance casually at the taproom window that the impatient +customer contrived to attract attention.</p> + +<p>Seeing a man’s face peering discontentedly through +the latticed panes, and hearing a corresponding voice repeatedly +shouting, Alice set down her basket and hurried +into the house.</p> + +<p>“We don’t often have no one callin’ at this time o’ +day,” she remarked with a pleasant smile, by way of +greeting.</p> + +<p>The man gave his order for a pint of beer without +noticing the intended apology, and dropped into one of +the wooden chairs allotted to customers.</p> + +<p>Alice glanced at him askance as she set jug and glass +before him. A tall young fellow, not more than twenty-five, +with a face browned by sun and wind till it was as +dark as a gipsy’s, thick, black hair, good features, and the +strangest eyes that the girl had ever beheld in a human +face. They were like hawk’s eyes, keen and clear, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[224]</span> +with that fixed, far-away look peculiar to the eyes of a +bird or beast of prey. Yet the man’s face was not a cruel +face, and by-and-by, meeting Alice’s questioning gaze, he +smiled hesitatingly.</p> + +<p>Alice was a good girl, and had always been well looked +after by her mother; but it was part of the business of +life, as she conceived it, to enter frankly into conversation +with all who chanced to need refreshment at “The Three +Choughs;” and she was interested in each, from the oldest +customer to the latest and most casual caller.</p> + +<p>“Where be come from?” inquired Alice, now propping +herself against the lintel of the door, and surveying the +stranger with undisguised curiosity.</p> + +<p>He wore corduroys and leggings, and yet was no gamekeeper; +he carried a small bundle and a sturdy stick, but +she felt sure that he was not a tramp.</p> + +<p>He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, looking at her +for a moment before replying; his words came at last +slowly, as though he were unused to much speech.</p> + +<p>“Yonder,” he said, “Chudbury way.”</p> + +<p>Alice glibly ran through the names of several villages, +with an interrogative pause after each, and the newcomer +shook his head in every case, without, however, further +attempting to enlighten her.</p> + +<p>She stopped at length, evidently at a loss, and the man, +setting down his glass, laughed suddenly, a joyous, good-humoured +laugh, pleasant to hear.</p> + +<p>“You be fair beat, my maid,” said he. “But I do ’low +you’d not be so very much the wiser if I was to tell ’ee. +I be come from Tewley Warren—that’s where I be come<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[225]</span> +from.” He dropped his voice and his face clouded over. +“That’s where I’ve a-lived all my life,” he added.</p> + +<p>“Why have ’ee left now, then?” inquired Alice.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t leave o’ my own free will—ye mid be sure o’ +that,” said he.</p> + +<p>Alice looked up inquiringly, and he continued after a +pause, still slowly and somewhat hesitatingly, as though +he found it difficult to lay hold of the words he needed.</p> + +<p>“I did live there wi’ my wold father; and when he +shifted to the New House, Squire wasn’t willin’ for I to go +on a-livin’ there. He did want our place for one o’ the +keepers—a married man wi’ a fam’ly—he didn’t hold, he +said, wi’ lettin’ a young chap, same as I, bide there—he +did turn I out—to speak plain.”</p> + +<p>“Oh—h,” said Alice commiseratingly. “’Twas a bit +hard, I d’ ’low.”</p> + +<p>“It was mortal hard,” said he.</p> + +<p>He raised the tumbler of beer to his lips, but set it down +again untasted.</p> + +<p>“To give Squire his due,” he said, “he did offer to keep +I on for the same money what I did have when the wold +man were livin’, but I wouldn’t have it. ‘No, sir,’ says I, +‘I bain’t a-goin’ to be takin’ orders in the place where I +did use to be my own master’—’twas jist same as if I +was my own master when my father were alive; he didn’t +never interfere wi’ I, poor wold chap.”</p> + +<p>It was perhaps Alice’s fancy that a momentary dimness +veiled the hawk eyes—in any case it was only momentary.</p> + +<p>“So here I be,” summed up the ex-warrener conclusively.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[226]</span>“Here you be,” echoed Alice; then, after a moment’s +pause: “What be goin’ to do now?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” said the man.</p> + +<p>“Where be goin’ to?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” he said again.</p> + +<p>At this moment Mrs. Cluett’s voice was heard calling +aloud for her daughter; that lady’s heavy foot presently +sounded in the narrow passage without, and she burst into +the room.</p> + +<p>“Dear, to be sure! Did ever a body see such a maid? +Us so busy and clothes not half done wi’! And here ye +must stand gawkin’ and gossipin’ as if ’twas the middle of +the week. There, drink up your beer, do, good man, and +let’s ha’ done wi’ it.”</p> + +<p>She addressed these words to the newcomer in a somewhat +softened tone, and he nodded good-humouredly.</p> + +<p>“All right, missus; I’ll not be long now,” he said, as he +poured out his second glass.</p> + +<p>“There, for shame, mother, let the poor soul take his +drink in peace,” whispered Alice. “He’s come far—from +Tewley Warren; he’ve a-been turned out now his father +be dead.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Cluett, with a soapy hand on either hip, surveyed +the young man curiously.</p> + +<p>“I did use to know Warrener Baverstock well,” she remarked +slowly. “Warrener Baverstock up to Chudbury—e-es—I +did use to know en.”</p> + +<p>“He were my father,” remarked the other, with a momentary +gleam of pleasure in his eyes.</p> + +<p>“He did use to come here often and often,” continued<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[227]</span> +Mrs. Cluett, emphatically. “He’d sit there—as mid be +where you be a-sittin’ now—and he’d take his glass, he +would; a most respectable man he were. My poor husband +were alive too in them days—ah, times is changed, bain’t +they? Here be I, a poor widow woman wi’ my own livin’ +to get, tho’ there’s them as did ought to be gettin’ it for I +in my ancient years.”</p> + +<p>She paused to shake her head. Young Baverstock’s +attention seemed to have wandered during the latter part +of her speech, and he sipped his ale without evincing any +curiosity as to the hint she had recently thrown out. After +the manner of her kind, however, she at once proceeded to +elucidate it.</p> + +<p>“’Tisn’t as if I didn’t have somebody as did ought to be +a-doin’ for I. There’s my son—a big, strong, hearty chap—my +right hand he did use to be—there’s a deal to be +done about this here place, ye know.”</p> + +<p>“I do ’low there is,” agreed Baverstock absently.</p> + +<p>“’Tisn’t only the public,” she continued, “tho’ I d’ ’low +it be a bit hard for two women to have to manage all they +menfolk—but there’s a bit of a farm to be seen to. Well, +when I say a farm I do mean a couple o’ cows and a few +pigs and chicken and that; and we do always grow our +own spuds and greens, you know, and a few ranks o’ +roots to help out wi’ for the cows in the winter. A man +be wanted for all that kind o’ work, and it do seem hard +as I should have to throw away my dibs to strangers +when I mid have my own flesh and blood a-workin’ for +nothin’.”</p> + +<p>“It do,” agreed Baverstock, this time with more attention.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[228]</span> +“Why don’t your son do it then?” he inquired +after a pause.</p> + +<p>“Why?” repeated Mrs. Cluett in a tone of deep disgust. +“Because he’ve a-been and gone and got married—that’s +why, the unnat’ral fellow,” she added witheringly.</p> + +<p>The young man surveyed her without hazarding a remark; +those strange eyes of his remained as impassive as +ever, but the corners of his mouth turned slightly upwards.</p> + +<p>“I warn’t a-goin’ to let en bring his wife here,” continued +the old woman. “I didn’t never fancy her, and ’twas +again’ my will he did take up wi’ her. ‘You don’t bring +her here,’ I says.—‘Then I don’t stop here,’ says he. ‘All +right, my lad,’ says I, ‘ye can march!’ So he marched. +He be a-workin’ over to new brewery now—down in the +town.”</p> + +<p>Baverstock apparently considered that this communication +called for no comment; at all events he made none.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Cluett, who had wrought herself up to the point of +exposing the full extent of her grievances, was no whit +abashed by his silence, however, and continued excitedly.</p> + +<p>“The menfolk—there! they do seem to think a poor +lone ’ooman fit for nothin’ but to make a laughin’ stock on. +Dear heart alive, ’tis enough to drive a body silly! Us +can’t seem to find a decent civil-spoke chap nowheres, can +us, Alice? The minute a thing is not to their likin’ up +they comes wi’ their sauce and their impudence, and off +they goes.”</p> + +<p>The young man gazed at her with an increasing interest:—</p> + +<p>“You be short-handed now, then, be ye?” asked he.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[229]</span>Mrs. Cluett threw back her head with an ironical laugh.</p> + +<p>“Short-handed! We be, so to speak, wi’out no hands +at all. The last boy as worked here marched off o’ +Saturday. Turned up his nose at his good victuals, and +answered I back when I spoke my mind to him about it. +I’m sure I don’t know where to look for another. And +the ’taters bain’t all in yet, and there’s such a deal to do +in this here place.”</p> + +<p>Adam Baverstock pushed back his chair and gazed at +her for a moment reflectively.</p> + +<p>“I do ’low I mid serve your turn so well as another,” +said he, in a calm and impartial tone, as of one in no way +concerned in the issue.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Cluett surveyed him dubiously, but Alice surreptitiously +nipped her mother’s elbow.</p> + +<p>“Do seem to be a likely chap,” she murmured.</p> + +<p>Still with the judicial air befitting one about to conclude +a bargain, Mrs. Cluett put various questions to the would-be +assistant, her countenance brightening perceptibly as she +ascertained that he had some knowledge of the management +of cows, his father having kept one during the latter +years of his life, that he knew all about pigs, that he didn’t +care what he turned his hand to, and that he was by no +means particular in the matter of wages.</p> + +<p>“I don’t seem to know what to do next,” he explained. +“I mid be lookin’ about me here, and I could fill in the +time till you can light upon a man to your likin’. There’s +one thing,” he added with that flicker of the lip which +Alice had noted before, “I bain’t one as ’ull ever give ye +impudence—I bain’t one as cares for much talk—I bain’t<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[230]</span> +used to it, d’ye see. The wold man and me—there! +There was weeks when we didn’t so much as give each +other the time o’ day.”</p> + +<p>“Dear, to be sure! To think o’ that now,” said Alice, +whose tongue was wont to wag pretty freely. “Wasn’t it +terr’ble lonesome for ye?”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t ever feel it so,” returned Adam, “there’s a deal +o’ company in the woods, and company as don’t want +talkin’ to,” he added with a laugh.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Cluett now proceeded to enter into practical details. +Adam’s bundle contained, it seemed, all his worldly goods, +a large wardrobe having been considered unnecessary in +Tewley Warren, and such few sticks of furniture as the +old man possessed having been purchased by his successor. +He was therefore unhampered by any great need for space +in his new quarters; yet he looked round the attic assigned +to him with a clouded face, noting which, his mistress sarcastically +inquired if he didn’t find it big enough.</p> + +<p>“Oh, ’tis big enough,” he returned; “big enough if a +man can breathe in it.”</p> + +<p>He opened the tiny casement, and looked out:—</p> + +<p>“I can see one tree,” he exclaimed, in a tone of relief.</p> + +<p>“And what mid ye want with trees?” she inquired. +“You won’t need to be lookin’ out much when ye’ve a-had +a proper good day’s work.”</p> + +<p>And thereupon, informing him that it was time to +“sarve pigs,” and directing him as to the whereabouts of +the meal-bucket, she descended to her own long neglected +wash-tub.</p> + +<p>Alice, however, still lingered in the passage, and observed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[231]</span> +that, as Adam took off his coat preparatory to +setting to work, he paused, with an odd little laugh to +himself.</p> + +<p>“I was near forgetting you,” said he, peering into one of +its capacious pockets and apparently addressing something +inside.</p> + +<p>“What have ye got there?” inquired Alice.</p> + +<p>Adam carefully hung up the coat on a nail, thrust his +hand into the pocket aforesaid, and produced a very small +rabbit—a little furry ball with downy semi-transparent ears +and bright beady eyes.</p> + +<p>“I had to bring he along of I,” he explained, as he +stroked the little creature which sat quite contentedly in +his brown palm.</p> + +<p>“How did you make en so tame?” asked Alice.</p> + +<p>“I’ve had en nigh upon a week now. ’Tis thanks to I +he warn’t made a stoat’s breakfast on. They stoats—they +be terr’ble varmint. I be always on the look-out for ’em. +Well, this here little chap was bein’ dragged along by a +big ’un when I chanced to spy the pair of ’em. I made +an end of Maister Stoat and I did take the little ’un home-along. +He couldn’t feed hisself, poor little thing, but we +made shift, didn’t us, little ’un? There, he can drink out +of a teaspoon so sensible as a Christian.”</p> + +<p>“Do ’ee let I give en a drap o’ milk now,” cried Alice +eagerly.</p> + +<p>The little rabbit justified his owner’s proud assertion, +and after refreshing himself in the manner indicated, was +comfortably stowed away in a hay-lined basket.</p> + +<p>“I were pure glad to bring he along of I,” said Adam,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[232]</span> +for the nonce communicative; “he’ll mind me o’ the +woods, d’ye see. And I’ve a-brought these, too.”</p> + +<p>Thrusting his hand inside his waistcoat he brought out +a few young fir shoots, green and tender, and deliciously +aromatic as he bruised them with his strong fingers.</p> + +<p>“Smell!” he exclaimed, thrusting them suddenly under +Alice’s pretty little freckled nose.</p> + +<p>She sniffed, and remarked without enthusiasm that it +was a nice smell enough.</p> + +<p>“There’s n’ar another like it,” said Adam gruffly; and +replacing them in his bosom he strode away to attend to +the wants of the pigs.</p> + +<p>Decidedly the new man-of-all-work at the Three Choughs +was a queer fellow; all who came to the place agreed in +this estimate of him. He worked well, but yet, as Mrs. +Cluett frequently averred, as if “he didn’t have no heart +in it”; he was steady, civil, and obliging enough, but so +silent, so unaccountably silent, that the regular visitors to +the little inn could make nothing of him.</p> + +<p>The only person who could ever induce him to talk was +Alice Cluett, and then it was at rare moments, and upon +odd, and, to her, uninteresting topics.</p> + +<p>One evening he called out to her excitedly as she was +crossing the little yard, declaring that he smelt the dew.</p> + +<p>Alice paused beside him, inhaling the sweet air of the +spring dusk with inquiring nostrils.</p> + +<p>“They’ve a-been mowin’ over t’ Rectory to-day,” said +she, “I see’d gardener gettin’ the machine out—’tis the first +time this spring. ’Tis the cut grass what you do smell +I do ’low.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[233]</span>“Nay,” cried Adam eagerly, “’tis the dew. Who’s to +know it so well as me, my maid? Haven’t I stood and +smelt it time and again yonder in the woods at Chudbury? +’Tis the dew on the young leaves and the noo grass. I +used to tramp it down, and then stan’ still to smell it. The +Warren must be lookin’ fine now.”</p> + +<p>Even in the dusk she could see his eyes dilate, and that +tell-tale mouth of his curl upwards.</p> + +<p>“And there’s scarce a tree to be seen here,” he sighed +presently.</p> + +<p>“Lard,” said practical Alice, “what a man you be, +Adam! There’s plenty o’ things more worth lookin’ at +than trees, I d’ ’low. There’s fields wi’ the crops comin’ +on so nice, and the river, and the road wi’ all the folks’ +traps an’ carts and wagons, and there’s the gardens wi’ +flowers and ’taters and everything, and there’s men and +women, an’—an’ maids,” she added, tilting her chin saucily.</p> + +<p>Adam brought back his eyes from the distant vision +upon which they had been feasting to another vision nearer +at hand, and his face relaxed.</p> + +<p>“Ah, there’s maids,” he agreed. “I never knowed any +maid afore I knowed you, Alice. There’s times when——”</p> + +<p>He broke off suddenly.</p> + +<p>“There’s times when—what?” she inquired with interest.</p> + +<p>“I could a’most be glad sometimes that I did come away +from the Warren,” said he. “I’m glad to know ye, Alice.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, and are ye?” rejoined she with a somewhat +tremulous laugh.</p> + +<p>“E-es,” returned Adam reflectively, “I’ve see’d maids +now and then when I did use to come down to buy a few<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[234]</span> +little oddments in the town, but I never took no notice of +them—I never knowed any of them. I be glad to know +you, Alice.”</p> + +<p>Alice made no answer. She picked a leaf from the +hedge and chewed it. Had it not been so dark Adam +might have noticed the sudden rush of colour that overspread +her face.</p> + +<p>“The chaps hereabouts do often seem to go out a-walkin’ +wi’ maids,” resumed Adam. “I were a-thinkin’—you and +me mid go a-walkin’ sometimes.”</p> + +<p>“We mid,” she agreed.</p> + +<p>“Sunday, maybe?” suggested Adam, with a sudden +note of exultation in his voice. “If you could get off for +a good long bit, Alice, we mid step up to Oakleigh Woods. +I haven’t been there yet, but they do tell I they’re +splendid.”</p> + +<p>“They’re nice enough,” said Alice, somewhat dubiously. +“We’ll have to see what mother says,” she added.</p> + +<p>“Do ye ax her then,” suggested Adam.</p> + +<p>Alice moved away from him, and glanced back over +her shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Maybe I will,” said she.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Cluett, on being consulted, was at first doubtful +and inclined to be irate.</p> + +<p>“This do seem like coortin’,” she remarked severely.</p> + +<p>Alice twisted the corner of her apron without replying. +It certainly did look rather like courting.</p> + +<p>“Be you and that chap thinking o’ bein’ sweethearts?” +resumed Mrs. Cluett.</p> + +<p>Alice raised defiant dark eyes: “’Twouldn’t be no such<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[235]</span> +very great harm if we was,” she returned. “He be a +likely chap, Adam be; he’ve a-got a few pounds laid by, +and if him an’ me was to make a match of it you wouldn’t +need to pay en no wage.”</p> + +<p>This was a practical aspect of the affair which had not +hitherto struck Mrs. Cluett; her countenance relaxed.</p> + +<p>“But he haven’t axed I yet,” said Alice discreetly.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Cluett drew a long breath.</p> + +<p>“Well I haven’t got no objections to your walking out +wi’ he on Sunday, my dear,” she remarked condescendingly; +and Alice dropped her apron and went away +smiling.</p> + +<p>Sunday came, and the pair duly set forth, Mrs. Cluett +watching their departure from the kitchen window, not +without some elation, for indeed her maid was, as she said +to herself, a fine piece, and Adam, as he strode along by +her side, was “so well set-up as a granadier”.</p> + +<p>Alice chattered away gaily while they walked, tucking +up her pretty blue skirt to show her starched white petticoat, +while her curly head, under its rose-crowned hat, +turned this way and that as they passed friends and +neighbours. Other heads turned to gaze after her, and +many jests and laughs were exchanged, and not a few sly +innuendos as to the possible outcome of events. Alice would +laugh and blush then, and glance surreptitiously at Adam; +but the ex-warrener was more taciturn even than usual that +day, and though his face wore a contented expression, he +appeared to take little heed of his surroundings.</p> + +<p>Presently the girl became silent, and by-and-by distinctly +cross; she lagged a little behind Adam; once or<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[236]</span> +twice she stumbled, and once paused, having tripped over +a stone.</p> + +<p>“What be to do?” inquired Adam, bringing down his +eyes all at once from the horizon, where the irregular parti-coloured +lines of Oakleigh Wood had hitherto held his gaze.</p> + +<p>“You do walk so fast,” complained Alice, “and the road +be so rough—and—” in a still more aggrieved tone—“all +the other boys and maids what we do meet be a-walkin’ +arm-in-crook.”</p> + +<p>“Come,” said Adam diffidently, “us can do that too, I +suppose.”</p> + +<p>Alice curved her arm, and he, after a little practice, supported +her elbow in the recognised fashion prescribed for +courting-folk. He looked down at her with a softened +expression as they advanced afresh.</p> + +<p>“Be enjoying of yourself, my maid?” he inquired.</p> + +<p>“E-es,” returned Alice dubiously. “Be you?”</p> + +<p>“Jist about!” said Adam, at which she brightened +visibly.</p> + +<p>They now turned off the dusty road that for the last +half-mile had climbed up almost perpendicularly, with the +downs rolling away on one side and a carefully enclosed fir +plantation skirting it on the other. A sheep-track that +presently lost itself, wound away over the downs between +patches of grass and low-growing thorn and elder bushes +to where Oakleigh Wood spread its exquisite, undulating +length invitingly before them. Adam quickened his pace; +his whole face lightened and brightened in a manner of +which it had not hitherto seemed capable; presently he +began to sing in a rich ringing joyous voice, and Alice,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[237]</span> +clutching at his arm to stay his progress, exclaimed in +amazement:—</p> + +<p>“You do seem quite another man to-day!” she cried +half petulantly.</p> + +<p>“I d’ ’low I be another man,” answered he. “Let’s run, +maidie, let’s run. Let’s get there.”</p> + +<p>He caught her by the hand, and the girl, infected by +his excitement, raced with him at her topmost speed. Off +they flew over the springing turf and only paused, laughing, +when they reached the shelter of the belt of firs which +stood at the outskirts of the wood. The cool green fragrance +was refreshing after that breathless race in the fierce +sunshine; Alice’s eyes were dancing and her heart leaping, +but Adam had suddenly become grave again; when he +spoke it was in a subdued voice almost as if he were in +church, the girl thought. Nevertheless he looked very +tenderly at her as he touched her lightly on the shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Now, maidie,” said he, “I be goin’ to show ye such +things as ye did never see in your life—I be a-goin’ to let +ye into a few of the secrets o’ this place.”</p> + +<p>“Ye’ve never been here yourself afore,” protested Alice.</p> + +<p>“I know ’em all the same,” returned Adam. “I do +know all about woods. A squirrel, see! Look yon.”</p> + +<p>“Where?” whispered Alice.</p> + +<p>“On the big crooked branch there. Keep still, and +he’ll come nigh us.”</p> + +<p>As they stood motionless the little creature did indeed +come frolicking downwards from bough to bough, pausing +to glance at them, leaping away in feigned terror, returning +for closer inspection, then, evidently deciding that they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[238]</span> +were not, and could never have been, alive, and were, in +consequence, not dangerous, sitting up, chattering, a yard +or two above their heads. He was presently joined by a +friend, or it might be a rival; a lively discussion ensued, a +mad scamper, a protracted chase, the two finally disappearing +in the inner depths of the wood.</p> + +<p>“Let’s go,” said Alice.</p> + +<p>She had been amused and interested, but felt nevertheless +somewhat disappointed. This was the strangest courting +she had ever heard of: it seemed hardly worth while +to have walked three miles on a Sunday afternoon merely +to watch the antics of a couple of squirrels. But Adam +was perfectly happy; for the first time since he had left +the Warren he found himself in his element and at ease.</p> + +<p>“If you do know how to treat ’em, birds and beasts is +tame enough,” he remarked. “There, the very varmint +’ull be friendly wi’ you. There was a wold weasel yonder +in the Warren what did use to have reg’lar games wi’ me. +He knowed I were arter him, d’ye see, and he were that +cunnin’ he did lead I a dance for months and months. I +do ’low the creature ’j’yed it. When I did take en out o’ +the gin at last he did grin up in my face as if he were a-sayin’ +‘ye be upsides wi’ me at last, wold chap!’—I could +a’most have found it in my heart to let him go, but I +dursn’t, along o’ my father. Hush, look!”</p> + +<p>A green woodpecker was climbing up the tree near +which they had halted; the pair watched him until he +took wing, and then pursued their way. Alice’s heart was +sinking more and more; she yawned once or twice in a +frank, undisguised way, and walked ever more slowly.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[239]</span>“Hark!” cried Adam jubilantly, “the cuckoo. ’Tis the +first time I’ve heard en—he be late to-year.”</p> + +<p>“Have ye got any money about ye?” inquired Alice +eagerly. “Turn it round quick, if ye have.”</p> + +<p>“What for?”</p> + +<p>“Why, for luck, sure. Didn’t ye know that? You +must turn your money first time you do hear cuckoo cry +so as you’ll have plenty more to-year.”</p> + +<p>Adam’s fingers dropped from the waistcoat pocket where +they had been vaguely fumbling.</p> + +<p>“What’s money to me?” he muttered, as, with head +thrown back and brows frowning with eagerness, he followed +the course of certain black specks which at that +moment were flying high over the wood.</p> + +<p>“Wild duck!” he remarked presently.</p> + +<p>Alice turned on him in desperation.</p> + +<p>“Well, I be a-goin’ for to sit down,” she remarked. +“I’ve a-brought a bit o’ summat to eat wi’ me.”</p> + +<p>She produced from the little basket which she had carried +sundry slices of cake which she offered to Baverstock.</p> + +<p>“I did bring seed-cake a-purpose because you did say +you liked it best,” she observed in an expectant tone. But +Adam’s dark eyes continued to rove even while he ate, +and his only response was inconsequent enough:—</p> + +<p>“Don’t it taste good out o’ door?”</p> + +<p>Alice edged away from him and munched in silence, +and presently tears of mortification welled into her eyes. +Adam, returning on tiptoe from a cautious expedition to +inspect a nuthatch’s nest in the bole of a tree, suddenly +took note of her woeful expression, and paused aghast.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[240]</span>“What be cryin’ for, maidie?” he asked in so kind a +tone, that the tears rolled down upon her cheeks, and a +little unexpected sob burst forth.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” she murmured; then, petulantly: “I +wish I hadn’t come!”</p> + +<p>Adam’s face fell.</p> + +<p>“Don’t ’ee like being here? I thought ye’d be so +pleased.”</p> + +<p>The sense of injury now overcame maidenly reserve.</p> + +<p>“You do never say a word to I. You don’t so much +as look at I. I mid be a stock or a stone,” she added +passionately.</p> + +<p>Adam surveyed her with dawning comprehension; during +the silence that intervened the rustling of the leaves +could be heard, the distant notes of a lark circling upwards +from the downs beyond the woods, the chirp of nestlings, +the irrepressible laughter of a gleeful squirrel. Perhaps all +this cheerful bustle of the sunshiny spring awoke in +the man’s breast certain hitherto dormant instincts. He, +too, was young, and love and springtime go hand-in-hand. +He stooped, laid a tentative forefinger gently under Alice’s +round chin, tilted it slightly, and gazed down into the +tearful eyes.</p> + +<p>“Ye mustn’t cry, my maid,” said he, and then he kissed +her.</p> + +<p>They came out of the wood as the sun was sinking, +hand-in-hand as before, but walking sedately now, and +with a glow upon their faces other than the glow which +was dyeing the fir-boles crimson, and making the gorse +flame.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[241]</span>Alice was in the seventh heaven, and as for Adam, perhaps +he too had learnt a new secret in the greenwood, +the existence of which had been hitherto unguessed.</p> + +<p>“Well?” said Mrs. Cluett as the couple parted by the +yard door.</p> + +<p>“Well,” returned Alice, with a conscious laugh.</p> + +<p>“You do seem to be gettin’ along,” pursued the mother.</p> + +<p>“E-es, we be gettin’ along,” conceded Alice, but no more +would she say.</p> + +<p>She was subsequently forced to own to herself, however, +that they did not get on very fast. Adam was incomprehensible +to her, and frequently exasperating; and more +than once he seemed puzzled and irritated by things that +Alice said and did. Mrs. Cluett, for her part, blamed +them both with equal impartiality. Now she would aver +that Alice was a simpleton, now that Adam was a fool. +Was the thing to be or was it not to be? she wanted to +know; even if it was to be Mrs. Cluett was not sure that +she cared so very much about it; but if it was not to +be, there was no manner of use in Alice wasting her +time.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the couple walked together frequently, talked +little, and quarrelled more than once. On that warm June +night, for instance, when Adam, rolling himself in his +blanket, stretched himself in the orchard to sleep under +the stars, Alice’s indignation was to the full as great as +her mother’s; while the day the girl refused Adam’s offer +of pine-cones for her fire, on the ground that they popped +like pistols and smelt of turpentine, her lover’s resentment +had flashed forth in words fierce and strong.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[242]</span>“You do never seem to care for the things what I like,” +he summed up.</p> + +<p>To each the other was an unknown quantity; the +mutual attraction was almost counterbalanced by a shyness +begotten of the knowledge of being misunderstood.</p> + +<p>The crisis came one summer’s night—a night long remembered +in the village, for there broke such a storm +over the land as had not been known, the old folks said, +since the days of their childhood. A brooding and oppressive +stillness reigned at first, and then came lightning +that seemed to split the heavens, and thunder that roared +like a thousand menacing cannons. Alice sat crouched in +a corner with a face as white as a sheet and her fingers in +her ears; and Mrs. Cluett hurried round the house, closing +doors and windows, and fastening shutters. As she was +about to shut the door leading to the yard, a sudden flash +revealed to her a motionless figure standing without, a few +paces away.</p> + +<p>“Dear heart alive! ’Tis never you, Adam.”</p> + +<p>She had seen his face transfigured in the momentary +gleam, the eyes exultant, the lips parted in rapture.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it grand?” came Adam’s voice, tremulous with +excitement, as the darkness enfolded him once more, and +the mystic artillery crashed over their heads.</p> + +<p>“The chap’s daft!” exclaimed Mrs. Cluett. “Come in +this minute. You’ll be struck dead afore me eyes. We +don’t want no carpses in the house, do us, Alice?”</p> + +<p>But Alice made no response.</p> + +<p>“Lard save us!” ejaculated Mrs. Cluett, as a new flash +lit up all the surrounding country, revealing the cattle<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[243]</span> +huddled together in the adjacent fields, the hedges, the +trees, Adam’s face, eager, enraptured, as before. She +darted out and seized him by the arm.</p> + +<p>“Come in, I tell ’ee,” she cried. “I’ll not have ye +standing there no more.”</p> + +<p>As he turned towards her half-dazed, she dragged him +in, and had shut and bolted the door before he recovered +his wits. The air was stifling inside the house; the paraffin +lamp reeked; the gusts of storm-wind which arose every +now and then puffed volumes of acrid wood smoke down +the chimney.</p> + +<p>“A man mid choke here,” growled Adam.</p> + +<p>“To bed wi’ ye then!” cried Mrs. Cluett indignantly. +“Us be a-goin’ too—’tis late enough.”</p> + +<p>She took up the lamp as she spoke, and roused Alice by +a jerk of the sleeve. Adam went creaking upstairs, and +threw himself dressed upon his bed. The atmosphere of +his little attic-room, sun-baked as it had been through all +that breathless day, was like that of a furnace; he felt his +brain reel and was oppressed almost to suffocation. The +storm continued, flash after flash playing on his narrow +window; he could see the tip of his one fir-tree, now +motionless, transfixed as it were, now swaying in a puff of +wind that died away as suddenly as it came.</p> + +<p>The house was very silent now, and permeated by the +odour of Mrs. Cluett’s recently extinguished lamp. Adam +sat up gasping. He thought of the Warren—of the close-growing +trees stretching away about the free and happy +man who dwelt beneath them. Once he, too, had stood +with the woods wrapping him round, and the stars of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[244]</span> +heaven over his head. Tewley must look grand to-night. +As he thought of it the dark shadowy forms of the trees +seemed to press upon him; he could hear their deep +breathing, and share their expectancy.</p> + +<p>Ha! there was a flash. How it would light up the +beeches and play among the pines. Now the thunder! it +would roar and reverberate among those billowing trees. +The rain would come soon. First there would be a rush +of wind, and ash and oak and beech would rustle and +shiver, and the larches sway down all their slender length. +And then, while the trees were bending and rocking, the +rain would come—the cold, heavy, glorious rain. Adam +caught his breath as he thought of it—how it would come +down, hissing among the leaves, splashing on the hot +ground! How good the wet earth would smell, every +strand of moss and fibre of grass adding its own spicy +fragrance.</p> + +<p>He leaped from his bed and almost at the same moment +the tree outside his window was caught by a whirling wind +and snapped. Then something seemed to snap, too, in +Adam’s brain and he laughed aloud. What was he doing +there, in that suffocating room, when he was free to go +that moment, if he chose, to Tewley Woods? What +should hold him back—what should keep him? If he +made haste he might yet reach the Warren in time for the +rain.</p> + +<p>In another moment he was out of the house, and when +the next flash of lightning came it revealed a flying figure +scudding along the whiteness of the road.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[245]</span>Alice cried bitterly over the defection of her wild man +of the woods, but she consoled herself in time, and took a +mate more to her mind, a practical person who sowed +cabbages in the flower-border, and considered the view of +the new brewery the finest in the neighbourhood.</p> + +<p>But Adam Baverstock had passed for ever out of her +life; as silently as he had come from the shadow of the +trees into the spring sunshine, so had he vanished in the +summer storm.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[246]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">THE HOME-COMING OF DADA.</h2> +</div> + +<p>“<span class="smcap">I knew</span> he was bound to be one of the first,” said Mrs. +Bunce triumphantly. “Why, he’ve a-been out there ever +since the war broke out. Two year and seven month +he’ve a-been there—and the hardships he’s been through, +and the fightin’ he’s done! There, I can’t think how ever +the Government had the heart to keep en out so long.”</p> + +<p>“There’s others what have been out jist same as he +have,” returned her neighbour plaintively. “My Jan now—such +a good boy as he be, too!—well, he’ve a-been out +there months and months, and he’ve a-been in hospital!”</p> + +<p>“As for fightin’,” put in the shrewd-faced little man +who formed the third party to the discussion, and whose +opinion carried weight in the neighbourhood, for his vocation +of carrier enabled him to pick up many items of news +during his daily round, “as for fightin’, Mrs. Bunce, I don’t +mean to make little o’ your husband, but there bain’t +nothin’ wonderful about him doin’ a lot o’ fightin’. They +all done that—’twas what they were sent out for, and not +a bit more credit to any of ’em nor for me to go joggin’ +along behind the wold horse here.”</p> + +<p>Both women reddened, and turned upon him angrily.</p> + +<p>“If ye do think such things, ye did ought to be ashamed +to say ’em,” cried Mrs. Andrews. “’Eroes—’tis what they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[247]</span> +be every man of ’em, Mr. Bright; and you did ought to +know it, seein’ as ’twas wrote up plain over the very Corn +Exchange the day as peace was declared. ‘All Honour +to Our ’Eroes,’ it said, in them little coloured lamps so +’andsome as it could be; and bain’t there a song about +‘they’re ’eroes every one’?”</p> + +<p>“And I’m sure ye can’t say,” chimed in little Mrs. +Bunce, nodding her curly head emphatically, “as it be the +same thing for a man to sit snug in his cart behind the +quietest old harse in Darset as it is to leave your wife and +your home and—and everything, and to go riskin’ your life +among Boers and Blacks in them wild parts out abroad.”</p> + +<p>“E-es,” agreed her neighbour, making common cause +with her against the enemy, “e-es, indeed, Mrs. Bunce. +And your little boy wasn’t so much as born when his +dada was took away, was he? Many a time, I dare say, +you did think to yourself as he’d never see the face of his +child. I d’ ’low he thought the same hisself goin’ off, poor +fellow! Ye’ll agree that was a bit hard on the man, Mr. +Bright, so little credit as ye be willin’ to allow our soldiers. +Ye’ll agree ’twas hard on the man to go off, leavin’ his +missus to get through her trouble alone, and the child the +first child, too, mind ye.”</p> + +<p>“If it had been the tenth you wouldn’t pity him so +much,” said the carrier, with a dry chuckle. “There’s +some as don’t think so much o’ them things. Jim Marshall, +now—says I to Jim t’other day, ‘Jim,’ I says, ‘I +hear you’ve got an increase to your family’; and poor +Jim, he looks at me and says, ‘E-es,’ he says, ‘more hardship’.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[248]</span>Chuckling sardonically, he gathered up his reins and +jogged on again, the women looking after him with indignant +faces.</p> + +<p>As the green “shed” of his van disappeared round the +corner, their eyes by mutual accord reverted to each other, +and Mrs. Andrews laughed disdainfully.</p> + +<p>“’Tis a queer cranky sort of body,” she remarked; “a +bachelor man. What can you expect?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bunce’s face was still pink with wrath, but she +smiled upon the other woman.</p> + +<p>“I should think your Jan did ought to come home soon +now,” she said handsomely; gratitude for Mrs. Andrews’ +timely sympathy causing her to be for the moment almost +willing to admit there might be another soldier of +some merit in the British Army besides Private William +Bunce.</p> + +<p>“I’m sure I hope so,” responded her neighbour rather +dismally. “You are safe to get your husband back next +week, anyhow.”</p> + +<p>“Next week,” echoed Nellie Bunce joyfully. “Yes, he +says in his last letter they was to start in a week, and I’ve +a-counted up the time, and he did ought to land at Southampton +Saturday week.”</p> + +<p>“I d’ ’low ye’ll be busy gettin’ all ready for him,” said the +older woman, falling into an easy attitude with her hands +on her hips, the better to contemplate her pretty neighbour.</p> + +<p>“I d’ ’low I be,” responded Nellie, enthusiastically. “I +be goin’ to give en the best welcome I can, ye mid be sure. +I be cleanin’ up the house fro’ top to bottom, and I be +goin’ to paper the kitchen. I’ve bought paper already; I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[249]</span> +reckon I could easy do it myself; the wall aint so very +high and the room bain’t too big neither.”</p> + +<p>“’Tis a stiffish job for a woman though,” returned Mrs. +Andrews, dubiously. “If Andrews wasn’t so bad with the +lumbagey, I’d get en to lend ye a hand; but he’s that stiff, +poor man, he can scarcely so much as turn hisself in bed.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’ll manage,” returned Mrs. Bunce, nodding +brightly. “I’m a great one for contrivin’, and ’t’ull be +summat to tell Bill as I’ve a-done it myself.”</p> + +<p>“It’ll take you all your time,” protested Mrs. Andrews, +and they parted.</p> + +<p>During the ensuing days Nellie was indeed up to her +eyes in work, carrying out vigorously her plan of cleaning +and polishing the house from top to bottom. Baby Billy, +who had hitherto considered himself a person of very great +importance, found himself hustled hither and thither as he +had never been in the whole of his existence, a period +extending over about thirty months.</p> + +<p>On one particular afternoon, when every washable article +in the house was in Nellie’s tub, he was bidden to play out +of doors, and finding the maternal eye less on the alert +than usual, surreptitiously opened the garden gate and +wandered to the forbidden precincts of the lane.</p> + +<p>He trotted along for nearly a quarter of a mile, until he +reached a particularly delectable corner graced by a large +rubbish-heap, which he proceeded to investigate with huge +satisfaction, carrying one treasure after another over the +way, sitting down to examine it, and immediately rolling +on to his legs again to procure some yet more coveted +object.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[250]</span>At last, however, he secured two prizes, than which +nothing more desirable could be imagined, and with a sigh +of satisfaction toddled for the last time across the lane +and sat down to enjoy them at his leisure. The broken +jam-pot was immediately filled with sand, while the rusty +knife, grasped by its fragmentary handle, could be used in +a variety of ways—so Billy discovered—as a spade, as a +saw, as a chopper.</p> + +<p>He was engaged in mincing a dock leaf very small on a +flat stone, his mouth opening and shutting in accompaniment +to his labours, when he was suddenly hailed by +somebody who had abruptly turned the corner of the lane, +somebody who was probably on his way from the town.</p> + +<p>“Hello!” cried this somebody.</p> + +<p>“Hello!” responded Billy, pausing with his knife poised +in mid-air and looking up with a pair of very big and very +blue eyes. He had to tilt his head quite a long way back +to do so, for the newcomer was tall. Billy was a little +startled; to begin with the newcomer was a man, and he +was not sure that he liked men—they cracked whips sometimes, +and spoke loud and gruff, particularly when, as +occasionally happened, Billy chanced to run across the road +immediately in front of their horses; then he had funny +brown clothes—nobody that Billy had ever seen wore +clothes like that; and he had a brown face too, a face so +very, very brown that it gave his blue eyes a strange look. +Billy was secretly a good deal frightened, but being a +soldier’s son he only clutched his knife the harder and said, +“Hello!” again, as the stranger continued to look at him +without speaking.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[251]</span>“I rather think I ought to know you, my lad,” said the +man at last, in a queer quavering voice. “I’d swear by +that little cocked nose. What’s your name, eh?”</p> + +<p>“Billy,” responded the child promptly.</p> + +<p>“Right you are!” cried the man, and he caught him up +in his arms, knife and jam-pot and all. “Let’s hear the +rest of it, though. Billy what?”</p> + +<p>“I want to get down,” asserted the urchin, vigorously +struggling. “I want to get down and make a pudden for +my dada.”</p> + +<p>The man grimaced, and instantly set the child upon his +legs.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps we’ve made a mistake after all,” he said; +“perhaps you are some other chap’s Billy. Where does +your dada live, young ’un?—tell us that.”</p> + +<p>Billy had by this time squatted on the ground again, +and was once more chopping at his dock leaf. He did not +answer until the man had twice repeated his question, then +he explained.</p> + +<p>“My dada’s tummin’ home. He’s tummin’ in a ship—and +a puff-puff,” he added, as an after-thought.</p> + +<p>“Right you are,” cried the brown-faced man again, and +he caught him up in his arms once more and kissed him. +“I thought I’d know my little woman’s nose among a +thousand, and yours is so like it as one pea is like another. +Come, let’s go and look for mammy.”</p> + +<p>Billy was at first disposed to protest, but something at +once merry and tender in the man’s blue eyes disarmed +suspicion; and when he presently found himself hoisted on +a broad shoulder, and was thus carried at galloping speed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[252]</span> +down the lane and through the village; when, moreover, +this self-constituted steed actually vaulted the garden gate, +and covered the tiny path that intervened between it and +the cottage door with two strides, he was not only reassured +but jubilant.</p> + +<p>They could see “mammy” bending over the wash-tub +through the open kitchen door, very red in the face, very +wet and draggled as to dress, and with one end of her hair +straggling down; and the queer thing was that at sight of +her the man suddenly came to a standstill and uttered a +kind of choking cry. And then mammy turned round and +dropped the shirt she had been wringing out, and fairly +screamed as she came rushing across the kitchen. Then +laughing and crying together she flung her arms round the +brown man’s neck, heedless of the danger to which she +was exposing herself from the broken jam-pot and the +rusty knife which Billy was still brandishing; and kissed +him, and rocked backwards and forwards with him, and +seemed altogether to have taken leave of her senses.</p> + +<p>After a moment’s breathless pause of astonishment, +Billy thought it time to assert himself. He dropped his +two treasures on the floor and burst into a loud wail. +Then clutching hold of the newcomer’s close-cropped fair +head, he endeavoured with all his might to pull it away +from the curly one that was pressed so close to it. And +then mammy looked up, and her eyes were all wet, but +her mouth was laughing.</p> + +<p>“You mustn’t do that, sonny,” she said. “This is dada! +Dada’s come home.”</p> + +<p>Billy was dumb with dismay and disappointment, partly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[253]</span> +at the discovery that the much-talked-of and hitherto +unimagined dada was a man, partly because he was such +a very brown man, but chiefly because he had arrived +shorn of the glories of the ship and the puff-puff which he +had understood were to accompany him. So he sat still +and rather sulky on the khaki shoulder while Private Bunce +explained how he had caught sight of the little chap, and +how he at once “spotted” him by that little nose of his, +and how disappointed he had been when for a moment he +had thought it was not his Billy after all, but some other +quite uninteresting Billy belonging to another fellow.</p> + +<p>“But I found him all right,” he summed up triumphantly, +“and I found you, little woman—lookin’ tip-top +you are, just about! Lard, it do seem a mortal time since +I left you, my girl.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Bill, I meant to have everything so nice for ’ee,” +cried Nellie. “Dear, to think there’s nothin’ ready! I’m +sure I’m not fit to be seen myself.”</p> + +<p>She glanced regretfully towards the wash-tub. Her +pink blouse was in there—the blouse Bill had always said +he liked—and her lace collar and the little ruffles for her +wrists. The old blue cotton gown which she wore was +not only faded and patched, but soiled and almost wet +through.</p> + +<p>“You’re lookin’ just splendid though,” cried her husband. +“Why, that there’s the very gown you used to wear when +we went a-coortin’—I mind it well—that little wavy stripe. +I used to think it the prettiest thing I ever did see. And +here’s the little curl comin’ down what I used to kiss when +we was a-walkin’ down by the river.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[254]</span>“Oh, Bill, is it comin’ down? I wanted to be so tidy +and nice. I reckoned ye was comin’ next week, ye know.”</p> + +<p>“I come over wi’ the colonel. He come across a bit +sooner nor we expected, bein’ knocked up wi’ one thing +and another. ‘The sooner the better,’ thinks I.”</p> + +<p>“Of course,” cried Nellie fervently; “the sooner the +better indeed. But we be all in a caddle here. There, the +window curtains and the best table-cloth and the very bed-quilt +is in the tub, and I haven’t got any meat in the +house! I thought Billy and me ud go a bit short this +week, so’s to have a reg’lar feast when you did come +home. And—and——”</p> + +<p>“Now, don’t you fret, old girl; we hadn’t no table-cloth +nor yet bed-quilts out on the veldt. And as for +meat—blowed if I do care so very much for meat. But I +tell ye what I would like.”</p> + +<p>“What?” cried Nellie breathlessly.</p> + +<p>“What I would like more nor any earthly thing,” said +Bill emphatically, but with a twinkle in his eye, “is just +’taters—’taters done wi’ a bit o’ drippin’, hot and tasty, the +way you did often do ’em.”</p> + +<p>Nellie drew a long breath of relief.</p> + +<p>“Them’s easy got,” she said jubilantly, but almost immediately +her face fell again. “It do seem a poor kind +o’ welcome,” she murmured, “and I——”</p> + +<p>Private Bunce deposited his son and heir upon the +floor, the better to bestow a really satisfactory embrace +upon the little sunburnt woman. She was exceedingly +damp and smelt very strongly of soap, but he did not +seem to mind.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[255]</span>“Now, look here,” he said, “you couldn’t give I a better +welcome nor what you’ve a-done. This here’s home—home +as I did so often think of and long for; and here +you be, my wold ’ooman, lookin’ just same as ever—just +same as I so often seed ye in my mind, and I used to +dream about ye many a time, and wake up and find mysel’ +lyin’ on the sand. This here’s home and this here’s my +little ’ooman—and I don’t want nothin’ else, wi’out it’s this +young shaver,” he added as an after-thought.</p> + +<p>And so, while the wash-tub steamed away unheeded in +the back premises, a very merry party sat down to an +impromptu meal. The ’taters were duly set forth, and +Nellie, cleaned up and tidy, poured out tea, and Private +Bunce cut huge slices from the crusty loaf, and declared he +hadn’t had such a blow-out, no, not since he sailed from +Southampton.</p> + +<p>“To my mind, Nellie,” he cried presently, “the room +do seem to look more cheerful-like wi’out the winder curtains. +A body notices the paper more—the dear old +paper what I did stick up for ’ee myself.”</p> + +<p>Nellie opened her mouth as though to speak, but changed +her mind and closed it again.</p> + +<p>“I tell you what it is,” cried Private Bunce enthusiastically, +“the place wouldn’t look itself wi’out that wall-paper. +I wouldn’t have it changed for anything.”</p> + +<p>Then Nellie burst out laughing and clapped her +hands.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[256]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">THE MAJESTY OF THE LAW.</h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">They</span> were cutting Farmer Fowler’s largest hayfield; it +was eleven o’clock, and the men had just “knocked off” +for the light meal known in those parts as “nuncheon”. +A big flagon of cider was being passed round from one to +the other, accompanied by goodly slices of bread and +cheese. The farmer himself stood a little apart under the +shade of a large elm which grew midway in the hedgerow +that divided this field from its neighbour, paying a half +scornful attention to the scraps of talk with which the +labourers seasoned their meal. He himself was not given +to self-indulgence, and inwardly chafed at the loss of this +half-hour from the busiest time of the day. He had +worked as hard as any of his men, and was, indeed, +hardly to be distinguished from them, except by the +better quality of his clothes. He was a tall, strong-looking +fellow, with a face as sunburnt as any of theirs, and arms +as muscular and brown. He was coatless, and wore a +great chip hat; his shirt-sleeves were rolled up above his +elbows, and his shirt was open at the throat. Two teams +of horses stood in the shadow of the hedge, plucking at +the twigs or stretching down their necks towards the grass +which they could not reach; the vast field, half cut, lay<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[257]</span> +shimmering before him in a blaze of light; the dome overhead +glowed almost to whiteness, for the sun at this hour +was intolerably hot. Yet even as the master gazed, impatiently +longing for the moment when he could set his +hinds to work again, he saw a figure rapidly crossing the +field, looking from right to left, as though in search of +some one. It was the figure of a young woman; so much +he could divine from the shapely outline and springing +ease of motion, but her face was at first lost to him under +the deep shade of her broad-brimmed hat. She approached +the group of labourers first, and made some query in a tone +too low for him to distinguish the words. He saw his +foreman, however, turn towards the tree beneath which he +himself stood and jerk his thumb over his shoulder. Evidently +the young woman had come in search of him.</p> + +<p>She made her way towards him, walking more slowly, +and indicating by her aspect a certain amount of diffidence. +A comely girl—he could see that now—dark-eyed, +dark-haired, and glowing with health and life.</p> + +<p>“If you please, sir,” she began timidly, “I came—my +father sent me. It’s about the taxes.”</p> + +<p>She drew from her pocket a little blue paper of familiar +aspect; the demand-note for the rates collected four times +a year by the Overseers of the Branstone Union. The +angry colour glowed in Jacob Fowler’s face as he twitched +the paper from her hand.</p> + +<p>“What’s the meaning of this?” he cried; “what have +you got to do with it?”</p> + +<p>“I am Isaac Masters’ daughter, of Little Branstone,” she +said hastily. “He collects the rates for our parish, but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[258]</span> +he’s very ill in bed. He’s had a stroke, poor Father has, +and I’m doing his work for him.”</p> + +<p>“He should have known better than to send you to +me,” returned Jacob, still wrathfully. “I never heard sich +a tale i’ my life. Sendin’ a maid to collect the rates! +Dally! Where will the women-folk stop?”</p> + +<p>“Nobody else made any objection,” said the girl, with a +little toss of her head. “I’ve got it all right, except yours; +and Father thought I’d best come and ask for it.”</p> + +<p>“Then you can tell your father as he did make a very +great mistake,” thundered Fowler. “’Tis bad enough to +be bothered about they dalled rates wi’out havin’ a woman +set up over you.”</p> + +<p>He tore the paper into fragments as he spoke, scattering +them to the breeze. “There, you jist turn about and +go home-along, my maid, and tell your father that’s my +answer. If your father bain’t fit to do his work hissel’, he +did ought to get somebody else to do it for ’en—some +other man. The notion o’ sendin’ a maid! I never did +hear o’ sich a piece o’ cheek!”</p> + +<p>The girl, without waiting for the end of his indignant +commentary, had turned about as he had advised, and +was now walking swiftly away, her head held very high, +angry tears on her thick lashes. Jacob impatiently jerked +out his watch; it wanted still ten minutes of the time +when work would have to be resumed. He dropped the +watch into his pocket again, whistling under his breath, a +good deal out of tune. Once more fragments of the men’s +talk reached his unwilling ears.</p> + +<p>“That be Bethia Masters, that be—a wonderful good<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[259]</span> +maid. They d’ say the wold man ’ud be fair lost wi’out +her. The Parish Council did give her leave to take his +place for a bit so long as there was a chance he mid get +better.” “She be a shapely maid and a vitty one.” +“E-es, she’s well enough; looks a bit tired now, walkin’ i’ +the heat three mile here and three mile back.” “E-es, +and a sarcin’ at the end o’t,” chuckled one old fellow under +his breath. “Our maister, he did gi’ ’t to her! I heerd +’en. Our maister bain’t partial to payin’ rates at any time, +and he didn’t reckon for to hand over his money to a +’ooman.”</p> + +<p>Farmer Fowler watched the retreating figure idly; it was +true she was a shapely maid. How lightly and rapidly +she walked: ’twas a long way, too—three miles and more. +He could have wished he had not been quite so hard with +her. He might have asked her to sit down and rest for a +while; he might have offered her a glass of cider. He +almost wondered at his own outburst of irritation as he +looked back on it now, and watched the girl’s retreating +form with an increasing sense of shame.</p> + +<p>The toilsome day was over at last, the horses stabled, +the men fed. Farmer Fowler was smoking the pipe of +peace in his trellised porch with a pleasant sense of weariness. +It was good to rest there under the honeysuckle in +the twilight, and to think of how much had been accomplished +during the long sunny hours which had preceded +it.</p> + +<p>The sound of a light foot caused him to raise his eyes, +which he had partially closed a few moments before, and +the ensuing click of the garden gate made him sit upright<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[260]</span> +and crane forward his head. A girl’s figure was making +its way down the little paved path, a girl’s voice once more +greeted him tremulously.</p> + +<p>“If you please, Mr. Fowler, I’m sorry to trouble you, +but——”</p> + +<p>Jacob Fowler in the evening was a different person to +the Jacob Fowler of the fields; he stretched out his hand +and drew her forward by the sleeve.</p> + +<p>“Sit down, my maid,” he said; “sit ye down. You’ve +a-had a longish walk, and for the second time to-day, too.”</p> + +<p>Bethia came into the shadow of the porch; her face +looked pale in the dim light, and he could see the bosom +of her light dress rise and fall quickly with her rapid +breath.</p> + +<p>“If you please, sir,” she began again, “I know you’ll +be vexed, but Father, he’s very much undone about the +taxes. He’ll be gettin’ into trouble, he says, if he doesn’t +send the money off to-morrow. He made me come back +and ask you again. We’d take it very kind if you’d let us +have what’s owing, sir.”</p> + +<p>Her tremulous tone smote Jacob; stretching out his big +hand once more, he patted her shoulder encouragingly.</p> + +<p>“There, don’t ye be afeard, my maid; don’t ye. I’ll +not bite ye.”</p> + +<p>A dimple peeped out near Bethia’s lip. “You very +nearly did bite me this morning,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Nay, now,” returned Jacob, smiling beneath his thick +beard, “I weren’t a-goin’ to bite ye; I was on’y barkin’, +maid. Lard, if you did know I, you’d say wi’ the rest of +’em that my bark was worse nor my bite. There! what<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[261]</span> +about this trifle o’ money as I owe for the rates? How +much is it? Dally! I don’t know how ’tis, but it fair +goes agen me to pay out money for taxes. It do seem so +unfair when a man’s farm’s his own—land and house and +all—for Government to go and say, ‘You’ve a-got a house, +and you’ve a-got land as your father and grandfather have +a-bought wi’ their own money—you must pay out for +that, my lad; you must hand over whatever we pleases to +ax for.’ ’Tisn’t as if they’d consult a man. If they was +to say to I, ‘Mr. Fowler, you be a warmish man, and +there’s a good few poor folk up i’ the union; what be you +willin’ to allow us for them?’ I’d call that fair enough, +and I’d tell ’em straight-out what I <i>was</i> willin’ to ’low. +But no; they goes and settles it all among theirselves wi’ +never a word to nobody, and jist sends out a paper wi’out +by your leave or wi’ your leave. ‘You <i>be</i> to pay so much, +whether you do like it or whether you don’t.’ ’Tain’t fair.”</p> + +<p>“I dare say it isn’t, sir,” rejoined Bethia, very meekly; +“but I’m not askin’ you on account of the Government—I’m +just askin’ you for Father’s sake. He’s fretting terribly, +and the doctor says he oughtn’t to upset himself.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I don’t mind if I do make an end o’ this here +business for your father’s sake, maidy; but I d’ ’low I’d +jist so soon do it for yours.”</p> + +<p>“For mine!”</p> + +<p>“E-es, because you do ask I so pretty. I did speak a +bit sharp to ye this mornin’, but it was along o’ being +vexed wi’ the Government—I wasn’t really vexed wi’ <i>you</i>, +my dear.”</p> + +<p>Bethia began to laugh; her little white teeth flashed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[262]</span> +out in the most charming way—her bright eyes lit up. +Jacob gazed at her with increasing favour.</p> + +<p>“I bain’t vexed wi’ you, my dear,” he repeated affably, +and then suddenly standing up, darted into the house. In +a few minutes he emerged again carrying a little packet, +which he handed to her.</p> + +<p>“It be all there, wrapped up i’ that bit o’ paper; you’d +best count it and see as it be right. Will ye take a glass +o’ milk or summat?”</p> + +<p>“No, thank you, Mr. Fowler; I’m very much obliged, +but I think I must be getting home now. It’s growin’ +dark, and my father will be anxious.”</p> + +<p>“Wouldn’t you like nothin’?” insisted Jacob. “A posy +o’ flowers or summat? There’s a-many of ’em growin’ i’ +the garden, and nobody ever thinks for to pick ’em.”</p> + +<p>“Of course not; a man does not care for such things, I +know. You live all alone, don’t you, Mr. Fowler?”</p> + +<p>“All alone, my maid, since my poor mother died. She +went to the New House fifteen year ago. I’m what you +mid call a reg’lar wold bachelor, I be.”</p> + +<p>He threw out this last remark with such an obvious +wish to be contradicted that Bethia hastened to return, +“Not so old as that, I’m sure, Mr. Fowler. My father +always speaks of you as a young man.”</p> + +<p>“I be jist upon farty,” returned Jacob, with surprising +promptitude. “Farty; that be my age. Not so old for +a man.”</p> + +<p>“Not at all old,” returned Bethia very politely; then, +extending her hand, “I’ll say good-night now, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Won’t you have a posy, then? Do. Help yourself,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[263]</span> +my maid. I’ll walk a piece o’ the way home wi’ you, and +then you needn’t be afeard.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, and thank you kindly.”</p> + +<p>She followed him out of the porch, and up a path that +led round the house to the old-fashioned garden at the +rear, where there were roses, and lilies, and pinks, and +sweet-williams growing in a glorious medley. She uttered +little shrieks of delight, as she ran hither and thither, +breaking off here a cluster of roses, there a lily-head. +Jacob stalked silently behind her, clasp-knife in hand, +cutting ten stalks where she had culled one, until at last +a very sheaf of flowers rested in his arms.</p> + +<p>“I’ll have to go all the way to carry it for you,” he +remarked in a satisfied tone.</p> + +<p>Bethia turned and clapped her hands together. “Oh, +what a lot! I never thought you were going to get all +those for me. How shall I ever thank you?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll carry it for you,” repeated Jacob. “This way out, +my dear; there’s a little gate jist here.”</p> + +<p>A faint after-glow still lingered on the horizon, but already +the silver sickle of the young moon appeared in the +transparent sky. A bat circled round their heads from +time to time, yet some love-lorn thrush serenaded his mate +somewhere not far off, his liquid ecstatic notes filling the +air, as it seemed. Great waves of perfume were wafted to +Bethia’s nostrils as she paced along beside the farmer, +whose tall figure towered over her, the silhouette of his +face showing clear above the irregular line of hedge.</p> + +<p>As they walked he questioned her from time to time, and +learned how the girl had only come back to live with her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[264]</span> +parents within the past year, having been absent for some +time teaching in a school at Dorchester.</p> + +<p>“School-teachin’!” commented Jacob. “That be how +you do speak so nice and clear. I speak awful broad +myself—never had much eddication.”</p> + +<p>“Hadn’t you?” returned Bethia, with interest.</p> + +<p>“Nay, never had no time for that. My father, he died +when I were a lad, and my mother weren’t one as could +manage a farm so very well. She was a bit soft, my poor +mother, and very easy taken in. So I did put shoulder to +the wheel, and I mid say I’ve been a-shovin’ of it ever +since.”</p> + +<p>“I wonder you didn’t get married, Mr. Fowler,” said +Bethia, with perhaps a suspicion of archness in her voice.</p> + +<p>Jacob only grunted in reply, and an embarrassed silence +fell between them, and remained unbroken till they had +reached Little Branstone village.</p> + +<p>Jacob accompanied the girl down the by-lane which led +to her home, and followed her into the kitchen; there, +however, he refused to stay, in spite of Mrs. Masters’ civil +request that he would sit down and rest.</p> + +<p>“Nay,” he returned gruffly, “I’ll be gettin’ home-along +now; I only come so far to carry this here posy.”</p> + +<p>Depositing his fragrant sheaf upon the table, he nodded +right and left at mother and daughter, and withdrew.</p> + +<p>“Dear! Well, to be sure! Dear heart alive, Bethia, +ye could ha’ knocked I down wi’ a feather when he come +marchin’ in. Lard ha’ mercy, maidy, you be clever to ha’ +got Jacob Fowler for a beau. That there man do fair +hate women of all sarts. There, he do never so much as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[265]</span> +look at one—and to think of him a-walkin’ all that long +ways jist for to carry them flowers! He did give you the +flowers, too, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” returned her daughter; “but you mustn’t call +him my beau, please, Mother. He only meant to be polite.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I’m sure he did never try to be polite to any maid +afore,” returned Mrs. Masters with conviction. “They do +say he were crossed i’ love when he were a young ’un. +Did he give ’ee the money, child?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Mother, and was very nice and kind altogether. +I think he was sorry for Father when I told him how ill +he’d been.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, to be sure, that’s it,” agreed her mother jocosely. +“All they flowers be for Father, too, I d’ ’low. Come, let’s +fetch ’em up to ’en.”</p> + +<p>Poor old Masters, ill though he was, chuckled feebly on +hearing the marvellous tale, and expressed in quavering +tones his belief that his daughter was a-doin’ pretty well +for herself.</p> + +<p>The girl, who had lived till now absolutely heart-whole, +could not repress a certain flutter of excitement, and passed +the next few days in a state of expectancy; but Jacob +Fowler gave no further sign of life. Though he appeared +at church on Sunday, he kept his face religiously turned +away from the pretty tax-gatherer’s, and at the conclusion +of the service rushed from the door without pausing to +look round.</p> + +<p>Bethia bit her lip, and instead of dallying a little, as +was her custom, to chat with one or other of her acquaintance, +hastened home.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[266]</span>“Were Farmer Fowler there, my dear?” inquired her +mother.</p> + +<p>“Yes, but he didn’t speak to me—he didn’t take a bit +of notice of me. Put that notion out of your head, Mother—there’s +nothing at all between him and me.”</p> + +<p>Soon the attention of the little household was entirely +absorbed by a more acute and immediate cause of trouble: +poor old Masters, after a brave struggle, and in spite of +the adjurations of his neighbours, found himself unable to +“hold on”; he loosed his feeble grasp of life suddenly at +last, and went out, as his wife sorrowfully remarked, “like +the snoff of a candle.”</p> + +<p>After the funeral was over, the question of ways and +means stared the mother and daughter in the face. Mrs. +Masters did a little business—a very little business—with +a small general shop; it was quite insufficient to support +them. Her health was not good, and Bethia was determined +not to leave her; there was no opening for her as a +teacher in that village, and such sums as she might earn +by taking in sewing would add very little to their modest +income. She resolved to make a bold appeal to the Parish +Council for permission to continue to fill her father’s place.</p> + +<p>“I could do it every bit as well as a man,” she averred. +“I have done it during the last few months. The accounts +are all in order—I have found no difficulty anywhere. Do +let me try, gentlemen.”</p> + +<p>The gentlemen in question were at first taken aback, +then amused, finally moved. After all, they said to each +other, there was no reason why the girl should not try. +As long as the duties were discharged exactly and punctually,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[267]</span> +there was no reason why they should not be undertaken +by a woman as well as by a man.</p> + +<p>“But there must be no favouritism, Miss Masters,” said +one, with a twinkle in his eye; “no letting off of any +particular friend. You must be firm, even with your nearest +and dearest. If people don’t pay up after two or three +applications, you must harden your heart and take out a +summons.”</p> + +<p>“I will,” said Bethia seriously.</p> + +<p>In a few days the news of her installation as assistant +overseer spread through the place, one of the first to hear +of it being Jacob Fowler.</p> + +<p>Bethia was standing in the kitchen shelling peas one +morning when his knock came at the door, almost immediately +followed by the appearance of his large person from +behind it.</p> + +<p>“Be this here true what I’ve a-heard?” he inquired +abruptly. “Be it true as you be a-goin’ to carry on this +rate-collecting same as your father did do?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Mr. Fowler,” answered Bethia, not without a +certain pride. “The Parish Council gentlemen think I +can do it just as well as anybody; and I’m glad to say +they’ve agreed to let me try.”</p> + +<p>“<i>I</i> don’t agree, then,” cried Jacob violently. “It bain’t +at all fit nor becomin’ for a young ’ooman same as you to +be a-goin’ about from house to house, visitin’ folks and +axin’ them for their money. It bain’t proper, I tell ’ee.”</p> + +<p>“What nonsense!” exclaimed Bethia, with a toss of +her pretty curly locks. “What’s it to you, Mr. Fowler, +anyhow?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[268]</span>“I don’t like it,” growled Fowler. “Will you go and +ax folks for it, same as you did ax I?”</p> + +<p>“I shall leave a little note first,” said Bethia, with a very +business-like air, “a demand-note, you know. If they +don’t pay up I shall call personally.”</p> + +<p>“It bain’t the right thing for a faymale,” repeated Fowler +sourly; “least of all for a young faymale. Folks ’ull be +givin’ ye impidence.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, they won’t,” returned Bethia with dignity. +“I’m not one that anybody could take liberties with, Mr. +Fowler.”</p> + +<p>He stood leaning against the table frowning.</p> + +<p>“Will ye ax ’em rough-like, or will ye ax ’em civil?” he +inquired, after ruminating for a while.</p> + +<p>“Why, of course I shall be civil, Mr. Fowler.”</p> + +<p>“Will ye ax ’em so civil as ye did ax I?” he insisted +with a kind of roar.</p> + +<p>“I’m sure I don’t know,” stammered the girl, taken +aback for a moment. “Yes,” recovering herself, “certainly +I shall. There’s no reason why I should make any difference +between you and anybody else.”</p> + +<p>“You tell I that to my face! You’ll go a-speakin’ ’em +soft and a-smilin’ at ’em pretty, jist same as ye did do to +I! Dalled if I do allow it! Dalled if I do, I say!”</p> + +<p>“Really, Mr. Fowler,” said Bethia with spirit, “I don’t +know what you mean. It’s very rude of you to talk to +me like that, and I do not see why you should interfere. +I shall be business-like and polite, as I always try to be +with every one, and I shall be firm too. The Law will +support me just the same as if I were a man.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[269]</span>“Dalled if I do allow it,” repeated Jacob, still in a kind +of muffled bellow. “A British ratepayer I be, and have +a-been this twenty year and more, and I say I bain’t +a-goin’ to allow it. I know my rights so well as any man, +and I bain’t a-goin’ to be put upon by a ’ooman. I bain’t +a-goin’ to allow any young faymale to be took out of her +proper place and set up where she’s no business to be. I’ll +have no faymale tax-collectors a-gaddin’ about this here +parish if I can prevent it. I’ll protest, maid, see if I don’t, +and, what’s more, not one farden o’ rates will I pay into +any faymale hands.”</p> + +<p>Bethia, more and more irritated by his manner, thought +it time to assert herself finally; and withdrawing her +hands from the basin of peas, and looking him full in the +face, she returned, with great firmness, “Won’t you, Mr. +Fowler? Then I’ll make you.”</p> + +<p>“Lard ha’ mercy me! Listen to the maid!” exclaimed +Jacob, bursting into a fit of ironical laughter. “‘I’ll make +ye,’ says she. Look at her,” pointing at the girl’s slender +form. “That be a good un! I tell ’ee, Miss Masters, +you’ll find it a bit hard to make I do anything I’ve not +got a mind to do.”</p> + +<p>Bethia took up a pod again and split it viciously. “I’ve +got the Law at my back,” she remarked.</p> + +<p>“Ho! ho! ho!” chuckled Jacob, this time with unfeigned +merriment. “Listen to her! The Law at her +back indeed! Such a little small back it be! Why, +maidy, I could jist finish ye off wi’ one finger!”</p> + +<p>“I’m not talking of brute force,” said Bethia, with flashing +eyes. “The Law is stronger than you, Mr. Fowler.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[270]</span> +Now, if you’ll kindly go away and let me get on with my +work, I’ll be much obliged.”</p> + +<p>But Jacob did not take the hint. He sat down on the +table instead, and watched the girl as, with an affectation +of ignoring his presence, she moved about, filling her +saucepan at the tap, peeling the potatoes, setting them on +to boil. She did everything swiftly, deftly, and gracefully, +holding her head very erect meanwhile, and being a little +sharper in her movements than usual on account of her +inward irritation. By-and-by Mrs. Masters came creaking +down the narrow stairs, and started back at the sight +of the farmer.</p> + +<p>“Dear! To be sure! I didn’t know you had visitors +here, Bethia, my dear. Won’t you sit i’ the armchair, +Mr. Fowler? Do ’ee now. I’m sure ’tis very kind o’ ye +to come a-visitin’ o’ we in our trouble.”</p> + +<p>Bethia marched past her mother, removed the pot from +the fire, and carried it over to the table.</p> + +<p>“Could you make a little room, if you please?” she inquired +tartly.</p> + +<p>Jacob chuckled and rubbed his hands as he slowly +removed his ponderous frame; then the remembrance of +his former grievance returned to him, and he gazed at the +widow loweringly.</p> + +<p>“You don’t like this here notion, Mrs. Masters, I hope?” +he inquired severely.</p> + +<p>“What notion, sir?” returned the poor woman, startled.</p> + +<p>“Why, this here notion o’ your daughter a-gaddin’ about +lookin’ arter the rates.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you see, we be so hard pressed, we be,” faltered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[271]</span> +she. “My daughter do try to do her best to earn a little, +all ways she can. I’m sorry as you’ve a-got objections, +Mr. Fowler.”</p> + +<p>“It doesn’t in the least matter if he’s got objections or +not,” put in Bethia tartly. “It’s no concern of Mr. Fowler’s. +So long as he pays up regularly he need not trouble himself.”</p> + +<p>Jacob got out of the armchair and once more approached +the table.</p> + +<p>“Look ’ee here,” he said threateningly; “this here’s +past a joke. I do forbid ye for to do it—do ye hear?”</p> + +<p>Bethia looked at him steadily. “I hear, and I can only +repeat what I said before. Now, Mr. Fowler, will you +please go away? I’m going to dish up.”</p> + +<p>“Bethia, my dear!” protested Mrs. Masters feebly. +“There, she’ve a-got sich a spirit, Mr. Fowler, you must +excuse her. She be a bit vexed, you see, wi’ you findin’ +fault wi’ her. I’m sure, the longer you stay, Mr. Fowler, +the better we’m pleased. We’ve nothin’ much fit to offer +ye, but if ye’d like to sit down and take a bit wi’ us you’re +truly welcome.”</p> + +<p>Bethia shot an indignant glance towards her parent, and +Jacob stood hesitating for a moment; then with a laugh +he drew up his chair to the table.</p> + +<p>“I’ll not refuse a good offer,” he said.</p> + +<p>Bethia fetched a plate, knife and fork, and glass, setting +each before him with somewhat unnecessary clatter. Then +she served up the vegetables, brought out a roll of butter +and a small piece of cheese from the buttery, and took +her place in silence.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[272]</span>“I’m sorry,” began Mrs. Masters regretfully, “we’ve got +nothing better to offer ye, Mr. Fowler. My daughter and +me seldom eats meat of a week day.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t make excuses, Mother,” interrupted Bethia, with +asperity. “Mr. Fowler knows very well that we are poor.”</p> + +<p>The meal proceeded in silence for the most part, Mrs. +Masters making an occasional remark, to which Jacob +responded by a gruff monosyllable. Bethia did not speak +once, but had never looked prettier in her life; the angry +sparkle still lingered in her eyes, and her cheeks were +flushed. Whenever she glanced at the visitor her countenance +took on an additional expression of haughtiness.</p> + +<p>At the end of the repast Jacob stood up. “I’d like a +word wi’ ye private, Miss Masters.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I beg pardon, I’m sure,” apologised the poor old +mother, hastening to efface herself.</p> + +<p>As soon as her heavy footsteps were heard in the room +upstairs the farmer turned to Bethia.</p> + +<p>“I’ve a-come to see ye friendly like,” he remarked, “and +I’ll come again. I ax ye, as a friend, my maid—will ye +gie this notion up?”</p> + +<p>Bethia looked if possible more indignant than before.</p> + +<p>“No, Mr. Fowler,” she returned promptly, “I tell you—as +a friend—I won’t.”</p> + +<p>“Then you’ll ha’ trouble wi’ I, I warn ’ee,” responded +he, almost with a groan.</p> + +<p>Jacob Fowler kept his word, and gave the poor little rate-collector +an inconceivable amount of trouble.</p> + +<p>He took no notice whatever of her demand-notes and +official reminders; and when she called to see him in person,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[273]</span> +though he received her with civility and even undisguised +pleasure, he resolutely refused to part with a +farthing. The friendliness with which he hailed her advent, +and entered into conversation on indifferent subjects, gave +place to a rigid silence as soon as she touched on the motive +of her visit, and he would shake his head fiercely as often as +she reverted to the point.</p> + +<p>One day she found him in what she took to be a softened +mood. It was in the spring, and the consciousness that it +was grand weather for potato-setting, added to the recollection +of a long and successful day’s work, had put Jacob +in an unusually good humour. He was smoking in his +porch when she drew near, and at once invited her to sit +down and rest.</p> + +<p>“You do look a bit tired, my maid,” he remarked; +“tired and worried.”</p> + +<p>“I am tired and worried too,” said Bethia, looking up at +him appealingly. “I’m afraid of getting into trouble, Mr. +Fowler.”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” said Jacob, “how’s that?”</p> + +<p>“They will be down on me for not sending in the +money regularly,” returned the girl tremulously; “I’ve got +it all in except yours.”</p> + +<p>Jacob, instead of immediately becoming wooden of +aspect, as was his wont, gazed at her searchingly. “You’d +be all right if you was to get mine?” he inquired.</p> + +<p>“Yes—oh, yes, Mr. Fowler. Couldn’t you pay up and +have done with it?”</p> + +<p>Jacob shook his head, but this time apparently more in +sorrow than in anger.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[274]</span>“Can’t be done, my maid. I’ve a-passed my word, d’ye +see, and I be forced to stick to it.”</p> + +<p>“I think you are very unkind,” said Bethia; “you are +trying to force me to give up one of the few ways I have +of making a living.”</p> + +<p>“E-es,” said Jacob, “’tis true; ’tis the very thing I be +a-doin’. You said if I didn’t pay up you’d make me—well, +how be you a-goin’ for to make me?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I suppose I’ll have to send you a summons,” cried +she, with gathering anger. “’Tis my duty and I must do +it.”</p> + +<p>Jacob’s face changed. The colour mounted in his brown +cheeks, and when he spoke his voice was unsteady with +surprise and wrath.</p> + +<p>“You don’t mean that,” he said quickly. “You’d never +do it.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll have to do it,” said Bethia, “if you force me to +proceed to extremes. Oh, Mr. Fowler,” she added, almost +passionately, “can’t you be sensible; can’t you make an +end of it once and for all? If I’d been a man instead of a +girl you wouldn’t persecute me like this. You’d think it +quite natural for me to want to take my father’s place, +wouldn’t you? What difference does it make? I can +keep the accounts, and make the applications, just as well +as any man. Why should you try to bully me?”</p> + +<p>“Now look ’ee here, my maid,” said Jacob, “if you +come to that, ’tis you what be a-tryin’ for to bully I. I’ve +a-set my face again this ’ere notion. No respectable young +’ooman did ought to go a-trapesin’ fro’ one house to +t’other, a puttin’ herself for’ard and a-coaxin’ folks out o’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[275]</span> +their money, whether it be for the Government or whether +it bain’t. ’Tis a question between us two which can hold +out longest. Now if you was to give in to I——”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Bethia, bending forward with unconscious +eagerness, “what would happen if I were to give in to +you?”</p> + +<p>Jacob took out his pipe and stared at her, and then he +got up and paced about the little flagged path.</p> + +<p>“What would happen?” she repeated sharply. “What +would you advise me to do?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I don’t know,” returned Jacob confusedly. “I +haven’t had time for to think o’ that.”</p> + +<p>It was now Bethia’s turn to spring to her feet. “I think +you are hard, and obstinate, and cruel! Yes, cruel, to try +and put upon my poor mother and me! But I’ll have an +end of this shilly-shally work; you shall be forced to pay, +sir.”</p> + +<p>She hastened down the path. Jacob, after delaying a +moment to lay his pipe carefully in a corner of the seat, +strode after her and opened the garden gate, holding it for +a moment so that she could not pass through.</p> + +<p>Bethia glanced at him. He did not look angry, but +resolute; his jaw was firmly set and his eyes steady. It +struck her forcibly that he had a good face—honest, open, +manly—and she realised with a little pang that it was +probably turned towards her for the last time in friendship.</p> + +<p>“I’ll give you a month,” she said waveringly.</p> + +<p>“Ye mid as well say a year,” returned Jacob. “’Twill +be all the same.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[276]</span>Thereupon he opened the gate and she went away.</p> + +<p>The allotted time of grace passed very slowly, and +though Bethia continued to post a little demand-note +every week, no notice was taken either of her appeal or of +herself.</p> + +<p>Late on the last day of the month she was making her +way back from the town with a very melancholy face, +when, at a turn in the road, she suddenly encountered +Jacob; Jacob in holiday attire, carrying a large nosegay +of monthly roses and lilac.</p> + +<p>“Hullo, my maid,” he cried genially, “well met! I +were just a-goin’ to see you.”</p> + +<p>“Were you?” returned Bethia, in a very small constrained +voice.</p> + +<p>“E-es, I was a-bringin’ you these here flowers. I seed +’em i’ th’ garden just now, and I thought you’d like ’em.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mr. Fowler, you shouldn’t give them to me!” +cried the girl with a catch in her voice. “I’ve—I’ve just +been and taken out a summons against you.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, and have you?” said Jacob staring at her. “Well, +that’s summat.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” returned Bethia desperately. “I waited till the +end of the month, and then I had to do it; it was my +duty. Oh, dear; oh, dear!”</p> + +<p>“Well, to think on’t,” said Jacob, still apparently more +surprised than angry. “Lard ha’ mercy! That be a +pretty thing for a maid to do.”</p> + +<p>“So you’d best take back your flowers,” broke out +Bethia. “I know everything’s at an end between us. +I’ve quite made up my mind to it.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[277]</span>“Ah,” said Jacob, eyeing her thoughtfully; “’tis queer +once folks makes up their minds how a notion will stick i’ +their heads. Now all this month I’ve been a-thinkin’ and +a-thinkin’—I never was one to do a thing in a hurry—but +at last I reckoned I’d got it settled. ‘I’ll do it,’ I says, +‘I’ll ax the maid to marry I—that’ll be the best way out +of it. She’ll not want to go again’ I then,’ I says. And +you go and summons me.”</p> + +<p>Bethia burst out crying. “Oh, Jacob,” she cried, “why +couldn’t you have done it before? If you had asked me +kindly—if you had told me to give up for your sake, I—I—I——”</p> + +<p>She broke off, sobbing bitterly.</p> + +<p>“’Tis true,” said Jacob regretfully, “I mid ha’ axed ye +a bit softer—I mid ha’ spoke a bit more kind—but you +did go and put my back up with stickin’ to the notion so +obstinate. Says I to myself, ‘So soon as ever she gives +in I’ll ax her—but she must give in’—and you wouldn’t. +So then I thought—‘Dally! I’ll ax her first and then +we’ll see.’ And then you go and put the law on me afore +I’ve time to open my mouth.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Jacob! I waited a whole month,” protested Bethia, +almost inarticulately; “and you never said anything, and +I thought you didn’t care about me, and it seemed to be +my duty.”</p> + +<p>She covered her face with her hands. Jacob stared at +her for a moment, and then suddenly slapped his thigh +and burst into a roar of laughter.</p> + +<p>“I d’ ’low the maid done it out o’ pique,” he cried +ecstatically, “I d’ ’low she did! She did do it along of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[278]</span> +her feelin’s bein’ hurt with me a-holdin’ back so long. +That’s a different story, my dear—a different story altogether! +I bain’t one to bear malice along o’ that; +’twas but nat’ral arter all. E-es, I d’ ’low I be a terrible +slow-coach; but, ye see, I’d a-got set i’ my bachelor ways, +and it did take I a long time for to make up my mind; and +then, as I do tell ’ee, I wur a-waitin’ and expectin’ for you +to give in. But I’ve spoke now, and if you’ll say the word, +my dear, all can be forgive and forgot.”</p> + +<p>Bethia presumably did speak the word, for she resigned +her post as tax-collector that very evening, and she and +her Jacob were “asked in church” on the following Sunday.</p> + +<p>As for that matter of the summons, it was settled “out +of court”.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[279]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">THE SPUR OF THE MOMENT.</h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Daniel Chaffey</span> stood poised on a step-ladder nailing +up the fine Gloire de Dijon rose which was trailed over +the wall of his house. He had already performed the +same operation for the jessamine which grew over the +porch and for the purple clematis on the right of it. He +had tied his dahlias so tightly and firmly to a variety of +newly cut stakes, that each individual scarlet bloom reminded +one in some measure of a choleric old gentleman +suffering from a tight and high shirt-collar. He had +scraped the little path till the cobble-stones of which it +was composed stood revealed each almost in its entirety. +From his exalted position he could survey the whole frontage +of his own roof—a sight in which an artist would have +revelled, for not only was the thatch itself mellowed by time +and weather to the most exquisite variety of tones, but on +its mouldering surface had sprung up a multitude of blooms, +vying in brightness with those of the garden beneath—not +merely your common everyday mosses and lichens, though +patches of these were to be found in every shade of emerald +and topaz and silver, but flowers, real flowers, seemed to +thrive there; saxifrages, toad-flax, snap-dragon, and, just +where the bedroom gable jutted out, a flaming bunch of +poppies. It will be seen from this that Daniel Chaffey’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[280]</span> +house was an old one; it bore a date over the door, cut +roughly in the weather-beaten stone—1701. It had mullioned +windows with diamond panes, and an oaken door +studded with nails. It had indeed once been the village +schoolhouse, though the Chaffey family had been in possession +of it now for many generations, and had farmed, more +or less successfully, the small holding attached to it.</p> + +<p>Daniel, himself, looked prosperous enough as he stood +hammering and whistling, and occasionally pausing with +his head on one side, and his mouth screwed up but emitting +no sound, to survey his handiwork. He was a bullet-headed +young man of about four or five-and-twenty, with +twinkling blue eyes, and a face, the natural ruddy tone of +which was overlaid by such a fine veneer of sunburn that +it was now of a uniform brick-colour. His expression was +jovial, not to say jocular; his mouth wore an habitual grin +when it was not whistling, and on this particular occasion +some inward source of jollity appeared to entertain him, +for he not only frequently chuckled but winked to himself.</p> + +<p>Having inserted the last tack into the crumbling wall, +he paused, removing his hat and scratching his head +meditatively; for the first time his face wore a somewhat +serious, not to say puzzled expression, and his eyes travelled +dubiously over the flaunting array of blossoming +weeds on the roof.</p> + +<p>“I wonder,” quoth Daniel to himself, “if ’twould look +better if I was to scrape out them there. Maybe the +thatch wouldn’t hold together, though—it’s a-been agrowed +over sich a-many year, I d’ ’low I’ll let ’em bide—they do +look well enough where they be.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[281]</span>And, after coming to this decision, he was preparing to +descend from the ladder when he was suddenly hailed by +a chorus of voices from the lane on the other side of his +garden-hedge.</p> + +<p>“Hello, Dan’l!”—“Hallo, old cock!”—“Well, bwoy, +bist getten’ all to rights afore weddin’?”</p> + +<p>Daniel put on his hat and turned slowly round on his +rung.</p> + +<p>“E-es,” he said, grinning sheepishly, “that’s about it. +The job’s to be done the day arter to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>A party of young men had halted just outside his little +gate; it was Saturday and, though only five o’clock, their +field-work was over and they were now on their way to +the allotments; a rough, sunburnt, merry-looking group, +most of them bearing the marks of the day’s toil on +heated face and earth-stained apparel; one or two of +them with spade and fork on shoulder, others with dangling +empty sacks. September was drawing to a close and +potato-getting was in full swing. It was observable that +as they addressed Chaffey, each man assumed a knowing +and jocular air; this one nudged his neighbour, that one +winked at Daniel himself.</p> + +<p>“You’m to be called home for last time to-morrow, bain’t +ye, Dan’l?” inquired Abel Bolt, elbowing himself to the +front.</p> + +<p>“E-es,” responded Daniel, “we be to be called last time +to-morrow an’ tied-up o’ Monday.”</p> + +<p>Abel threw back his head and laughed uproariously.</p> + +<p>“I should like to come to your weddin’, Dan!” he cried +ecstatically, “I d’ ’low I should.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[282]</span>“Ye won’t, though,” retorted Chaffey. “Ye’ll be jist in +the thick o’ your ploughin’—I thought o’ that. I axed +the Reverend to fix time a-purpose. No, we’ll be wed +on the quiet, Phœbe an’ me—I settled that.”</p> + +<p>“There, ’tis real ill-natured o’ you, Dan,” cried one of +the youths, looking archly at his comrades. “Sich a +pretty sight as ’twill be. Sure it will! And your missus, +sich a beauty!”</p> + +<p>“Haw, haw, haw!” came the chorus again.</p> + +<p>“Her eyes, now,” giggled Abel, “’twill be sich a convenience +for the man to have a missus what can keep one +eye on the dinner an’ t’other on the garden.”</p> + +<p>“An’ her figure,” said Jarge Vacher, “did ye have to +make the gate anyways larger, Dan?”</p> + +<p>“No, there’d be no need for that,” returned Abel, before +Daniel could open his mouth. “The woman could get in +very nicely sideways, more pertick’ler since she can see +all round her like.”</p> + +<p>Chaffey’s complexion had been gradually deepening from +crimson to purple, and from purple to a fine rich mahogany, +his smile had widened to an extent that was positively +painful, but he spoke with unimpaired good humour.</p> + +<p>“Neighbours, you may laugh, but I do know what I’m +about. I do know very well Phœbe Cosser bain’t a +beauty, but she’s good, and I d’ ’low she’ll make I comfortable—an’ +that’s the main p’int to look to. She mid +be a bit older nor what I be——”</p> + +<p>Here the irreverent group in the road began to nudge +each other and chuckle afresh; Chaffey sat down suddenly +on the top of his ladder.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[283]</span>“What I d’ say, neighbours, is,” he began, “what my +notion be—if ye’d give over sniggering for a moment,” he +cried with gathering ire, “I could make it plain to ye.”</p> + +<p>But they wouldn’t give over; the merriment increased +instead of diminishing, and at last Daniel, exclaiming that +he would be dalled if he stood it any longer, leaped to the +ground, and, dashing into his house, bolted the door +behind him.</p> + +<p>His friends, trooping into the little garden, serenaded +him with a ballad which they thought suitable to his case, +and having goaded him into declaring he would come out +in a minute and break their heads for them, withdrew in +good order and pursued their interrupted course to the +allotments.</p> + +<p>Daniel waited until the last heavy footfall had died away, +the last battered hat brim disappeared, and then came forth +with a vengeful expression on his usually good-tempered +face. He picked up the hammer and nails which he had +scattered in his flight, shouldered his ladder and carried it +round to the little shed in the rear, and then came back +slowly to resume his labours in the garden.</p> + +<p>“She be a good ’un,” he muttered to himself, “let ’em +say what they like, she be.”</p> + +<p>He paused to uplift and secure a tuft of golden rod +which had fallen across the path.</p> + +<p>“I never did take so mich notice of her eyes,” he said +to himself. “They bain’t so crooked as that comes to—they +can see well enough, and that’s the p’int.”</p> + +<p>He plucked out a tuft of groundsel which had hitherto +escaped his vigilant eye.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[284]</span>“There’s nothin’ so much amiss wi’ her shape neither—I +d’ ’low I’d sooner have a nice little comfortable round-about +woman nor a great gawky faymale like a zowel or +a speaker. If she’s pluffy, she’s sprack, an’ that’s the +p’int.”</p> + +<p>Whenever Daniel uttered this last phrase he seemed to +pluck up courage, and a momentary cheerfulness returned +to his face, which, nevertheless, speedily became overcast +again. Dall it all, he thought, why couldn’t folks keep +their tongues quiet. What was it to them what kind of +missus Daniel chose, that they must come tormenting +and ballyragging him? He didn’t meddle wi’ nobody, +and didn’t want nobody to meddle wi’ he, but there, even +the lord’s roughrider stopped him on the road to deliver, +as his opinion, that he, Daniel, had chosen a plain-headed +one. Old Mrs. Inkpen of the shop had laughed at him +for marrying a woman so many years older than himself. +Well, she’d be all the more sensible.</p> + +<p>“Let ’em laugh if they do have a mind to; it’ll not +hurt Phœbe and I. We’ll soon show ’em who’s in the +right.”</p> + +<p>And with that, he heaved a sigh and went indoors.</p> + +<p>Next day he went to call for Phœbe, whom he had +promised to escort to afternoon church. She stood awaiting +him in her own doorway, which she filled up pretty +well it must be owned—a little ball of a woman with the +ugliest, merriest face it was possible to conceive. She +wore a very fine purple hat with a feather in the middle +and two red roses on each side, and this arrangement of +headgear seemed to accentuate the somewhat roving propensities<span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[285]</span> +of her eyes. Pinned to her jacket was a bunch +of natural roses that vied with these in hue, and in one +stout hand she waved a posy, similar in colour and almost +equal in size, which was intended for her swain.</p> + +<p>At sight of her bright face Daniel forgot all his troubles, +and after bestowing a sounding salute on her hard red +cheek, stood straight and stiff to be decorated, then, “Come +along, my dear,” said he, and they set forth arm-in-crook, +entirely satisfied with each other.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, as they walked through the churchyard, +Daniel was conscious of a dawning sense of discomfort, +for was not that Abel Bolt who stood under the yew tree, +and who stepped aside with such exaggerated deference +to let them pass? Even his hat seemed to Daniel to be +cocked with a sarcastic air. Martha Hansford and Freza +Pitcher nudged each other as Phœbe preceded him up +the church—he was almost sure he saw Martha spread out +her hands in allusion to Phœbe’s figure, which certainly +looked particularly ample in her thick cloth jacket. To +increase his uneasiness Jarge Vacher took up his position +immediately behind him. It must be owned that this +proximity was seriously detrimental to poor Daniel’s devotions. +When Phœbe found the place for him and +invited him to sing out of her own hymn-book he heard +a choking sound in his rear, which he knew proceeded +from Jarge. As he stole a cautious glance round he +observed that the eyes of more than one member of the +congregation were directed towards him and the unconscious +Phœbe, who happened to be in particularly fine voice +and was singing away with entire satisfaction. Daniel<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[286]</span> +fidgeted and reddened and grew more and more wrathful. +He couldn’t see anything to laugh at, not he. The +maid was right to sing out, and to be a bit more tender +than usual to the man who, before twenty-four hours were +out, would be her husband. Yes, it would be all over by +this time to-morrow—that was one comfort; and it was a +mercy he had fixed an early hour; none of these impudent +chaps would be there to dather him.</p> + +<p>At the conclusion of the service he started up and +hurried from the church with what seemed to Phœbe, +as she waddled in his wake, unseemly haste. Indeed +they very nearly had their first serious “miff” on the +subject. However, once out of sight of the mockers, and +wandering with his sweetheart in the quiet lanes, where +the hedgerows were all ablaze with scarlet berries, and +primrose and amber leaves made little points of light +here and there amid the more sober September green, +he forgot his discomfiture.</p> + +<p>“We be like to have a hard winter,” said Phœbe, as +they paused to look over the first gate in the prescribed +fashion of rustic lovers.</p> + +<p>“I don’t care,” returned Daniel, gazing at her amourously +from beneath his tilted hat. “I’ve got a snug little +place of my own and a missus to make me comfortable. +It may snow for all as I do care.”</p> + +<p>Alas for Daniel! His jubilation was short-lived. Early +on the morrow he was up and doing, putting the final +touches to his preparations for welcoming his bride, and +he set forth in good time to join the wedding party, whom +he found ready and waiting for him, sitting stiffly in a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[287]</span> +row in the parlour. Mr. Cosser, magnificent in broadcloth +and his father’s deerskin waistcoat; Mrs. Cosser in a violet +gown and a Paisley shawl; Dick Cosser, Phœbe’s younger +brother, in a suit of checks that would set an æsthetic +person’s teeth on edge; Phœbe herself in a crimson silk +with a white hat and a fluffy tippet, over which her eyes +twinkled with most uncanny effect. Daniel privately +thought she looked very well, and extended his arm to +his future mother-in-law, with a bosom swelling with +pride. Mr. Cosser had already preceded them with +Phœbe, and Dick brought up the rear with his cousin +Mary Ann, a tall maid of sixteen, who had an unusual +capacity for giggling; these two were to officiate respectively +as best man and bridesmaid. Daniel’s parents had +long been dead, and most of his relations scattered, but +his married sister who lived at some little distance, had +promised to drive over and meet them at the church. +She and her husband and their three or four olive-branches +were, in fact, already installed in one of the front pews +when the little procession arrived; the clergyman was in +readiness, and the ceremony began without delay.</p> + +<p>All went well at first; Phœbe was jubilant and extremely +audible in her replies, Daniel gruff and sheepish +as it behoved a rustic bridegroom to be, but just as the +Rector uplifting his voice inquired “Dost thou take this +woman to be thy wedded wife?” a certain scuffling sound +was heard at the further end of the church, and the half-made +husband might have been seen to start and falter. +“Daniel, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded +wife?” repeated the Rector sternly.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[288]</span>Suppressed titters were heard, not only from the direction +of the porch, but actually from the aisles. For the +life of him, Daniel could not resist turning his head right +and left with an anguished gaze. Horror! There was +Abel Bolt peering from behind one pillar, and surely that +was Jarge’s impudent face grinning at him from the opposite +side. The Rector glared through his spectacles and +uplifted his voice yet more.</p> + +<p>“Daniel!” he cried emphatically, “wilt thou have this +woman to be thy wedded wife?”</p> + +<p>The best man cleared his throat warningly, and the +bride turning a reproachful glance somewhere in the direction +of the west window, nudged him with her elbow.</p> + +<p>“Speak up!” she whispered. This was the last straw.</p> + +<p>Hardly knowing what he did, Daniel started away from +her, and whisking round charged through the bridal party, +down the nave, thrust aside the knot of gaping onlookers +in the porch, descended the flight of steps apparently with +one stride, and bounding over the lychgate fled into the +fields on the opposite side of the road.</p> + +<p>Phœbe, with a stifled shriek, hastened after him with +all the speed that her distress of mind and amplitude of +person would admit of, but was almost knocked over by +her brother Dick, who had started in hot pursuit of the +fugitive. Mary Ann, not to be outdone, gallopaded in the +rear, and Mr. Cosser with muttered threats of vengeance +hobbled in her wake at a considerable distance.</p> + +<p>“Yoicks! Gone away!” shouted Abel Bolt, tumbling +out of the church followed by Jarge and the whole of the +idle crew who had brought about the catastrophe. In<span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[289]</span> +another minute, the whole party joined in the chase, and +the church was left entirely deserted except for the astonished +and scandalised Rector, his clerk and poor old Mrs. +Cosser, who remained dissolved in tears in the front bench. +Even Daniel’s own relations had joined in pursuit, his +sister announcing breathlessly, as she hastened forth, that +he must have gone out of his mind.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the fugitive, in spite of the tightness of his +wedding boots and the stiffness of his new clothes, careered +across country, with almost incredible speed. Now his +blue-coated form might be seen leaping a hedge, now scudding +over a stretch of pasture. Dick, the best man, was +the nearest to him, family pride lending wings to his long +legs, but even he was soon distanced, and by the time he +had reached the second bank and forced his way through +the thorns and briars which topped it, the runaway bridegroom +was nowhere to be seen. Dick was at fault, and +though when the rest of the pursuers came up they scoured +the fields, and “drew” the thickets, and hunted up and +down by the banks, and even searched the willow-bed by +the river, no trace of the fugitive was to be found. Phœbe +had come to a standstill in the midst of the third field, +where her father presently joined her. They stood panting +opposite each other for a moment or two, after which +Phœbe, unfolding a lace-bordered handkerchief, wiped her +brow; then restoring it to her pocket, she remarked in a +tone of conviction:</p> + +<p>“I d’ ’low he’ve a-changed his mind.”</p> + +<p>“Looks like it,” returned her parent shortly. “Ye can +have the law on him for this.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[290]</span>“That wouldn’t be much comfort to I,” she retorted.</p> + +<p>“What be goin’ to do then?”</p> + +<p>“I d’ ’low I’ll go home-along,” said the forsaken bride +with decision. “There bain’t no use in standin’ here for +the folks to gawk at, an’ I mid just so well take up one o’ +they fowls. I shouldn’t think any o’ Dan’l’s folks ’ud want +to show their faces at our place.”</p> + +<p>“I d’ ’low they won’t,” returned Mr. Cosser in a menacing +tone, as though who should say, “they’d better not!”</p> + +<p>“Let’s be steppin’ then,” said Phœbe. “You’d best +look in at church and fetch mother. I’ll make haste +home.”</p> + +<p>“That there Dan’l o’ yourn be a reg’lar rascal!” shouted +her father.</p> + +<p>Phœbe, who had already proceeded some paces on her +way, turned her head and called back over her shoulder: +“I can’t say as how he’ve acted so very well!” Then +she went on again.</p> + +<p>When the baffled hunting party finally gave up the +chase and returned to Cosser’s, partly with the hope of +being commended for their zeal, which they felt must have +atoned for all previous errors, partly to see how the forsaken +bride bore herself, they found that damsel in her +working dress, “salting down” a fine piece of beef.</p> + +<p>“There’ll be a terr’ble lot o’ waste over this ’ere job,” +she remarked, “but we must do our best to save all what +we can.”</p> + +<p>“We couldn’t find en nowheres, Phœbe,” cried Dick. +“Abel here d’ say he’s very like drownded; serve en right +if he be.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[291]</span>Phœbe paused in her labours to cast a reflective glance +at the horizon.</p> + +<p>“I’ll go warrant he bain’t drownded,” she said. “He +don’t want to marry I, that’s what ’tis. He wouldn’t ha’ +married I a bit the more if you’d ha’ catched en.”</p> + +<p>“But what’s the meanin’ of it,” thundered Mr. Cosser +from his corner, “what’s the meanin’ on’t, I want to +know. He did seem to know his own mind afore—very +well he did.”</p> + +<p>“I think he was gallied like,” said Phœbe. “E-es, I d’ +’low that’s what he wer’.”</p> + +<p>Abel and Jarge began to edge away from the group, +but Phœbe went on without seeming to notice them.</p> + +<p>“When Parson did ax en the question straight-out like, +I d’ ’low he felt ’fraid. That’s what ’twas, he was ’fraid.”</p> + +<p>Withdrawing her gaze from the distant hills and heaving +a gentle sigh she carried away her beef; and as there +was no indication that any outsider was expected to join +the family circle, or indeed to partake of any refreshment, +the bystanders walked slowly away, and the Cosser family +proceeded gloomily to divest themselves of their holiday +clothes.</p> + +<p>It was quite dark when Daniel rose from his cramped +and exceedingly moist hiding-place in the sedges by the +river, and slowly betook himself homewards. During the +many hours he had lain cowering there, listening to the +voices of his pursuers, he had had leisure to repent of and +marvel at the senseless impulse which had brought him to +his present plight.</p> + +<p>“Well, I be a stunpoll!” he had said to himself over<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[292]</span> +and over again. “I be a dalled stunpoll! What the +mischief did I do it for? Whatever will the poor maid +think of I? She’ll never look at I again—she’ll never take +the leastest notice of me.”</p> + +<p>More than once he had been half-inclined to rush out of +his lair and give himself up to justice, but how could he +face that grinning multitude? If they had made fun of +him before, what would they do now? Besides her family +were furious, and the rustic mind loves justice of a certain +rough kind. Daniel was not more of a coward than another, +but he had a wholesome dread of broken bones. +No, he dursn’t show his face for a long time, that was +certain; and as for ever making up with Phœbe again, it +was out of the question—no woman could forgive such +treatment.</p> + +<p>Very disconsolately, indeed, did Daniel turn in at his +own little gate; even in the dusk he could see how nice +the place looked, how complete were his arrangements. +He opened the door and slunk in, dropping into the +nearest chair with a groan. After quite a long time he +made up his mind to strike a match and look round, +though he knew the sight of the cosy little room would +increase his melancholy. He lit the blue glass lamp which +had been placed in readiness on the dresser, and with a +heavy sigh poked up the fire which had been carefully +“kept in” with a thick layer of wet slack. The light +leaped on the newly-papered walls with their neat design +of blue roses on a buff ground—he had papered these +walls himself, in honour of the coming event—on the two +elbow-chairs, just re-covered with a gay chintz. On the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[293]</span> +table in the centre was a small tray with a biblical design +in prodigiously bright colours, which bore a curious old +decanter containing elderberry wine, a plate of mixed +biscuits and two tumblers. In setting these forth that +morning he had thought with tender glee of how Phœbe’s +first wifely task would be to “hot-up” some of that wine +in one of her new saucepans. Had it not been for his own +inconceivable folly, they might at that very moment have +been sitting face to face drinking each other’s health. +And now! Daniel dropped his face in his hands and +fairly sobbed.</p> + +<p>One day about a fortnight after the untoward event +which had so rudely quenched her simple hopes, Phœbe +Cosser was standing by the wash-tub up to her eyes in +suds, with Mary Ann similarly engaged; while Mrs. +Cosser in the inner room laboriously ironed out a few of +the fine things which had already passed through her +daughter’s hands. All at once, Mary Ann, raising her +eyes, uttered a little scream which immediately lost itself +in a fit of giggles.</p> + +<p>“There! I never did see such a foolish maid!” commented +Phœbe severely. “Whatever be gawkin’ at?”</p> + +<p>“Lard! There now! Well, to be sure!” ejaculated +Mary Ann between spasmodic titters. “Look yonder +behind the thorn tree!”</p> + +<p>The Cossers’ garden sloped downwards towards the +road, and a gnarled May tree filled the angle where the +front hedge joined that which separated their piece of +ground from their neighbour’s; the twisted trunk was +split down to a few feet from the ground, and through<span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[294]</span> +this aperture Daniel Chaffey’s woeful face was peering. +As Phœbe turned towards him he immediately dived out +of sight. After waiting a moment and finding he did not +reappear Phœbe philosophically went on with her washing. +In a few minutes, however, Mary Ann began to giggle +afresh. Phœbe whisked round so sharply that she caught +a glimpse of her former lover’s vanishing face.</p> + +<p>“Don’t take no notice,” she said sternly, implanting a +vicious nudge in her cousin’s ribs; after which she shifted +her position so as to turn her back to the thorn.</p> + +<p>After another short interval, however, the sound of her +own name breathed in the most dolorous of tones caused +her to turn her head once more. Daniel had thrown an +arm round each half of the trunk, and was craning forth +through the gap, his face vying in colour with the clusters +of haws which surrounded it.</p> + +<p>“Phœbe!” he pleaded with a gusty sigh.</p> + +<p>“Well?” returned she, slowly wiping the suds from her +stout red arms.</p> + +<p>“Phœbe, I’ve acted terr’ble bad to ye.”</p> + +<p>“E-es, you have,” replied Phœbe succinctly.</p> + +<p>“I d’ ’low I have,” he agreed dejectedly. “I be pure +sorry, dalled if I bain’t.”</p> + +<p>Miss Cosser snorted.</p> + +<p>“I’ve a-repented, my dear, ever since. E-es, I have! +Sure I have! Phœbe!”</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve a-been thinkin’—would ye go to church wi’ me +now?”</p> + +<p>“This minute?” queried Phœbe with alacrity; the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[295]</span> +muscles of her face relaxed, and she twitched down first +one of her rolled-up sleeves and then the other.</p> + +<p>“E-es, this very minute; the Reverend ’ull tie us up +right enough if I ax en.”</p> + +<p>“Gie me a clean apron!” cried Phœbe, turning quickly +to Mary Ann and jerking at the string of the very damp +garment which protected her dress.</p> + +<p>She already wore her hat, and by the time her cousin, +who had vanished with a bound, reappeared shaking out +the crisp folds of the clean white apron, she had unpinned +her skirt.</p> + +<p>“Now, then,” she remarked after tying it on, and she +fixed her best eye with a business-like air on her Daniel, +who had been gazing at her with almost incredulous rapture. +He left off embracing the hawthorn and reached +the garden gate at the same moment as Phœbe herself; +and before Mrs. Cosser, attracted by Mary Ann’s shrieks +of enjoyment, had had time to reach the door they had +set off arm-in-crook and disappeared round the angle of +the lane.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[296]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">“A TERR’BLE VOOLISH LITTLE MAID.”</h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> cottage next door to Mrs. Cross had long been occupied +by Mr. and Mrs. Frizzel, but when that good couple +went to live “Darchester-side” near their married daughter +Susan, their discarded dwelling was taken by a respectable +widow woman named Chaffey; and on a certain autumn +morning she entered into possession.</p> + +<p>From under the green “shed” of his cart the carrier +extracted a variety of goods and chattels, exciting keen +interest in the mind of Mrs. Cross, who, with her nose +flattened against the leaded panes of her bedroom window, +watched the proceedings closely. The large articles of +furniture had arrived on the previous day in a waggon—a +wooden bedstead, so solid in construction and uncompromising +in shape that its legs had hung over the edge; an +oak settle and carved linen chest at which Mrs. Cross had +turned up her nose, deeming them “terr’ble old-fayshioned”.</p> + +<p>She was better pleased with the parlour suite of painted +wood cushioned with brightly coloured cretonne—couch, +armchair and three small chairs; the lot must have cost +at least three pound ten, thought Mrs. Cross, for she had +seen the like in the upholsterer’s window at Branston. +Her respect for the newcomer immediately increased, and +this morning as she squinted down at her from her attic,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[297]</span> +vainly endeavouring to see all round her at once, she was +much impressed by her appearance.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Chaffey was a spare woman of middle height, +wearing a decent brown stuff gown and grey fringed shawl. +Her black bonnet with its yellow flowers was quite “fayshionable” +in shape, and though her black kid gloves were +unbuttoned and had moreover grown somewhat grey about +the finger-tips, they nevertheless conveyed the idea of +exceeding respectability.</p> + +<p>“Quite a genteel sort o’ body,” commented Mrs. Cross, +“and do seem to know what she be about too,” she added +a moment later, as Mrs. Chaffey, having entered the house +presently emerged again, having changed her headgear +for a gathered print sun-bonnet, and protected her dress +by the addition of a large white apron.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Cross screwed her head in the other angle of the +window and again squinted down.</p> + +<p>“That’s a feather bed,” she observed as a large tied-up +bundle was placed in the expectant arms of the newcomer +who clearly staggered beneath its weight; “carrier did +ought to carry it for she. Pillows next! And a basket—chaney +most like. Fender—fire-irons—kettle—pots and +a pan or two—very small ’uns they be. ’Tis but a lone +’ooman they d’ say, she’ll not want so much cookin’—clock—hassock——”</p> + +<p>The carrier’s voice now interrupted the inventory: +“This ’ere basket, mum—that do make the lot. I hope +ye’ll find all reg’lar, mum, and no damage done.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Cross, who had been breathing hard in her excitement, +was at this point constrained to polish the window<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[298]</span> +with her apron; by the time the operation was concluded +and her nose again applied, Mrs. Chaffey had taken out +her purse and was slowly counting out a certain number +of coins into the carrier’s hand. Mrs. Cross could not for +the life of her see how many, but she observed that the +man’s face lengthened.</p> + +<p>“Bain’t there nothin’ for luck?” he inquired. “I did +take a deal o’ trouble wi’ they arnaments and sich-like.”</p> + +<p>“You’ve a-had what I did agree for,” responded Mrs. +Chaffey with dignity; her voice was high and clear, and +as she spoke she turned towards the cottage with a final +air.</p> + +<p>“I d’ ’low she’s a bit near,” remarked Mrs. Cross as +she retired from the window, rubbing her nose pensively. +“Poor Martha Frizzel! She was a good soul, she <i>was</i>! +Just about!”</p> + +<p>She stood a moment looking round the little attic chamber, +but without seeing either the somewhat untidy bed +with its soiled patchwork quilt, or the washstand with its +cracked jug, or the torn curtain pinned half-across the +window; she saw instead her neighbour’s shrewd, kindly +face bending over a pot of well-stewed tea, or nodding +briefly in response to sundry requests for the use of a +bucket, or the loan of a pan, and sometimes a few “spuds”.</p> + +<p>“Mind you do bring ’em back,” was all Mrs. Frizzel +would say. Well, sometimes Mrs. Cross did bring them +back, and sometimes Martha came and fetched ’em, but +she never made a bit of fuss, and was always as kind and +neighbourly as she could be.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Chaffey must be getting a bit settled by this time,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[299]</span> +Mrs. Cross thought, and resolved to pop in and ask how +she was getting on. She smoothed her rough hair with +the palms of her hands, jerked down her sleeves, which she +usually wore rolled up till dinner-time, not because she +fatigued herself with over-much work, but because it +seemed somehow the proper thing to do of a morning; +she twitched her apron straight, pinned over a gap in +her bodice—Mrs. Cross was a great believer in the efficacy +of pins, and rarely demeaned herself by using a needle +and thread—and finally composing her features to an +expression of polite and sympathetic interest, strolled +leisurely downstairs and into her neighbour’s premises.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Chaffey was standing by her table, busily unpacking +china, but when the other entered remarking genially +that she thought she’d just look in to see how Mrs. +Chaffey liked her noo place, and if she could lend a +hand anywheres, she came forward with a somewhat +frosty smile and set a chair.</p> + +<p>“Sit down, won’t ye?” she said. “I’m a bit busy, but +there! it do do folks good to set a bit now and then.”</p> + +<p>“E-es, indeed, my dear,” responded Mrs. Cross enthusiastically; +it was a sentiment she cordially endorsed. +“Lard! if a body was to keep upon their legs from morn +till night, churchyard ’ud be fuller at the year’s end nor +it needs to be. I be pure glad you’ve a-took this ’ere +house,” she added graciously, “’tis what I scarce expected +as any respectable party ’ud come to it. The chimbley +smokes,” said Mrs. Cross delightedly; “there, ’tis summat +awful how it do smoke! And in the bedroom the rain +and wind do fair beat in when a bit of a storm do come—’tis<span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[300]</span> +these ’ere queer little vooty winder-panes—rain +comes through them so easy as anything. And the +damp! there, Mrs. Frizzel, what lived here last, used +to say many a time: ‘Mrs. Cross, my dear,’ she did +use to say, ‘the damp do seem to creep into my very +bwones’. But I be pure glad to see you here, I’m +sure,” she summed up cheerfully, “and ’tis to be hoped +as you’ll find it comfortable.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Chaffey’s face, always somewhat plaintive in expression, +had become more and more dismal as her +neighbour proceeded, and she now heaved a deep sigh.</p> + +<p>“I d’ ’low ’twill do for I,” she said gloomily; “I be +a lone ’ooman, Mrs. ——?”</p> + +<p>She paused tentatively.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Cross be my name, my dear. E-es—Maria +Cross. E-es, that be my name, my dear.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Mrs. Cross,” resumed the newcomer, taking +up her discourse in a voice tuned to just the same note +of melancholy patience as before, “well, Mrs. Cross, as I +was a-sayin’, I be a lone ’ooman, a widow ’ooman, and +I d’ ’low I must look to be put upon. I bain’t surprised +to hear o’ the house bein’ damp and the chimbley smokin’—’tis +jest what I mid have expected; and so I’ll tell the +agent when I do go for to pay my rent.”</p> + +<p>“It did ought to be considered in the rent,” suggested +Mrs. Cross.</p> + +<p>“It did,” agreed Mrs. Chaffey, and for a moment her +eyes assumed an uncommonly wide-awake expression. +“I’ll mention it to the gentleman, but I don’t look for +much satisfaction—I don’t indeed, Mrs. Cross. A few<span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[301]</span> +shillin’s back maybe, and a new chimbley-pot, and toils +put right on the roof, and a bit o’ lead paper maybe at +back o’ my bed—no more nor that, Mrs. Cross—they’ll +not do more than that for a lone ’ooman.”</p> + +<p>“And didn’t ye never ha’ no childern?” inquired Mrs. +Cross, with her head on one side; “it do seem molloncholy +for ye to be left wi’out nobody to do a hand’s turn +for ’ee, poor soul.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Chaffey shook her head with a portentous expression.</p> + +<p>“A-h-h-h, Mrs. Cross, my dear,” she said, “if there was +sich a thing as a bit o’ gratitood in this world, I wouldn’t +be left wi’out a creature to do for me at my time o’ life. +Childern of my own I have not,” said Mrs. Chaffey, with +an air which indicated that the fact was very much to her +credit, “but there’s them livin’ now as I’ve been more +than a mother to, what have gone and left I in my ancient +years—as thankless.”</p> + +<p>“Lard, now!” ejaculated her neighbour, much interested; +“ye don’t tell I so, Mrs. Chaffey. Somebody what you’ve +a-been very good to, I suppose, mum?”</p> + +<p>“Good!” echoed Mrs. Chaffey. “Good’s not the word +for it, Mrs. Cross. ’Twas my first cousin’s child—a poor +little penniless maid what was brought up in a institootion—an +orphan, my dear, as hadn’t nobody in the world +to look to. Well, when her time was up at the institootion, +I come for’ard, and I says, ‘I’ll take her,’ I +says; ‘she don’t need to go to service,’ I says. ‘I’m +her mother’s cousin,’ I told ’em, ‘and she can come to +live wi’ I.’”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[302]</span>“And they were delighted of course,” suggested Mrs. +Cross, as she paused impressively.</p> + +<p>“No; if you’ll believe me, they fair dathered I wi’ axin’ +questions, and wantin’ I to make promises and that. +‘Why didn’t I come and see the maid afore?’ says they, +as if ’twas likely, Mrs. Cross, as I’d go trapesin’ off to a +institootion to ax arter a maid as was too small to be any +good to anybody. Then they did want I to give her +wages. Wages to a little bit of a thing as knowed nothin’, +and couldn’t do nothin’! ‘No,’ I says, ‘I’ll give her a +home,’ I says, ‘and I’ll be a mother to her, and train her +same as if she was my own child, but more than that I +will <i>not</i> do.’”</p> + +<p>“O’ course not,” agreed Mrs. Cross; “lucky enough +she was to get sich a good offer, <i>I</i> think.”</p> + +<p>“And so you may,” agreed the other solemnly, “and +so I did often say to the maid herself. ‘You may think +yourself lucky,’ I did say to her often and often; ‘many +another,’ I did tell her, ‘’ud put you out on the road when +you do behave so voolish. But me! look at the patience +I’ve had wi’ you!’ ’Twas a terr’ble voolish maid, Mrs. +Cross—she was a bit silly in herself to begin with, and +they institootions—Lard, they do never seem to teach +a maid a thing as ’ull be a bit o’ use to ’em! She could +scrub a stone passage a mile long if she was put to it, +but there bain’t no passages in cottages, and she couldn’t +so much as peel a potato or wash a cabbage. Well, I did +take so much pains wi’ her as a mother could ha’ done—I +did make her find out for herself how to hold a knife, +no matter how much she did cut herself. ‘Find out,’ I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[303]</span> +did say; and she <i>did</i> find out. And when grubs come +up on the dish wi’ the cabbages, I’d cut off the bits as +was nearest to ’em and put ’em on her plate; so she did +soon learn, ye see. Sleep! that maid ’ud sleep many an’ +many a cold morning arter I’d pulled blankets off her—e-es, +there she’d lay so fast as anything, and never take +a bit o’ notice till I got a drap o’ cold water—an that +didn’t always wake her up all to once. There, she was +fair aggravatin’!—when I did get her up at last and get +back to bed again, I couldn’t get a wink o’ sleep for thinkin’ +on’t.”</p> + +<p>“Dear, to be sure! Well now!” commented Mrs. Cross, +scratching her elbows appreciatively.</p> + +<p>“E-es, indeed,” continued Mrs. Chaffey, warming with +her theme. “I did tell her many a time, ‘You’ll come to +no good’. Ah, that I did, and she didn’t come to no good +neither.”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t she though?” queried the other with interest. +“Took up with a soldier, very like?”</p> + +<p>“Nothin’ o’ the kind. There weren’t no soldiers anywheres +near us. ’Twas another kind of a man altogether.”</p> + +<p>“A-h-h,” groaned Mrs. Cross sympathetically. “And +I s’pose he wouldn’t marry her, mum?”</p> + +<p>“E-es, he married her, Mrs. Cross,” responded the widow +in a tone of dignified surprise. “E-es, he married her. +Indeed he did.”</p> + +<p>“But there was carryin’s on, I s’pose?” suggested +Mrs. Cross respectfully.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Chaffey fixed her with a stony stare.</p> + +<p>“I’m not one as ’ud allow no carryin’s on,” she returned<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[304]</span> +loftily. “When the man come and axed Jenny—that was +her name—I says to her, ‘Not with my consent,’ I says—well, +she took and got married wi’out it.”</p> + +<p>“Lard ha’ mercy me,” ejaculated the listener, seeing that +she was expected to say something, “well, that was——” +she hesitated, “I s’pose the man wasn’t one as you’d +ha’ picked for her, Mrs. Chaffey? Maybe,” she added +darkly, “he wasn’t in work?”</p> + +<p>“He was in work,” replied Mrs. Chaffey solemnly, +“reg’lar. Oh, e-es, he was in <i>work</i>.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Cross was a good deal mystified, and being too +uncertain of her ground to venture on a comment, +contented herself with clicking her tongue and turning +up her eyes.</p> + +<p>“’Tis a queer tale; ’tis indeed,” resumed the widow; +“but as I did often say to she arter the job was done: +‘Don’t blame me, Jenny—what you did do, you did do wi’ +your eyes open. I’ve a-told you plain,’ I says, ‘I’ve gied +ye the best advice. Stay,’ I says, ‘where you’re well off. +You’ve a-got a good home,’ I did tell her, ‘and one what +is a mother to ye—don’t ye go for to take up with this +’ere stranger.’”</p> + +<p>“Ah,” interrupted Mrs. Cross, beginning to think she +at last saw daylight, “he was a stranger, was he?”</p> + +<p>“He was a man what come to the door,” returned the +other impressively, “what come to the door like any tramp. +I did take en to be a tramp first off.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, and he wasn’t a tramp then?” put in her neighbour, +slightly disappointed.</p> + +<p>“He <i>mid</i> ha’ been one,” resumed the narrator, with a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[305]</span> +dignified wave of the hand intended to discourage further +unnecessary and frivolous questions. “I’m willing to tell +’ee about it, Mrs. Cross, if you be willing to listen. ’Twas +a Sunday of all days. We’d a’ been pretty busy till dinner-time. +I’d got Jenny up soon arter four to get through wi’ +cleanin’ up—I’m always one what likes to have the place +reg’lar perfect, ye know—and by the time I come down +for breakfast she’d a’ got everything straight. Well, her +an’ me fell out—she did want if ye please to go to church +wi’ I—so I says to her, ‘Who’s to get dinner then? Be I +to wait on you?’ says I. ‘No,’ I says, ‘you stay at home +and do your dooty, and you can go to the childern’s service +in the afternoon if you behave well,’ says I. Well, but +she wouldn’t hear reason; I did leave her cryin’ like a baby.</p> + +<p>“I were a bit late comin’ back—chattin’ to this one and +that one, an’ when I got in, what did I see but a strange +man by the fire. Ye could ha’ knocked I down wi’ a +feather. I did jist drap in the first chair I come to and +p’int that way wi’ my finger—I couldn’t get out a word.</p> + +<p>“‘Please ye, ma’am,’ says Jenny (I wouldn’t have her +callin’ I <i>Cousin Maria</i>, d’ye see, a little maid same as her +out of a institootion! She did offer to call I so once or +twice, but I soon checked her). ‘Please ye, ma’am,’ she +says, ‘this ’ere poor chap was so terr’ble cold—froze up he +was—he’d a-been walkin’ ten mile an’ more in the snow; +and when he axed I to let en in to warm hisself a bit, I +didn’t think you’d object.’</p> + +<p>“‘You didn’t think I’d object,’ says I. ‘You little +good-for-nothin’ hussy! We might ha’ been robbed an’ +murdered for all you care.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">[306]</span>“The man turned round laughin’ as impident as ye like. +He was a Irishman, Mrs. Cross—I could tell it the very +minute I clapped eyes on his face, afore he so much as +opened his mouth, and when he did begin to speak, Lard +ha’ mercy me! I never did hear sick languidge.”</p> + +<p>“Swearin’ an’ that?” questioned Mrs. Cross, with her +head on one side.</p> + +<p>“Oh no, nothin’ o’ that sort, but sick a queer, ignorant +fayshion o’ talkin’. ‘The top o’ the mornin’ to ye, ma’am,’ +says he. ‘Is it murther ye’re talkin’ of? Sure, how could +I be afther murtherin’ ye when ye weren’t here?’ he says. +‘Don’t ye be afeerd,’ he went on—I can’t really remember +his queer talk, but he said he had come over harvestin’ an’ +then got laid up wi’ a fever, an’ was a long time in hospital, +and now, he said, he was on his way to see a friend who +had been in the hospital at the same time, and after that +he had the promise of work.</p> + +<p>“A reg’lar cock-and-bull story; I didn’t believe a word +on’t. I did tell en so.</p> + +<p>“‘Why be ye a-trapsin’ the roads then,’ says I, ‘if you’ve +a-been invited to stay with a friend?’</p> + +<p>“‘I missed my road,’ says he, ‘I took the wrong turn; +I shan’t get there till night now,’ he says. ‘I’m a bit +weak still with being sick so long, and it’ll take me all +my time to get there.’</p> + +<p>“‘You’d best be startin’ then,’ says I, p’intin’ to the +door. Then if ye’ll believe it that little impident maid +ups and interferes.</p> + +<p>“‘Oh, ma’am,’ she says, ‘let him bide and eat a bit o’ +dinner wi’ us. I’m sure he’s a respectable man, and it’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[307]</span> +Sunday and all. And there’s more dinner nor we can +eat.’</p> + +<p>“Well, I could ha’ shook her—‘I’ll thank ye, Jenny, +to mind your own business,’ I says, ‘a little chit like you, +what’s kept for charity. Bain’t it enough,’ I says, ‘to be +beholden to I for every bit you do put into your own +mouth wi’out wantin’ to waste the food what don’t belong +to ye on good-for-nothin’ tramps and idlers?’ I says. +Then the man gets up.</p> + +<p>“‘That’ll do, ma’am,’ he says, ‘I wouldn’t touch bite or +sup of yours,’ he says, ‘for fear it ’ud stick in my throat. +Good-bye my dear,’ he says to Jenny, ‘an’ blessin’s on +your pretty face and your kind heart. Maybe better +times ’ull be comin’ for you as well as for me,’ he says.”</p> + +<p>“Ah,” put in Mrs. Cross excitedly, “he had summat in +his mind about her, you mid be sure.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Chaffey threw out a warning hand once more and +pursued her narrative.</p> + +<p>“I did give the maid a right-down good talkin’-to, you +mid think, but it didn’t seem to do her much good.</p> + +<p>“About a week or two arter, I was sendin’ her to fetch +the washin’ back—I did use to wash for a lady what lived +a mile away, and sometimes carrier did fetch it, and sometimes +I did send Jenny. Well, ’twas a heavyish basket, and +when I did see her marchin’ back down the path, I says to +her:—</p> + +<p>“‘You’ve a-been quicker nor I could ha’ looked for,’ I +says.</p> + +<p>“‘Oh, e-es,’ says she, ‘somebody helped I for to carry +it.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">[308]</span>“‘Somebody,’ I says. ‘Who?’</p> + +<p>“She went quite red, and opened her mouth and shut it +again, and then she says very quick:—</p> + +<p>“‘Oh, a man what I met, as said it did seem too heavy +for I.’”</p> + +<p>“Ah-h-h!” said Mrs. Cross, seizing her opportunity as +the other paused for breath, “it was him?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Chaffey resented the other’s eagerness to jump to +a conclusion, and continued in a voice of increased sternness, +and without noticing the interruption:—</p> + +<p>“Next day was a Sunday again. I wasn’t feelin’ so +very well, so I did tell her she mid go to church that +mornin’ an’ I’d bide at home. Well, that there little maid +took so long a-dressin’ of herself as if she was a queen; so +arter I’d called her once or twice I just went upstairs an’ +looked in at her. I had my soft shoes on, and she didn’t +hear I comin’.</p> + +<p>“There she was, if you please, a-kneeling before her bed, +a-turnin’ of her head this way an’ that, an’ a-lookin’ at herself +in a wold lid of a biscuit-box, what she’d picked up +somewheres an’ rubbed up till it did seem so bright as +silver. There! the little impident hussy; she had stood +it up against her pillow, an’ she was a-lookin’ at herself an’ +a-holdin’ up a bit o’ blue ribbon, fust under her chin an’ +then sideways again her hat.</p> + +<p>“‘Jenny,’ I says, an’, dear, to be sure, how the voolish +maid did jump!</p> + +<p>“‘Lard, ma’am,’ says she, ‘you did fray me!’</p> + +<p>“‘What be doin’ there?’ I axes her very sharp. ‘What +be doin’ with that there ribbon? Where did you get<span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">[309]</span> +it?’ I says, for I knowed very well she hadn’t a penny of +her own.</p> + +<p>“She went so red as a poppy, an’ stood still, gawkin’ at +I, wi’out making no answer.</p> + +<p>“‘You did steal it, I d’ ’low,’ I says, an’ I gives a kind +of a scream.</p> + +<p>“Then she did go white, and her teeth fair chattered in +her head.</p> + +<p>“‘Oh, no, ma’am,’ she cried; ‘no, indeed. It be mine, +honest. It was give me.’</p> + +<p>“‘Give ye,’ says I. ‘Who give it?’</p> + +<p>“Then she did begin a-cryin’ and a-rockin’ of herself +backwards an’ forrads. ‘It be mine,’ she sobs; ‘somebody +did give it to I.’</p> + +<p>“‘<i>Somebody!</i>’ I says, an’ the notion come to I all to +once. ‘It was never that man as you met on the road +yesterday?’</p> + +<p>“Not a word would she answer, but goes on cryin’.</p> + +<p>“‘Jenny Medway,’ I says to her, ‘I’ll come to the +bottom of this here tale if I do have to call Policeman +Jackson in for to take ’ee to prison. Tell I the truth this +minute, or I’ll run out an’ fetch en. It won’t be the first +time as you’ve met that man, whoever he be. Own up, or +I’ll call Jackson.’</p> + +<p>“Well, she was real scared, an’ she ketched hold o’ my +arm:—</p> + +<p>“‘Oh don’t, ma’am, don’t do that!’ she says, ‘I’ll tell ’ee—I’ll +tell ’ee. ’Twas the man what did come to the door——’</p> + +<p>“‘You wicked, wicked wench!’ I says. ‘I d’ ’low ye’ve +a-been meetin’ of en regular.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">[310]</span>“‘No, indeed, ma’am,’ she cries, ‘I never set eyes on +en since that day, till yesterday, when I did meet en quite +accidental-like—an’ he did offer to carry my basket for I, +an’ he did put his hand in’s pocket an’ pull out this bit o’ +ribbon—he’d a-been carryin’ it about hopin’ to meet I, he +did say, for he did think it jist the same colour as my +eyes.’”</p> + +<p>“Well! well! well!” exclaimed Mrs. Cross, clapping +her hands together and shaking her head. “Lard +now! dear to be sure! What nonsense-talk, weren’t it, +ma’am?”</p> + +<p>“I did tell her so indeed,” returned Mrs. Chaffey, severely. +“I did tell her plain what I thought of her—‘Courtin’ an’ +carryin’ on wi’ a tramp on the road!’ I says.</p> + +<p>“‘He bain’t a tramp,’ she cries, quite in a temper, if you +please. ‘He’s an honest, respectable young man. He’ve +a-got good work now, an’ he be a-lookin’ for to settle.’”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” put in the irrepressible Mrs. Cross. “He was +lookin’ out for a wife.”</p> + +<p>Once more Mrs. Chaffey quelled her with a glance and +proceeded:—</p> + +<p>“‘An’ be he wantin’ you to settle wi’ en?’ I axed the +maid straight-out.</p> + +<p>“She hangs her head, an’ begins a-playin’ wi’ the buttons +of her bodice.</p> + +<p>“‘He did say so,’ she says, very low; ‘he did ax I to +walk wi’ en an’ think it over—he be gettin’ good wage,’ she +says, lookin’ up at me. ‘He says he’ll do all what he can +for me—I think I could like en very well—I d’ ’low he be +a good man.’”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">[311]</span>Mrs. Cross clicked her tongue and shook her head with +an air of disapproval.</p> + +<p>“Yes, indeed, my dear,” cried Mrs. Chaffey warmly, +“that was my own opinion. My dooty did stare I in the +face.”</p> + +<p>“‘Put that there notion out of your head, Jenny,’ I says +to her, very firm, ‘for I’ll never hear on’t—never!’ I says. +‘If you was a-thinkin’ o’ meetin’ that idle good-for-nothin’ +fellow this mornin’, you may give up the notion. Take off +your hat,’ I says, ‘an’ put by that jacket of yours. Outside +this house you don’t set foot this day. You bide at home,’ +I says.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Cross looked dubious at first, but catching the +other’s severe eye, shook her head once more in an impersonal +way, and folded her arms with an appearance of +great unconcern.</p> + +<p>“The way that maid did go on,” pursued Mrs. Chaffey, +“was scandalous, quite scandalous, I do assure ’ee. She +cried an’ sobbed, and acskally tried for to dodge round to +the door, but I were too quick for her. I nipped out first, +and turned the key in the lock.</p> + +<p>“Well, if you’ll believe me, jist about dinner-time, who +should come walkin’ up to the house as bold as brass, but +my gentleman himself, an’ before I could shut door in’s +face if that little bold hussy didn’t call out to en from the +window: ‘I’m locked in, Mr. Connor, I’m locked in!’</p> + +<p>“‘Locked in, are ye?’ says he; an’ for the minute I +was frightened at the looks of en.</p> + +<p>“If ye’ll believe me, Mrs. Cross, the fellow walks straight +into the house, makin’ no more o’ me nor if I wasn’t there.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">[312]</span> +He pushes past I, and marches upstairs and bursts open +the door o’ Jenny’s room.</p> + +<p>“‘Locked in, are ye?’ he says. ‘I’ll soon settle that. +Come down, asthore’—E-es, ’twas some such name as that +he did call her—‘come down, asthore. I’ve a little word +to say to ye, an’ I want this good lady to hear it as well +as yerself.’</p> + +<p>“‘I’ll call the police,’ I says. ‘I’ll call them in a minute,’ +I says.”</p> + +<p>“I’d a-done that, I’m sure,” cried Mrs. Cross. “I’m +sure I would. Housebreakin’ ye know. <i>Did</i> ye call ’em?” +she added, as Mrs. Chaffey seemed to hesitate.</p> + +<p>“Well, no, my dear,” returned that lady. “I did not. +I was all shaky an’ trembley like. Besides,” she added, +casting up her eyes, “I be always for peace, Mrs. Cross. +‘Peace an’ quietness,’ is my motto. I could no more break +the law o’ Christian lovin’ kindness nor—nor anything, +Mrs. Cross.”</p> + +<p>“‘Now, Jenny, alanna,’” says the man, ‘you an’ me +was talkin’ yesterday, so I may as well come to the p’int +at once. I want a home, an’ you want a home.’</p> + +<p>“‘You make a mistake,’ says I, ‘the girl does <i>not</i> want +a home. Jenny has got a good home—a better home nor +she do deserve,’ I says.</p> + +<p>“‘A pretty home!’ says he; ‘a prison! Don’t mind +her, me darlin’. Just look me in the face, an’ tell me will +ye have me?’</p> + +<p>“‘I will,’ she says, so bold as brass—the little barefaced, +impident wench! I did really blush for her.</p> + +<p>“‘Then,’ says he, ‘I’ll put up the banns on Sunday, an’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">[313]</span> +the two of us ’ull be j’ined together before the month’s +out.’</p> + +<p>“Well! To think of the chap settlin’ everythin’ straight +off, an’ she givin’ in wi’out so much as a question! I stood +gawkin’ at ’em both, wi’ my tongue quite speechless. +Then the chap goes up to Jenny, and says he:—</p> + +<p>“‘I’m sorry we can’t walk out by ourselves,’ he says, +‘but we must do wi’out that.’ An’ before my very eyes, +Mrs. Cross, he puts his arm round her waist, an’ kisses +her. ‘I’ll strive to be a good husband to ye,’ says +he, ‘an’ I’ll engage I’ll have the best little wife in the +world.’</p> + +<p>“Then he turns round to I an’ whips off his hat, jist out +o’ pure impidence.</p> + +<p>“‘Good mornin’ to ye, ma’am,’ he says; ‘I’m afraid its +losin’ yer black slave ye’ll be.’”</p> + +<p>“<i>Oh!</i>” interrupted Mrs. Cross, much scandalised. +“Such a thing to say.”</p> + +<p>“E-es, indeed,” responded Mrs. Chaffey, “an’ me as +had a-been so good to her. I did tell her so, so soon as +I’d got my breath. ‘Me, what has been a mother to ye,’ +I did tell her, ‘that ye should go a-backbitin’ o’ I an’ +a-sayin’ such things.’</p> + +<p>“‘I never said nothin’, ma’am,’ says she.</p> + +<p>“Such a story. It do stand to reason as if she must ha’ +gone abusin’ o’ I.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe he thought of hissel’ you was a bit hard on +her,” said Mrs. Cross, struck by a brilliant idea.</p> + +<p>The inspiration, however, was not a happy one apparently. +Mrs. Chaffey took great umbrage, and it was,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">[314]</span> +indeed, some time before her neighbour could pacify her +sufficiently to induce her to continue her tale.</p> + +<p>“I did talk to her kind, an’ I did talk to her sharp,” she +resumed, in an aggrieved tone. “But no; she wouldn’t +hear reason, an’ at last I did fair lose patience.</p> + +<p>“‘Well, then,’ says I, ‘I be done wi’ ’ee; I’ll ha’ no +more to say to ’ee from this out. If you do leave yer good +home,’ I says, ‘an’ desert one what’s the same as yer +mother, I be done wi’ ’ee. Mark my words,’ I did tell +her, ‘this ’ere marriage’ll turn out unlucky. You’ll repent +it all the days of your life.’”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said Mrs. Cross, sucking in her breath with +gruesome relish. “An’ she did, Mrs. Chaffey, I should +think. She <i>did</i>.”</p> + +<p>“She did ought to,” returned Mrs. Chaffey, impressively, +and paused.</p> + +<p>“I d’ ’low she hasn’t done so very well for herself?” +insinuated the other. “She hasn’t a-got such a very good +home.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Chaffey rubbed her nose and coughed, but apparently +did not feel called upon to enter into particulars as +to the recreant Jenny’s domicile.</p> + +<p>“Her man be out o’ work pretty often, I dare say?” +hinted Mrs. Cross.</p> + +<p>“Not as I’ve heerd on, so far,” returned her neighbour, in +a tone which implied that Mr. Connor would probably find +himself thrown upon the world in a very short time.</p> + +<p>“Any family, my dear?”</p> + +<p>“Two,” replied the widow. “Two childern, Mrs. Cross—a +boy an’ a girl.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">[315]</span>“You haven’t ever seen them, of course?”</p> + +<p>“E-es, my dear,” responded Mrs. Chaffey, with a superior +air. “I do see ’em two or three times a year. I bain’t +one for to bear malice. When her ’usband do drive her +over on a Bank Holiday I could never have the ’eart for +to shut my door i’ their faces.”</p> + +<p>“Drive over!” exclaimed Mrs. Cross. “They must be +free wi’ their dibs to go throwin’ ’em about on car-hire.”</p> + +<p>“It don’t cost them nothin’,” said Mrs. Chaffey hastily. +“’Tis their own trap.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Cross gasped.</p> + +<p>“They keeps a trap! They must be pretty well off.”</p> + +<p>Seeing that this remark was evidently unpleasing to her +new friend, she obsequiously hastened to allude to what +she felt sure must be a genuine grievance.</p> + +<p>“An’ not a bit grateful, as you was a-sayin’ jist now! +She don’t remember, I shouldn’t think, all what you’ve +a-done for her. She don’t never make you no return +I d’ ’low. She don’t never give ’ee nothin’, do she?”</p> + +<p>“Nothin’ to speak of,” retorted the other, peevishly, and +closed her mouth with a snap.</p> + +<p>“Such as half a dozen fresh eggs, I suppose?” suggested +Mrs. Cross. “She wouldn’t ever give ’ee a fowl now, would +she? Would she?” she persisted, as Mrs. Chaffey did +not answer. “I shouldn’t think she’d ever give ’ee a fowl. +Lard, no, not a fowl—would she?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Chaffey was at length goaded into an answer.</p> + +<p>“If she did it wouldn’t be so very much. I wouldn’t +think meself at all beholden to her—no, that I wouldn’t. +Seein’ that she’s got dozens of ’em a-runnin’ about her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">[316]</span> +place, I don’t think I need be so very thankful if she do +spare a couple every now an’ then, an’ a ham at Christmas, +wi’ all the pigs they’ve got.”</p> + +<p>“A ham!” ejaculated Mrs. Cross. “A <i>ham</i>! Why, +they <i>must</i> be doin’ pretty well!”</p> + +<p>“Well—not so bad,” conceded Mrs. Chaffey, very unwillingly. +“Connor, he did take a kind o’ little farm a few +year ago, a kind o’ dairy farm. They’ve a-got pigs an’ +chickens an’ sich-like—a deal of ’em. I hope there mayn’t +be too many,” she added darkly. “I hope they mayn’t +be a-livin’ too free an’ a-spendin’ too fast. I hope not. I +hope there mayn’t be a day o’ reckonin’ comin’.”</p> + +<p>She shook her head in an ominous manner, and Mrs. +Cross hastened to follow her example.</p> + +<p>“They bain’t a-layin’ anything by, ye may be sure,” +she exclaimed conclusively.</p> + +<p>A kind of spasm crossed the other lady’s face, and she +rose hastily, remarking that if she didn’t begin to straighten +up a bit she wouldn’t get the house put to rights before +bedtime.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Cross took the hint, rose likewise, and backed +meditatively towards the door.</p> + +<p>“Well, ’tis a strange tale what you’ve a-told I, Mrs. +Chaffey, an’ I do feel for ye terr’ble. As for that there +voolish——”</p> + +<p>She paused suddenly, a slow grin dawning on her face.</p> + +<p>“She don’t seem to ha’ done so very bad for herself, +after all,” she remarked, and vanished.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">[317]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">SWEETBRIAR LANE.</h2> +</div> + +<p>“<span class="smcap">There</span> they go,” said Grandmother Legg, “a-marchin’ +off together so happy as a king and a queen.”</p> + +<p>Susan Ball, a visitor from the town, craned her head +round the door-post and gazed after the young couple +with interest. David Samson, a big broad-shouldered, +rather awkward looking young fellow was walking arm-in-crook +with Rebecca Yeatman, Mrs. Legg’s orphan granddaughter. +A little slender fair-haired thing, lissom and +graceful in all her movements was Rebecca—she looked +like an elf as she paced along beside her cumbersome +lover.</p> + +<p>“They’ve a-been a-courtin’ a long time, haven’t they, +mum?” queried Miss Ball.</p> + +<p>“They’ve a-been coortin’,” responded Grandmother Legg +emphatically, “since they was no higher than nothin’ at +all. Dear, yes! he’d come Sunday after Sunday same as if +they was reg’lar coortin’ folk, an’ Rebecca, she’d lay down +her doll, and fetch her hat, an’ walk off so serious as a +grown-up maid. Poor Legg—he had all his senses then +same as anybody else—he’d laugh fit to split he would.”</p> + +<p>Miss Ball looked towards the chimney corner where +Grandfather Legg was now installed and received from +that worthy old gentleman a smile calculated to give any<span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">[318]</span> +weak-minded person a “turn,” accompanied by some unintelligible +remark delivered in a quavering treble. Miss +Ball, who was not troubled with nerves, smiled back at +him and nodded cheerfully.</p> + +<p>“He haven’t got no wits at all now, mum, have he?” +she inquired parenthetically of Mr. Legg’s better-half. +“But we was a-talkin’ of Rebecca. I do ’low she an’ +David ’ull be gettin’ married one o’ these days?”</p> + +<p>Grandmother Legg screwed up her mouth and shook +her head dubiously.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know I’m sure,” she replied. “David he’s not +earnin’ more nor ten shillin’ a week, nor likely to for a +good bit, and Rebecca, she wouldn’t be much good at +keepin’ house on such a little money. ’Tis a child, Miss +Ball, nothin’ but a child. There, if you was to see the +antics she do carry on wi’ David! I do truly wonder the +chap has so much patience wi’ her. Sweetbriar Lane is +where they do always go. ’Tis Coortin’ Lane, you know—so +they do call it hereabouts—and a-many do go a-walkin’ +there of a Sunday an’ they do tell I that Rebecca +do seem to care for nothin’ but teasin’ and tormentin’ the +poor boy. Mary Vacher—e-es, ’twas Mary—did tell I +last week as she an’ her young man was a-walkin’ in +Sweetbriar Lane o’ Sunday and she did see our little maid +a-playin’ all manner o’ tricks on Davy. One minute she’d +be runnin’ round a haystack, then when the poor chap ’ud +run after her she’d trip off and hide behind an elder-bush. +Mary did say she’d go dancin’ from one place to another +just lettin’ him nearly catch her but poppin’ off the minute +he’d come close.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">[319]</span>“Well, there now,” commented Susan, “it do seem +childish, don’t it?”</p> + +<p>“It be reg’lar nonsense I do tell her,” said Mrs. Legg +severely; then relaxing—“but Mary Vacher did say ’twas +really so good as a play to watch ’em. Her an’ her own +young man stood lookin’ arter ’em a long while, she said. +There, Rebecca ’ud go flyin’ up the path same as a bird or +a butterfly; an’ every now an’ again she’d stop and smile +round at Davy an’ beckon him, an’ off ’ud run poor Davy, +hammerin’ arter her so hard as he could, an’ just as he’d +be holdin’ out them great long arms o’ his off she’d go +again. An’ she’s real fond o’ him, mind ye—’tisn’t as if +she looked at anybody else.”</p> + +<p>“Ye did ought to speak to her a bit sharp, mum,” said +Miss Ball severely, “you did ought to scold her for it. +They bain’t sensible, sich goin’s on.”</p> + +<p>“Scold her!” ejaculated the other. “I mid just so well +speak to the wall. I mid just so well expect that there +settle to hear reason. She don’t mind me, what’s her own +grandmother, no more nor if I was the cat. She haven’t +got no respect for nothin’. I’ve see’d her pinch David’s +arm when they was a-walkin’ up the church steps one +day——”</p> + +<p>“Never!” ejaculated the scandalised Susan.</p> + +<p>“She did though! And she’ll carry on her antics up in +the churchyard yonder—you know the churchyard up +Sweetbriar Lane?—she’d as soon play off her tricks there +as on the Downs. Even when she was a little bit of a +maid she’d never run past the lychgate same as the other +children—she’d go a-swingin’ round the pillars or a-climbin’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_320">[320]</span> +on the trestles, or she’d maybe pop through the gate and +put her face up again the bars and dare David to kiss her. +He dursn’t go nigh the place, poor boy, an’ she knowed +that very well.”</p> + +<p>“Well, well!” sighed Susan Ball, “I wouldn’t like to say +nothin’ unkind o’ your granddaughter, Mrs. Legg, but ’tis +to be hoped as she’ll not come to a bad end, mum.”</p> + +<p>“’Tis to be hoped so,” agreed Mrs. Legg, “but there’s +no knowin’.” She echoed Susan’s sigh but smiled the +while; indeed it was evident that she looked on the misdemeanours +of Rebecca with a certain tolerance, one might +almost say satisfaction, as distinguishing her from the +ordinary run of maidens.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Rebecca and David, having finished a somewhat +discursive progress up Sweetbriar Lane, emerged on +the Downs beyond. Here Rebecca took up a position on +a sunny little gorse-crowned hillock and despatched him to +a neighbouring copse with orders to collect some of the +wild strawberries which grew there in abundance.</p> + +<p>Nearly a score of journeys did David make to and from +that copse, while Rebecca fanned herself with a beech-branch +and gibed at him for his slowness.</p> + +<p>“I do ’low you do eat more nor you do pick,” she remarked +at last.</p> + +<p>David stood stock still, indignant and disheartened.</p> + +<p>“There’s no pleasin’ ye!” he cried. “I haven’t so much +as ate one.”</p> + +<p>“No more have I then!” exclaimed Rebecca; and uplifting +her beechen fan she proudly showed him a pile of +the ruddy berries neatly arranged on a flat stone beside her.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_321">[321]</span>“There, you be to eat ’em all!” she announced with an +imperative wave of the hand, “I did save ’em up for ye.”</p> + +<p>“You must have half,” said he.</p> + +<p>But Rebecca shook her head.</p> + +<p>He sat down beside her on the short turf and placed the +stone between them.</p> + +<p>“Certain sure you must have some of ’em,” he cried. +“I shan’t care to eat ’em if you don’t.”</p> + +<p>“You be to eat ’em all,” reiterated Rebecca; “I’d like +to watch ye.”</p> + +<p>“Nay now, you must taste one,” said David, and leaning +forward tenderly he endeavoured to force one into her +mouth. But thereupon Rebecca set her little white teeth, +jerked back her head, and uplifting a small but vigorous +hand slapped his face with all her might.</p> + +<p>“I won’t have ’em neither then!” cried he, flushing hotly +and clambering to his feet. “You do go too far, you do.”</p> + +<p>“I do go too far, do I?” retorted the freakish sprite. +“Let’s go home then.”</p> + +<p>Too much wounded to protest, David turned about and +walked sulkily beside her as she tripped down the lane.</p> + +<p>“A body never knows where to have ’ee, maidie,” he +complained after a pause. “There’s times when you do +seem so sweet as honey, and next minute I fair wonder if +you do care a pin for me.”</p> + +<p>The two were now walking under a hedge so tall that +it almost arched over their heads; it grew on the summit +of the high bank which bordered one side of the lane. A +serried mass of greenery was this hedge; the star-like +foliage of maple mingling with the rougher, darker green<span class="pagenum" id="Page_322">[322]</span> +of hazel and guelder, while amid the stronger growths, +delicate trailing wreaths of dog rose and sturdy bushes of +wild sweetbriar flourished side by side. It was from this +latter that the winding path took its name. The sweetbriar, +indeed, grew so freely about the place that in the +summer time all the air was filled with fragrance.</p> + +<p>Rebecca seemed not at all moved by her lover’s lament; +she gave a little laugh and continued the song she had +been humming to herself.</p> + +<p>“There’s times,” continued David warmly, “when I do +truly think I’d do better to go off and coort some other +maid.”</p> + +<p>“Well, and why don’t ye?” inquired Rebecca blithely.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know but what I will,” cried he. “Most maids +’ud give ye a kind word back when ye speak ’em fair, and +’ud say thank ye when ye do make ’em a present, and ’ud +not go for to rub their cheeks after their sweetheart had +given them a kiss.”</p> + +<p>This was indeed an offence which Rebecca committed +but too often. She darted from him now, and, approaching +the bank, made two little upward springs at the hedge, +bringing down with each a small trophy. One was a wild +rose, the other a tuft of sweetbriar.</p> + +<p>“Look ye, David,” said she, “which do ye like best of +these two?”</p> + +<p>“The sweetbriar o’ course,” cried he, recovering his +spirits at once at what he took to be a sign of softening on +her part, and his face wreathing itself with smiles as he +stretched out his hand for the little sprig.</p> + +<p>Rebecca waited till he had taken hold of it, and then<span class="pagenum" id="Page_323">[323]</span> +with a sudden malicious squeeze of both her little hands, +pressed his fingers close about the prickly stem.</p> + +<p>“Ha’ done,” cried he in real displeasure, “that were a +spiteful trick and one as I didn’t expect from ’ee, Rebecca. +I d’ ’low I <i>will</i> go off and ha’ done wi’ it.”</p> + +<p>As he spoke, however, he fastened the bit of sweetbriar +in his button-hole. Rebecca laughed and pointed to it.</p> + +<p>“Sweetbriar has twice so many thorns as wild rose,” said +she, “but ye like it best for all that. An’ if ye do go +a-courtin’ any other maid ’twill be just the same. Ye’ll +come back to I.”</p> + +<p>Taking hold of the lappet of his coat she sniffed at the +little sprig.</p> + +<p>“Bain’t it sweet?” said she.</p> + +<p>“’Tis sweet indeed,” returned he earnestly, and emboldened +by her unwonted softness he did what any other +lover under the circumstances would have done, and +Rebecca, after a pause, loosed his coat and deliberately +polished her cheek with her handkerchief.</p> + +<p>Yet for all that David did not court another maid.</p> + +<p>Not long after this the young pair were unexpectedly +parted. David had an uncle who was a large sheep-farmer +in Westmorland, and it was thought by all his +family a great opening for the lad when this well-to-do +and childless relative offered to take him into his employment. +Every one rejoiced at David’s good fortune except +David himself and his poor little sweetheart. Even he +was not so much broken-hearted as Rebecca. David +scarcely knew whether to be more afflicted or elated at +the girl’s despair.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_324">[324]</span>“I never reckoned you cared for I that much,” said he, +as they went for their farewell stroll up the lane.</p> + +<p>She looked at him reproachfully without speaking, her +pretty blue eyes were drowned in tears, her mouth drooped, +her little face looked very white and pitiful.</p> + +<p>“There I shouldn’t ha’ said that,” cried he remorsefully. +“Ye never loved anybody but me, did ye? An’ you’ll +always be true—won’t ye?”</p> + +<p>“Always! always!” she sobbed—“faithful an’ true, David. +Whenever you do think of me you must always say that +to yoursel’. Rebecca was a teasin’ maid, you may think, but +she loved me an’ she’ll always love me—faithful and true.”</p> + +<p>Then David in a kind of rapture of anguish, felt her +arms about his neck—such little, light, slender arms—and +her golden head sank upon his breast.</p> + +<p>Before that time he had had many misgivings in thinking +of the two years that must elapse before they again +met, and had wondered to himself often if Rebecca would +be likely to stick to him when he was no longer at hand; +but now all such ignoble doubts died within him, and in +spite of the knowledge that the morrow must part him +from her, he was a proud and happy lad as he folded her +in his arms.</p> + +<p>In two years he would come back—his uncle had said +he might come home for a holiday after two years. He +would earn a lot of money and meanwhile they would +write. They would often write; Rebecca wouldn’t be too +partic’lar about blots or spellin’, would she? No, Rebecca +was not in the mood to be particular about anything. +Then David would give his word to write often.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">[325]</span>“An’ whenever ye see a bit o’ sweetbriar, ye’ll think o’ +me?” said Rebecca.</p> + +<p>Yes, he would think of her then and always.</p> + +<p>“I do want the sweetbriar to remind you o’ me,” went +on the girl, “because—because—I reckon it’s like me—full +of prickles. I’ve often been a bad maid to ye, Davy, +haven’t I? Often an’ often I’ve pricked ye and hurt ye, +but I’ve loved ye all the time.”</p> + +<p>And thereupon David assured her he didn’t mind the +prickles, and that there was nothing in all the world so +sweet as the sweetbriar, and then having reached the +top of the lane they kissed each other again and came +home through the scented dusk full of a melancholy happiness.</p> + +<p>The memory of that hour comforted David during the +first weeks of separation, but as time went on the old +habit of jealous distrust reasserted itself in some measure. +Rebecca was a bad correspondent. The wilful little maid +had never taken much pains to make herself a scholar and +letter-writing was to her a matter of difficulty. David +would brood over each scanty ill-spelt scrawl, torturing +himself with doubts: Rebecca said so little—was she +already beginning to forget him? She was so pretty, +so gay—surely somebody else would “snap her up” +while his back was turned.</p> + +<p>Yet now and then a little word in one of Rebecca’s +letters would make his heart thrill afresh with hope and +love, and he would be filled with remorse for his unworthy +suspicions. And when towards the end of autumn she +sent him a sprig of sweetbriar saying that “it would mind<span class="pagenum" id="Page_326">[326]</span> +him of her,” he carried the thorny trophy in his breast +till it shrivelled and fell to pieces.</p> + +<p>The northern winter was long and cold and the lad +thought regretfully many a time of genial Dorset with +its unseasonable flowers peeping out at all manner of +times, its gleams of sunshine and blue sky even on the +shortest days, the breeze rushing over the Downs, mild +for all its freshness, and carrying with it always a hint +of the sea not far distant. He dreamed of Dorset often, +of his father’s little homestead, of the farm on which he +had used to work, of the animals he had been wont to +tend, of the church to which he had betaken himself +Sunday after Sunday—but strangely enough, though he +longed and almost prayed to dream of Rebecca, the +vision which haunted his thoughts by day kept aloof +from his pillow.</p> + +<p>One night, however, he did dream of Rebecca, and his +dream was so vivid that he could hardly believe that it +was not indeed reality. He thought he saw her standing +in the sunshine on the Downs at the top of Sweetbriar +Lane; he was toiling up this lane at some distance from +her, running, but after the manner of dreams, not seeming +to make much progress, and she kept afar off, waving one +little slender arm and calling:—</p> + +<p>“I want you, David!” she cried. “Davy—Davy—I +want you!”</p> + +<p>Her voice was ringing in his ears when he woke; the +sweat stood on his brow, and his heart was thumping +violently.</p> + +<p>“If she do want me, I’ll go,” he said.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_327">[327]</span>It was not yet six months since he had left home; +according to his contract another eighteen should elapse +before he took a holiday, yet he did not hesitate for a +moment. An unendurable longing was upon him; he was +drawn by an inexplicable force. Without pausing to +reflect on the possible consequences which might ensue, +he rose, dressed and set forth on his journey before any +one, even in that early household, was astir.</p> + +<p>He had but little money, and his progress was necessarily +slow, his resources only permitting him to travel a +part of the way by train. He walked the rest, begging +occasional “lifts” from good-natured waggoners.</p> + +<p>It was nearly a week after that dream had come to him +when he arrived late one afternoon at his native place. So +travel-stained was he, so haggard and gaunt with fatigue +and privations, that his old friends would have found it +difficult to recognise him had he traversed the village; +but Rebecca’s home lay on the outskirts and he made his +way there immediately.</p> + +<p>His heart had been torn by a thousand conflicting hopes +and fears during his long journey. What if Rebecca did +not want him at all? What if she should laugh at him +for his pains? What if she should join in the chorus of +disapproval which would, he knew, greet his foolhardy +undertaking? His uncle had probably written home to +announce his disappearance; his parents would have plenty +to say on the subject, but for that he cared little. What +would Rebecca say? what would she think? And then +he remembered her parting words: “She’ll always love +me faithful and true,” and he seemed again to feel her +arms about his neck.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_328">[328]</span>His heart leaped up within him as he approached the +cottage, for he half-expected to see the elfin shape come +flitting forth to greet him; and then he chid himself for +his folly. How could she be on the look-out for him? he +had sent her no word of his coming.</p> + +<p>It was a frosty night, clear and unusually cold. The +moon had already risen and the sky was spangled with +stars. He could see the withered hollyhocks standing +stiff on either side of the whitewashed flagged path, and +observed that the door was fast closed. A little glimmer +of firelight came through the kitchen window, but otherwise +there was no sign of life about the place.</p> + +<p>Three strides carried David up the garden path and in +another instant his hand rattled at the latch; but the door +did not yield to his hand—it was bolted within and no +sound broke the succeeding stillness except the barking of +a distant dog and the tremulous beating of his own heart.</p> + +<p>“Rebecca!” he cried. His voice was hoarse and his +great frame trembled like a leaf. “Rebecca! I’m here. +I be come.”</p> + +<p>A shrill cackle from within—Grandfather Legg’s unmistakable +laugh—was the only response.</p> + +<p>David’s hand dropped from the latch and he darted to +the kitchen window and peered in the room.</p> + +<p>By the dim light of the fire he could make out the old +man’s form in its accustomed place, and rapped sharply +at the pane.</p> + +<p>“Eh?” cried Grandfather Legg.</p> + +<p>“Be every one out?” shouted David. “Where’s Rebecca?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_329">[329]</span>The old man leaned forward so that the firelight fell +full upon his shrivelled face; his habitually vacant eyes +wore a cunning look and he laughed again, as though +amused by some secret joke.</p> + +<p>David uplifted his voice once more and in his excitement +shook the little casement. “Look at me!” he +cried. “Don’t ye know me, Mr. Legg? It’s me—David +Samson.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I know ye,” chuckled Mr. Legg. “I know ye, +David.”</p> + +<p>“Right!” cried David, delighted at having extracted an +intelligible response. “Then tell me where’s Rebecca? +I’ve come a long way to see her. Which way has she +gone? I be talkin’ of <i>Rebecca</i>, Mr. Legg.”</p> + +<p>“E-es,” rejoined the other, still chuckling; “oh, e-es, +Rebecca—surely.”</p> + +<p>“Where is she, I say?” shouted David.</p> + +<p>Grandfather Legg lifted a lean hand and jerked his +thumb expressively in the direction of Sweetbriar Lane.</p> + +<p>“Rebecca,” said he, “Rebecca be yon.”</p> + +<p>David stepped back from the window and stood a +moment paralysed. The eager excitement of a few +moments before left him all in a minute and he became +suddenly cold. Rebecca was out at this hour—Rebecca +had gone a-walkin’ in Sweetbriar Lane with another man. +That dream which told him she craved for him was but a +mockery.</p> + +<p>After a pause he began to walk rapidly away in the +direction indicated by the old man. He would see for +himself; he would find Rebecca and tax her with her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_330">[330]</span> +infidelity; he would—here he drew in his breath and +clenched his hands—he would reckon with the other fellow.</p> + +<p>Now the lane lay before him, winding upwards between +its shadowy hedges silent and deserted. His steps rang +sharply on the frozen surface; deep shadows lay beneath +the hedgerows but the path itself gleamed silvery white in +the moonlight. Up, up—there was never a soul in sight—if +Grandfather Legg spoke truth Rebecca must have +wandered on a long way with that new sweetheart of hers. +He pressed forward with what speed he might, he would +come upon them sooner or later and then!</p> + +<p>Yonder at the turn of the lane, the outline of the lychgate +was visible, and, topping the churchyard wall the dark +heads of a group of cypresses; his eyes wandered absently +over them, insensibly taking note of how bravely the frost-encased +needles gleamed; the hoar lay thick on the ancient +tiles of the lychgate roof too, and even edged the time-worn +pillars which supported it. As he brought his absent gaze +down to these pillars he saw a face peep out at him from +behind one. The moonlight fell full upon it and he recognised +at once that it was Rebecca’s. Very small and pale +it looked, and yet it wore a smile, tender and a little sad.</p> + +<p>David with an inarticulate cry rushed towards her. But +before he could reach it the little figure came gliding forth +from its ambush and went fluttering up the path before +him as it had so often done in former days. She paused +every now and then to turn round with the arch smile +which he knew so well, and to beckon, but she spoke no +word, and her feet fell so lightly on the stony track that +they made no sound. She wore a cotton dress familiar to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_331">[331]</span> +David, and no wrap of any kind in spite of the cold; her +fair hair, too, glistened in the silvery light unshaded by a hat.</p> + +<p>“Rebecca! Rebecca!” cried David, lumbering in pursuit +of her, a prey to such a tumult of emotions that he almost +wept. “Rebecca, come back, love. I came because ye +did call me. Ye must have a word to say to me sure. +Ye’ll never go for to treat me so foolish now I have come +all this way to see ye.”</p> + +<p>But the little figure only waved its arms for all response +and went gliding on—on, always out of reach, now lost to +sight at the turn of the lane, now in obedience to some +such freakish impulse as had often roused his ire long ago, +darting behind a clump of bushes, now peering down at +him from the top of a high bank. Always tantalising, +always elusive, but his own Rebecca for all that—his +Rebecca who had never given a thought to any other man. +She would surely soon tire of her play and run to his arms.</p> + +<p>Here were the Downs at last, and Rebecca, as though in +answer to his yearning, paused, turning towards him and +beckoning. For a moment he saw her thus almost as he +had seen her in his dream, save that the light which bathed +her slight figure was not the noonday glow of his fancy +but the ethereal radiance of the winter’s night, and that no +word passed her smiling lips. As he gazed upon her the +dream powerlessness came upon him, his feet remained +rooted to the ground, his arms hung useless by his side, he +tried to call her name aloud but his tongue clove to his +palate. Only a moment did this nightmare-like oppression +endure and then, with a cry, he rushed towards the spot +where she had stood—but Rebecca had vanished.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_332">[332]</span>His arms closed upon the empty air, his dazzled eyes +beheld only the frost-bound Downs, the clump of firs +against which he had seen her form outlined—there was +no trace of her anywhere. Calling upon her frantically, +first in anger, then with anguish, then in wild terror, he +searched about the place, but all was silence—desolation.</p> + +<p>He came down the hilly path at last slowly, looking +neither to right nor to left, his head sunk upon his breast +and his figure swaying.</p> + +<p>Here was the bank where she had picked that sprig of +sweetbriar to which she had likened herself; the leafless +bush coated with frost like its fellows gave forth no perfume +as he passed, and he did not even pause.</p> + +<p>Now the lychgate came in sight once more, and David +quickening his pace ran unsteadily towards it. The gate +yielded to his hand, but no fairy form lay in ambush +behind it, no arch mocking face peered at him through +the bars. Yet as it swung to behind him David stood still, +catching his breath with a gasp; a rush of overpowering +perfume greeted his nostrils, here in the dead of the +winter’s night the frozen air was heavy with the scent +of sweetbriar. As he staggered forward with a choking +cry his feet sank deep in the soft mould of a newly-made +grave.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p class="center">THE ABERDEEN UNIVERSITY PRESS LIMITED</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<div class="transnote"> +<p class="ph1">TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:</p> + +<p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.</p> + +<p>Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.</p> + +<p>Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.</p> +</div></div> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75281 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + |